FOUR PLAYS

·

FIRST PLAYS

Containing:—Wurzel-Flummery; The Lucky One;
The Boy comes Home; Belinda; The Red Feathers.
Sixth Impression.

SECOND PLAYS

Containing:—Make-Believe; Mr. Pim Passes By;
The Camberley Triangle; The Romantic Age; The
Stepmother. Sixth Impression.

THREE PLAYS

Containing:—The Great Broxopp; The Dover
Road; The Truth about Blayds.
Second Impression.

Cr. 8vo; uniform; 7s. 6d. NET EACH.

Printed in Great Britain: all rights reserved

[Pg 1]

[Pg 2]

The living-room in Simon Battersby’s cottage, Wych Trentham.

This play was first produced by Sir Gerald du Maurier at Wyndham’s Theatre on April 22, 1924, with the following cast:

The Scene is the Living-room in the country cottage of the BATTERSBYS (father and daughter), a room of oak-beams, distempered walls and lattice windows. At the back, between the windows is a door, wide open to the garden. There is a door on the right which leads to the other inhabited parts of the house. Along the left side of the room a staircase ascends easily, to meet at right angles a low gallery from which bedrooms may be reached. The door on the left of the gallery is that of ANGELA’S room. To the right the gallery leads to BATTERSBY’S room and the bathroom. Underneath the stairs is a “glory-hole” with a curtain across it.

It is nearly 8 o’clock on a warm evening in May. Being summer time it is still full daylight, and no attempt has been made to pretend otherwise. The women’s dresses must take their chance. Time enough to light up after dinner, particularly as electricity has not yet discovered Wych Trentham.

ANGELA, aged 18, half-dressed, in rather a casual wrap, cigarette-holder in mouth, is moving about the room with a slow, indifferent grace, which is much too charming to be a physical attribute only. Her indolence, both of voice and movement, is part of herself; she has the air—odd, and therefore attractive, on such a youthful prettiness—of living in another world, with a faint smile for this one. At present she is tidying [Pg 4]up the room for her dinner-party; not with any sort of fussiness; but in the care-free manner of one to whom it has occurred casually in the middle of her dressing that Royalty may be here at any moment, and that her father’s dog-bitten slippers may be in any corner of the room. While we watch her, she stoops down and collects one from underneath the sofa; looks thoughtfully about, moves a chair and discloses the other one. She takes the pair and drops them in the glory-hole. Then she speaks, raising her voice a little.

ANGELA. Are you out of the bath, Father?

(She goes on tidying: old newspapers now. BATTERSBY opens the door of his bedroom and looks out.)

BATTERSBY. In a sense, yes, dear. I was just going in.

ANGELA (to herself). Good Heavens!

BATTERSBY. I’m very quick. (His head begins to go back.)

ANGELA. You’ve put the wine out? (Silence. BATTERSBY’S head stops its movement.) Oh Lord, he hasn’t.

BATTERSBY (firmly, as he comes out, tying his dressing-gown). I am putting the wine out. (He comes down the stairs; a man of about 50, tall and bearded. In a towelled bath-gown and bedroom slippers he is unconventionally dressed for the dining-room, but you feel that he would always be a little like that. He has a quick, nervous way of talking, as if he were communing, rather apologetically, with himself.) And the cigars. (He goes into the glory-hole.)

ANGELA (resigned). Anyway, everybody knows we’re always late in this house.

BATTERSBY (coming out with two boxes of cigars). He wouldn’t know.

ANGELA. Well, he will after to-night.

[Pg 5]

BATTERSBY. That’s true.... There are only four of the good cigars left.

ANGELA. Surely he won’t want more than four?

BATTERSBY. One requires a certain margin.... And then there are the others. This secretary fellow, Holt, and the Doctor, isn’t it? Five with me.

ANGELA. I can’t have my medical attendant puffing cigars in a hygienic house like this.

BATTERSBY. He’d prefer his pipe, in any case. So, if Holt has one of the cheaper brand, and the secretary and I have one good one each, that will leave two for the Prince. (He puts the four Coronas on top of a broken box of cheaper ones.) I shall tell Holt that the lower ones are nuttier. What about the wine? Champagne, I suppose.

ANGELA (thoughtfully). Emily broke the corkscrew the last time we had champagne. I wonder if we’ve got another.

BATTERSBY. That was an inferior brand. I have some better than that.

ANGELA. She’d better make a popping noise as she takes the cork out—to be on the safe side. Have you got enough?

BATTERSBY. A dozen.

ANGELA. Half a bottle each, and seven and a half bottles for the Prince. That ought to be all right.

BATTERSBY. My dear, you’re looking forward to seeing him again just as much as I am. (Opening an empty box) I suppose you’ve got some cigarettes.

ANGELA. Some.... A Prince seems much more natural in the South of France. You sit next to him at lunch, and he’s like anybody else. In England you feel a snob to be meeting him at all.

BATTERSBY. He invited himself. We didn’t ask him.

ANGELA. I don’t say I am a snob. I say I feel a snob.

BATTERSBY. Pooh! What’s a Prince?

[Pg 6]

ANGELA. And I don’t say I feel undressed, I am undressed. (She pulls her wrap round her, and strolls upstairs.) Go and tell Emily about the champagne.

BATTERSBY. Prince Michael Robolski of Neo-Slavonia—there are hundreds like that all over Europe. Penny plain, twopence coloured.

ANGELA (on the stairs). Yes, but only one in Wych Trentham. So we must make the most of him. (She goes into her room.)

BATTERSBY (mumbling to himself). What’s a Prince in this democratic age? (He goes kitchenwards.)

(The room is empty for a moment, and then JENNIFER appears at the garden door. She is 30, and so overflowing with vitality that some of it has got into her figure, and led to the word “buxom” being used. But she is tall enough, and big enough, mentally and physically, to carry it off with an air. She enjoys her world; she enjoys herself. It is jolly being JENNIFER.... Nobody is about, so she announces herself.)

JENNIFER (loudly). How do you do? So good of you to come. (Shyly) So kind of you to ask me.

ANGELA (off). Oh, is that you, darling?

JENNIFER. Yes. At least it was yesterday. It’s Jennifer.

ANGELA (appearing in the gallery). You’re early, aren’t you?

JENNIFER. I haven’t really come yet. Am I dining?

ANGELA. Of course. Life and soul of the party.

JENNIFER. That’s a comfort. I just stepped across to make sure. Last time, you remember, you sent me away and told me to come in afterwards. Luckily I had a little cold beef in the house. But there’s something about sitting down to cold beef and pickles in [Pg 7]diamonds and a dress with no back to it——Well, I just stepped across to make sure. And now I’ll step back again.

ANGELA. Oh, stop now you’re here!

(She disappears into her room for a moment, but JENNIFER doesn’t realise that she is gone.)

JENNIFER. Good gracious, no! And be introduced to the Prince with a crowd of others? Never on your life! I shall make a late but superb entry. All the men will look at me, and say, “Thank God, now we can eat”; and all the women will look at me and say (quite correctly), “She came late on purpose, how like her”; and the Prince will look at me, with a sudden reviving interest in what he had feared would be a very dull evening, and he’ll say, “Chère Madame”—Or does he talk English? (There is no answer. She realises that she is alone.) Have I been soliloquising all this time?

ANGELA (coming out). Sorry. What did you say?

JENNIFER. My last words, when solitude descended upon me, were, “Does he talk English?”

ANGELA. Perfectly. (She comes slowly downstairs, still smoking.)

JENNIFER. You should have mentioned it in your invitation. We’ve all been rubbing up our Easy French in Six Lessons. Well, then, the Prince will say, “Ah, dear Lady, this was indeed worth waiting for.” No, that isn’t very good. Well—anyhow—he’ll look at me. And there’s more of me to look at every day.

ANGELA. It is ridiculous of you to pretend that you’re fat. Why do you?

JENNIFER. I don’t. No woman pretends she’s fat. But every woman over thirty is afraid. On her thirtieth birthday she starts looking at herself in the glass, and saying, “Is it, or is it not?” And a morning comes [Pg 8]when she says, “I wonder.” I said it this morning. I say, where is—wherever it is?

ANGELA. Neo-Slavonia? I don’t know. (With a wave of her cigarette) Down at the bottom on the right, I suppose. Somewhere.

JENNIFER. They make geography so quickly nowadays that I can’t keep up with it.

ANGELA. A sort of buffer-state. (She gives JENNIFER her ear-rings.) There’s a dear. I shall make a mess of my hair.

JENNIFER (fixing them). If one has never heard of a country, one always calls it “a sort of buffer-state.” “Miss Angela Battersby was wearing the family drops.” It must be difficult to feel very patriotic about a country which is only used so as to prevent two other countries from getting at each other.... Other ear.

ANGELA (turning round). It’s never difficult to feel very patriotic.

JENNIFER. True. At least it’s never difficult to feel how very unpatriotic other people are.... My buffer, ’tis of thee!... Is he very good-looking?

ANGELA. Not bad.

JENNIFER. And, to get down to my own class, what’s the secretary like?... There!

ANGELA (looking at herself in the glass). Thanks.... We haven’t seen him. The Prince wrote to say that he was in London. Could he—and so on? I said, Delighted. Then he wrote that he and his secretary were at the Bull at Medenham. Could they—and so forth? I said, Of course. I suppose he’s a sort of courier, equerry, orderly, or whatever you call it. I must go and finish myself. (She goes.)

JENNIFER. Well, speaking as a widow with no desire to marry again, I wish you luck.

[Pg 9]

ANGELA (smiling mysteriously at her from half-way up the stairs). Don’t be vulgar, Jennifer.

JENNIFER. I like being vulgar. It suits my shape. Anyhow, darling, promise that I shall be the first to hear.

ANGELA. You’re sure to be, I should think. You’re quite capable of hiding behind a tree, and listening. (She goes into her room.)

JENNIFER (complacently). I am. (Surveying herself) And thank you for “tree,” darling. I was afraid you were going to say “bush” or “clump.” (Going.) About another quarter-of-an-hour, do you think, for my entry? (ANGELA calls out something.) What?

ANGELA (putting her head out). You haven’t got any French mustard, have you?

JENNIFER (doubtfully). With French mustard, you think?

ANGELA. I knew I’d forgotten something.

JENNIFER. I’ll bring some round, if you like.

ANGELA (retiring). Do.

JENNIFER. I will.

(At which moment BATTERSBY comes back from the cellar.)

BATTERSBY. Hallo, Jennifer, good-evening.

JENNIFER. Good-evening, Simon. (Reproachfully) You never told me it was court dress!

BATTERSBY. What? Oh! (Looking at himself) Just going to have a bath. You couldn’t be much sweller than you are, could you?

JENNIFER (anxiously). Much—what?

BATTERSBY. Much more grand.

JENNIFER (re-assured). Oh! Just for a moment I——Well, a train and feathers.

BATTERSBY. He isn’t really royalty, you know. Neo-Slavonia is only⁠——

JENNIFER (nodding). A sort of buffer-state.

[Pg 10]

BATTERSBY. Exactly. And though, I understand, he’s related to the reigning house⁠——

JENNIFER. There’s no chance of Angela being a queen.

ANGELA (from her bedroom). Send that woman away, Father. And for goodness’ sake, get dressed.

BATTERSBY. It’s Jennifer, dear.

ANGELA. It sounded like Mrs. Bulger.

JENNIFER. It is, darling.

BATTERSBY (throwing up his hands). If only it weren’t! Why did.... I mean, why don’t.... (He shudders.)

JENNIFER (innocently). Don’t you like my name?

BATTERSBY. It’s a horrible name.

JENNIFER. I love it. Jennifer Bulger, widow of the late General James Bulger, C.B. It’s sweet.

BATTERSBY. It may have been all right for him—we never knew him—but for you! Jennifer!

JENNIFER. No, no, you mustn’t propose in your dressing-gown.

ANGELA (off). Is Father proposing again?

BATTERSBY (shouting). This is not a proposal. It’s an æsthetic impulse. (To JENNIFER) I want you to have a name which becomes you. You ought to be Jennifer Battersby, even at the cost of marrying me.

JENNIFER. Dear Simon, nice Simon. You know you don’t mean it.

BATTERSBY. I mean it, every time.... But I must admit that I’m always a little relieved when you refuse me.

JENNIFER. Dear Simon, of course you are.

ANGELA (looking out). Oh, come on, Father!

JENNIFER (soothingly). I won’t marry you.

BATTERSBY. Yes, but I don’t think you must marry anybody else. Promise me that you won’t marry the Prince without my permission.

[Pg 11]

JENNIFER. Good gracious, that’s two of us after him already! (Firmly) I promise nothing, but that I shall enjoy myself to-night.

BATTERSBY. You always do. That’s why you’re so adorable.

ANGELA (from the gallery). Give him a smile, Jennifer, and get rid of him.

JENNIFER (laughing happily). I do like Battersbys. There’s something about them.... Au revoir! (She waves and is gone.)

(BATTERSBY at last goes up to his bath.)

ANGELA. Hurry up, darling.

BATTERSBY (impressively). Have you ever seen forked lightning playing over water? That’s me in my bath. (He disappears.)

(ANGELA remains on the gallery, as EMILY, the parlourmaid, comes in with a tray of cocktails.)

ANGELA. Are those the cocktails, Emily?

EMILY. Yes, miss.

ANGELA. Good. (She comes slowly downstairs, still smoking.)

EMILY. Ellen says I was to remind you about the French mustard, miss.

ANGELA. Mrs. Bulger is bringing some round. (She takes a cocktail.)

EMILY. Thank you, miss. (Nervously) Do I say, “Your Royal Highness,” miss?

ANGELA. I really don’t know. (Drinking) “Your Highness,” I should think. But don’t overdo it.

EMILY. Thank you, miss.

ANGELA. He won’t throw anything at you, if you’re wrong. (Finishing her drink, and giving EMILY the glass) You’d better take this out. (She goes back to her room.)

EMILY. Yes, miss.

[She goes out.

(ROBERT and ETHEL HOLT come in. He, a thick-set [Pg 12]young soldier, is just over 30, she just under. He is a very serious young man, of a sort of determined intellectuality. Nothing escapes him. Even the lightest remark made by another requires thinking out. She is a bright helpmeet for such a man, the best of wives; with, like most wives, more intelligence than appears on the surface, and enough character to look after herself.)

ETHEL (brightly). Why, we’re the first!

ROBERT (feeling his chin). I might have gone over it again, after all.

ETHEL. Better early than late. Particularly with royalty.

ROBERT. Hardly royalty, dear. Neo-Slavonia ... one of these small buffer-states which have sprung up since the Armistice. All Mittel-Europa⁠——

ETHEL. (loudly). We’re here, Angela! Are we very early? (To ROBERT) Yes, dear.

ROBERT. All Mittel-Europa⁠——

ANGELA (off). Hallo! Is that the Holts?

ETHEL. You did say eight, didn’t you?

ANGELA (her head visible). Did I? We’re a bit late, I expect. Do you want to take anything off?

ETHEL. No, thank you, dear.

ROBERT. All Mittel-Europa⁠——

ANGELA. Have a drink, Robert.

ROBERT. Thanks.

ANGELA. Cigarettes. (A leather case sails into the room.) Sorry.

ETHEL (picking it up). Thank you, dear.

ROBERT. All Mittel-Europa⁠——(Holding out drink) Will you have one, Ethel?

ETHEL. I don’t think so. Well, perhaps I will. No, later, I think. (She feels that she would like Royalty to see [Pg 13]her drinking one.) I’ll keep the Prince company. (She laughs a little self-consciously.) Cigarette?

ROBERT. No, thanks. (He drinks.)

ETHEL. I don’t think I will either. What were you saying about all Mittel-Europa, dear?

ROBERT (drinking). All Mittel-Europa is in a state of flux just now.

ETHEL (wearing her intelligent face). I suppose so. Naturally. The War, of course. And the Peace.

ROBERT. The old Empires are splitting up—disintegrating. A sort of de-centralisation is going on. And so you get these small states coming into a precarious existence. Almost literally a case of “Here to-day and gone to-morrow.”

ETHEL. You must talk it over with the Prince—if he talks English, as I suppose he does. They all do, don’t they? I love listening to a good talk. Men talk so well, I always think.... They say he’s very good-looking.

ROBERT. In many cases, of course, these little states have a connected history of their own. Centuries ago, before they were absorbed into some ramshackle empire, they had their own court and customs. You would probably find that they had never quite lost their individuality.

ETHEL. Individuality is the great thing, isn’t it? Oh, did you find out whether we said Sir or Your Highness or Prince?

ROBERT. I shall say Sir, of course. You’d better not say anything.

ETHEL. Yes, that’s best, isn’t it?

(ANGELA still in her wrap, empty cigarette-holder in her mouth, comes down the stairs.)

ANGELA. Can I have my cigarettes?

ROBERT (standing to attention). Good-evening.

[Pg 14]

ETHEL (brightly). How are you, dear? Here you are. (She goes, case in hand, to kiss her.)

ANGELA (taking the case and avoiding the kiss). Thanks.

ETHEL (with a little laugh). We were just wondering what one called your Prince.

ANGELA (putting in a cigarette). As long as you don’t call him my Prince, I don’t mind what you call him. I’ve only met him once.

ROBERT. Oh, is that so? Monte Carlo, wasn’t it? (He strikes a match for her.)

ANGELA. Thanks.... That village above Mentone—what’s its name? Gorbio. We went there one day. With a party. Sort of picnic. He was one of them.

ETHEL (with the air of one who knows Gorbio well). Oh, yes.

ANGELA (strolling upstairs again). Shan’t be long.

(They watch her go.)

ETHEL (as soon as it is safe). Well, if you ask me, I should say that Miss Angela Battersby must have made good use of that one day.

ROBERT (uncomfortably, feeling that this is rather bad form). Oh, I don’t know.

ETHEL. I mean it quite nicely, of course. I can quite see the attraction. She’s so very British, isn’t she? That would always attract a foreigner.

ROBERT (wondering if his country is being insulted). British?

ETHEL. That air of “Oh, is that you?”

ROBERT. I don’t see that that’s British exactly. I should call it the individual rather than the type.

ETHEL. You know what I mean. (With sudden inspiration) “I’m Angela Battersby, take it or leave it.” There!—that’s what I mean. I think it’s rather attractive.

ROBERT (frowning). But why British?

[Pg 15]

ETHEL. Well, that’s rather what Englishmen say.

ROBERT (wrestling). H’m!... I see what you mean.... In a way—yes.... I suppose we do. (He looks at her with an admiration that would be flattering if it were not surprised.) Now what made you think of that?

ETHEL. Oh, I’m not such a fool as you think.

ROBERT. I have never thought so for a moment. Women often have surprising intuitions.... “I am an Englishman, take it or leave it.” That’s good, Ethel. I must tell the Prince that.

ETHEL (eagerly). You will say I said it, won’t you?

ROBERT. My dear, of course.

ETHEL (taking his arm). Dear old boy! Let’s go into the garden. It’s nicer outside.

ROBERT (coming). You’re quite right, Ethel. We do.

ETHEL. Do what?

ROBERT. That’s why so many foreigners⁠——

ETHEL (as they approach the door). Mrs. Faithfull—I didn’t know she was coming.

(But she is. For here they are at the door—the Queen of Wych Trentham, and her only child, IMOGEN. MRS. FAITHFULL, short and square, with the absolute assurance of a woman of 55 who has to her credit the achievements of wifehood and motherhood, and can therefore speak with authority on all subjects, exercises her prerogatives benignly. Practically all it comes to is that she expects the host to take her in. At present she is very much a mother to IMOGEN, who at 18, ANGELA’S age, is a dumb school-girl in the royal presence, and a precocious one in her absence.)

ETHEL (brightly). Good-evening. Angela’s still dressing. [Pg 16]We’re early, so we’re just going into the garden. (Which explains the whole thing.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. Good-evening, Ethel. Good-evening, Captain Holt.

ROBERT. Good-evening. (To IMOGEN) How are you, Miss Faithfull?

(IMOGEN smiles shyly.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. Very well, thank you, Captain Holt.

ETHEL (to IMOGEN). What a sweet dress, dear. (IMOGEN looks modest.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. Pink suits us. We always try to keep to pink.

ANGELA (off). Is that you, Mrs. Faithfull? Do you want to take anything off, or would you rather have a cocktail?

MRS. FAITHFULL. I will just come up for a moment, I think. (To IMOGEN) You can keep that shawl on, dear, for the present. It suits you. (She goes up the stairs.)

ANGELA (off). Robert, give Imogen a cigar or a drink or something.

MRS. FAITHFULL (firmly). No, thank you, Captain Holt. (She goes into ANGELA’S room.)

ETHEL (to IMOGEN). Come into the garden with us. It’s cooler there.

ROBERT (with glass). Sure you won’t?

IMOGEN (to ETHEL). Have you had one?

ETHEL. No, I don’t think just yet, perhaps.

IMOGEN. Oh! (She takes the drink.) Then I will. And Mother will count and think it’s your glass. (Drinking) I don’t like the taste very much, do you? I suppose you get used to it. I say, aren’t you excited about the Prince? Do you think he’s a real Prince? Do you think he’s in love with Angela? (She drinks again.) I don’t think I like this very much.

[Pg 17]

ROBERT (holding out his hand). I shouldn’t drink it if you don’t like it.

IMOGEN (before letting go of the glass). Would you leave half of yours, Mrs. Holt?

ETHEL. I might. I do sometimes.

IMOGEN. Oh, then that’s all right. (To ROBERT) Thank you. (To ETHEL) Do we curtsey?

ETHEL (who hadn’t thought of this). Oh, no! I don’t⁠——(Panic.)

IMOGEN. I’ve been practising. Up in my room. (She gives us one.) It looks jolly, doesn’t it? I’ve been doing it in front of the glass—mostly in a nightie. (She gives us another, not so successful.) It’s easier in a nightie.

ETHEL. Oh, but Robert has just been explaining. Neo-Slavonia is only⁠——

ROBERT. A sort of buffer-state.

IMOGEN. Mother says you just call him Prince Michael. I like “Sire” better, don’t you? You’ve never met him, have you? I believe he’s awfully good-looking.

ROBERT. It isn’t like an English Prince, you know, Miss Faithfull. You know, in Europe, “Prince” is just a title like Duke or Count. That is to say⁠——

ETHEL. Oh, is that so, Robert?

IMOGEN. Let’s go into the garden, shall we? I won’t smoke a cigarette, but if you would, Mrs. Holt, and blow the smoke in my hair, Mother will think I’ve been smoking, and then you’ll be able to tell her afterwards that I haven’t.

ETHEL (her arm round IMOGEN). Come on, you funny girl. (They go out, ROBERT still holding forth.)

ROBERT (following). This Prince Michael, you know, is probably not of the Royal Family—such as it is. A distant connection, perhaps, but⁠——

[They are gone.

[Pg 18]

(MRS. FAITHFULL and ANGELA appear in the gallery.)

ANGELA (as they come downstairs). Have a cocktail, won’t you?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Thank you.

(She comes down; ANGELA after her, still undressed, still smoking.)

ANGELA. Help yourself.

MRS. FAITHFULL (helping herself). He talks English, of course?

ANGELA. Oh, yes.

MRS. FAITHFULL. That’s a comfort. About how old, would you say?

ANGELA. Thirty-five. Forty.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, as old as that? Good-looking?

ANGELA. All right.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Who else are coming?

ANGELA. Dr. Ainslie.

MRS. FAITHFULL (disapproving). Oh!

ANGELA. Jennifer.

MRS. FAITHFULL (disapproving in a different way). Ah!... There’s something about her which would appeal to a foreigner, don’t you think?

ANGELA. Why to a foreigner, particularly?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Her figure is a little—foreign, don’t you think?

ANGELA (indifferently). Is it?

MRS. FAITHFULL. What sort of stays does she wear—if any? In my young days when stays were stays, you either had a ridge across the back or you hadn’t. Nowadays, there’s nothing to tell you whether they wear them or they don’t.

ANGELA. We’ll ask her at dinner to-night.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Not in front of Imogen, dear, if you don’t mind.

ANGELA. Doesn’t she know about them?

[Pg 19]

MRS. FAITHFULL. She’s looking sweet to-night, don’t you think? I’m sure the Prince will think so. A little English wild rose. And have you a pretty dress for us?

ANGELA. Same old blue.

MRS. FAITHFULL (relieved). Ah!... But it suits you very well, dear.

ANGELA. It’s had long enough to get used to me.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Still, if the Prince has never seen it⁠——

BATTERSBY (off). Angela!

ANGELA. Hallo!

BATTERSBY. May I wear my old coat and a soft shirt?

ANGELA. Why ever not?

BATTERSBY. Holt will have a white waistcoat, I suppose?

ANGELA (to MRS. FAITHFULL). Had he?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, yes! (Loudly) Yes, Mr. Battersby.

BATTERSBY. Oh, is that you, Mrs. Faithfull? Sorry I’m not ready.

MRS. FAITHFULL (a little primly). It’s quite all right, thank you.

BATTERSBY. Well, then, Angela, if Holt has a white waistcoat, and I have a soft shirt, and Ainslie has an ordinary tail-coat with a stethoscope in it, the Prince is bound to be all right, whatever he wears.

ANGELA. The perfect host.

BATTERSBY (loudly). What?

ANGELA. Soft shirt, darling.

BATTERSBY. Good! Shan’t be a moment, Mrs. Faithfull.

MRS. FAITHFULL. That’s all right, thank you. Angela is looking after me.... I always think Mr. Battersby looks so artistic in his velvet coat.... Of course this is quite an informal visit of Prince Michael’s.

[Pg 20]

ANGELA. Naturally.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Did you see much of him at Monte?

ANGELA. We met him.

MRS. FAITHFULL. And he said, could he come and see you when he was in England?

ANGELA. He did say something about it, I believe.

MRS. FAITHFULL. They often say it, but they don’t always come.

ANGELA (sympathetically). Don’t they?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Well, of course, I don’t encourage it for Imogen. Not abroad. You never know Who is Who.

ANGELA. As long as they’re amusing⁠——

MRS. FAITHFULL. The amusing ones are never Who. You can depend on that.

ANGELA. Then we’re in for a dull evening.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, a Prince is different. Prince Michael⁠——(Very carelessly) We just call him Prince Michael, I suppose. An informal visit, naturally. I told Imogen, yes—he is sure to be interesting. (Vaguely) All Europe just now, I think. New groupings of nationalities. One so rarely hears the real truth. I am told that we are much nearer to another world-war than we think. The Prince must tell us. I suppose Neo-Slavonia is pro-Ally?

ANGELA. Are there any allies now? They’re fond of the English, I believe.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, well, that’s a good thing.

(They are interrupted by JENNIFER.)

JENNIFER (at the open door). French mustard. Don’t tell me I ought to have gone to the back door with it.

ANGELA. Oh, thanks. (She puts the mustard on the table, and calls out.) Emily!

[Pg 21]

JENNIFER (to MRS. FAITHFULL). Good-evening, dear. What a charming dress! (To ANGELA) May I go back and change mine?

MRS. FAITHFULL (pleased). We must do what we can when there are so many pretty young ones round us.

JENNIFER (with a charming, modest laugh). Oh, how sweet⁠——(The laugh stops suddenly. In which group is she included? She says solemnly) Yes. We must.

ANGELA (indicating cocktail). Have one?

JENNIFER. My dear, I daren’t.

ANGELA. You are absurd.

EMILY (coming in). Yes, miss?

ANGELA (nodding at it). Mustard.

[EMILY takes it and goes out.

JENNIFER (resigned). I suppose I shan’t see that again.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Angela was just telling me that the Neo-Slavonians are very fond of the English.

JENNIFER. Yes, Gladstone or somebody said something in 1874 which they have never quite forgotten ... but which I have.

ANGELA. What sort of thing?

JENNIFER. Legitimate aspirations ... which although ... yet ... in the not far-distant future⁠——You know how they talk.

MRS. FAITHFULL (nodding profoundly). It is curious to think that if Mr. Gladstone had never said—whatever exactly it was—fifty years ago, Prince Michael mightn’t have been dining here to-night.

JENNIFER. And if Mr. Faithfull had never said “I love you” twenty-five years ago, Imogen mightn’t have been dining here to-night.

MRS. FAITHFULL (stiffly). That doesn’t strike me as so curious.

[Pg 22]

JENNIFER. Still, it is interesting. Angela, darling, if you don’t get dressed, nobody will be dining here to-night.

ANGELA (lounging off). I’m just ready. (She goes up.) The others are in the garden.

JENNIFER. I saw a pretty pink butterfly on the lawn. I suppose that was Imogen.

MRS. FAITHFULL (absently). Yes, we always wear pink in the evening.

JENNIFER (suddenly). Isn’t it funny that there aren’t any pink butterflies? I’d never thought of it before. Reds and yellows and blues and browns and purples, but no pinks. I wonder why?

MRS. FAITHFULL (who doesn’t wonder why). We shall know one day, I daresay.

JENNIFER. I’d rather know now, because I’m sure to forget later on. There will be so many questions to ask when we get to Heaven. (Childishly) What’s your first one? I’ll tell you what mine is. I shall say, “Now, what about all those stars? What were they there for?”

(MRS. FAITHFULL feels uncomfortably that there is nothing about this in the Church of England Services, and gets back to butterflies.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. The General must have seen many beautiful butterflies in India.

JENNIFER. He didn’t talk about them.

MRS. FAITHFULL (coming to the point). What did happen at Monte, do you know?

JENNIFER (at a loss). Monty?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Between Angela and the Prince.

JENNIFER. Oh—Monte! I always call it Carlo.... Did anything happen?

MRS. FAITHFULL. She evidently made a great impression. Of course nothing could ever⁠——Still, in these [Pg 23]democratic days, I suppose⁠——She hasn’t said anything to you?

JENNIFER. She told me not to be vulgar when I hinted that⁠——

MRS. FAITHFULL (stiffly). There is a vulgar way and another way, no doubt, of making these enquiries.

JENNIFER (cheerfully). Yes, mine was the vulgar way. (With an air) But, after all, are we not women? The moment they meet, shall we not know if “soft eyes look love to eyes which speak again”?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, one always knows, of course.

JENNIFER (romantically).

But if the light be not there, I shall wish Imogen luck, and I don’t care how vulgar anybody calls me.

MRS. FAITHFULL (deprecating, but pleased). Oh, Imogen is only a baby.

JENNIFER. As old as Angela.

MRS. FAITHFULL (firmly). Not in the sight of Heaven.

JENNIFER (to herself). That will be another thing to ask about when I get there.... (To MRS. FAITHFULL) Of course we must remember that the Prince’s prospects are not necessarily confined to Wych Trentham. He may decide to marry out of the village.

(DR. AINSLIE is at the door. At 50 he has a sense of humour which the ladies call “so satirical”; and, in his own words, he can “stand anything but shams,” by which he means Religion, Royalty and other politenesses much esteemed in Wych Trentham. Some people call him a cynic, without quite knowing what it means, and they all say that “it is a great pity he never married.”)

[Pg 24]

AINSLIE. Do I come in, or do I go to the front door and get announced in style?

JENNIFER. Which do you generally do?

AINSLIE (sarcastically). I don’t generally have the honour of meeting a Prince. Good-evening, Mrs. Faithfull.

MRS. FAITHFULL (coldly). Good-evening.

AINSLIE. Outwardly calm, but with beating hearts, and murmuring a few French phrases to ourselves, we await the arrival of His Highness.

MRS. FAITHFULL (to JENNIFER). Is Imogen outside, dear? I think I’ll go to her.

AINSLIE (making way for her). She is the one in pink. (MRS. FAITHFULL goes out haughtily.) That woman doesn’t like me.

JENNIFER (consolingly). But the next doctor is a long way off.

AINSLIE. Oh, professionally, I have no anxiety. But she doesn’t like me. Do you know why?

JENNIFER. Your diffident manner?

AINSLIE. I told her that she was bringing Imogen up badly.

JENNIFER. Speaking as a doctor, or as a—bachelor?

AINSLIE. As a substitute for the Vicar. (Indicating the drinks) Are these for me?

JENNIFER. Some of them. (He goes to the table, and holds up one.) No, thank you.

AINSLIE (drinking). I said: “You are robbing Imogen of her youth.” Look at all the other jolly little girls you see about. They drink, and they smoke, and they swear, and they read improper books, and they’re very clever and cynical, and we say, “Bless their dear little hearts! Youth, youth! I was as young as that once.” I tell you, Jennifer, it brings tears into my eyes sometimes, to see them so young and so pleased with themselves, [Pg 25]and to think that they will have to grow up. But Imogen will marry and settle down before she has had any youth at all.

JENNIFER (smiling). I fancy that Imogen is deeper than you think. When she is away from her mother⁠——

AINSLIE. Deep! But that’s what I’m saying! She’s as deep as you or I. She has no business to be deep at her age. Deep! She’s probably romantic, and all sorts of nice elderly things like that. I daresay she’s told herself stories about this ridiculous Prince of yours. Just as you have. (He drinks and says firmly) I don’t know about anybody else, but I do not propose to call him “Sir.”

JENNIFER. “Nobody asked you, Sir, she said.... Sir, she said.”... Sir, she said—unlike the doctor of Wych Trentham.

AINSLIE. And I shall talk English.

JENNIFER (disappointedly). Oh!... Couldn’t you say a few words in medical Latin now and then?

AINSLIE. That reminds me. Is there an Established Church in Neo-Slavonia?

JENNIFER. Good gracious, what a question to ask a lone widow woman suddenly!

AINSLIE. It’s a new country, so it may still be free from the shackles of ecclesiasticism.

JENNIFER. Will this be the general trend of the conversation this evening? Because, if so, I should like to go back for my cigarette cards.

AINSLIE (warming to it). No country with an Established Church has any claim to be considered civilised. But the fools won’t see it.

JENNIFER (soothingly). They never do, do they? I don’t believe they try. (Very soothingly) Shall I put your glass down for you, or hold your hobby-horse while you dismount?

[Pg 26]

AINSLIE (with a laugh). All right, I’ll spare you the rest. (He pats her hand affectionately.)

(ANGELA comes down, dressed at last.)

ANGELA. Hallo!

AINSLIE (shaking hands). Good-evening. Produce your Prince.

ANGELA. Isn’t he here?

AINSLIE. He’s looking for the red carpet. Have you got a red carpet? I came in through the garden. The village band ought to be playing the Neo-Slavonian National Anthem. Why isn’t it? This party is being run very badly.

(BATTERSBY comes down from his bedroom, as the others return from the garden.)

BATTERSBY. Hallo, Doctor. (He beckons him on one side.) I say, we’re a cigar short. You’d rather have a pipe, wouldn’t you?

AINSLIE. Even if I wouldn’t, I should smoke it to-night, as an assertion of my Republican principles.

BATTERSBY. Excellent. Could you also assert your medical principles, and tell Holt that any one of the four big cigars on the top of the box would undoubtedly be fatal to him?

AINSLIE. Do I speak as one who knows Holt’s constitution, or as one who knows the cigars?

BATTERSBY. I don’t mind which way you put it, as long as you frighten him.

(ANGELA and JENNIFER have been greeting the others. AINSLIE now joins them.)

ANGELA. Well, we may as well sit down. I don’t know how long he’s going to be. (To MRS. FAITHFULL) Come along.

(They sit on the sofa together. ETHEL and IMOGEN, assisted by the men, find seats. JENNIFER [Pg 27]stands by the open door, where she is joined by BATTERSBY.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. He’s driving over, I suppose.

ANGELA. I suppose so.

(There is an awkward silence.)

ETHEL (breaking it). One, two, three.... I was just counting, making sure we weren’t going to be thirteen.

AINSLIE. Why? (To ANGELA) Have you got only twelve plates?

ETHEL. I don’t care what you say, Dr. Ainslie, there is something in it.

AINSLIE. Folly.

ROBERT (seriously). I’ve known some funny things happen, Ainslie. In the war.

AINSLIE. Even in a war nothing would happen which could be so funny as the superstitious man’s Theory of the Universe. Particularly if he also professed to be a religious man.

ANGELA. Well, nothing funny is going to happen to-night, because we’re only ten.

MRS. FAITHFULL (looking round the room). Ten?

ANGELA. There’s a sort of secretary person coming with him. Name of Oliver.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh! Hasn’t he any other name?

ANGELA. James.

MRS. FAITHFULL (at a loss). Oh!

AINSLIE. J. Oliver or O. James? Or doesn’t he mind?

ANGELA. J. Oliver. He’s driving him over, much to the disappointment of the cook, who hoped for a real chauffeur.

AINSLIE. With the latest royal scandal to communicate.

(There is another awkward silence.)

ETHEL (breaking it). Mr. Oliver’s a soldier, I suppose. (To ROBERT) I wonder if you’ll know him.

[Pg 28]

ROBERT. There was an Oliver in the Middlesex Regiment—Second Battalion.

(Another silence. But ETHEL is determined to make the party go.)

ETHEL. Was he nice?

ROBERT. Oh, all right. I hardly knew him.

(Silence.)

ETHEL (trying again). I wonder if that’s the one.

ROBERT. Hardly likely, I should think.

(Silence.)

ETHEL (a last effort). Oh, I don’t know, he might be.

(The conversation, which never promised much, has now abandoned hope. There is another long silence.)

(Each waits for the other.)

ROBERT. Please!

MRS. FAITHFULL. I was only wondering how long he was to be in the neighbourhood. Did he say anything about that?

ANGELA. No.

AINSLIE. It depends how charming we are to-night.

(Everybody waits for ROBERT.)

ETHEL (after a pause). What were you going to say, dear?

ROBERT. Nothing. I wondered if we might rope him in for the match on Saturday.

ETHEL. He wouldn’t play cricket, would he? It’s such an English game, isn’t it?

ROBERT. I just wondered. He was at an English school, wasn’t he?

[Pg 29]

ANGELA. I think so.

ETHEL. Oh! I didn’t know. That makes a difference, doesn’t it?

(Another silence.)

BATTERSBY (from the window, where he has been talking to JENNIFER). I don’t believe he’s coming, dear.

ANGELA (calmly). Then he’ll miss a very good dinner.

AINSLIE. Good!

MRS. FAITHFULL (the authority). Naturally Royalty must arrive last.

ETHEL. I suppose so. (To ROBERT) Oh, I meant to ask you, Robert, what happened when that German Prince dined in your Mess? (Hurriedly to the others) Before the war, of course.

JENNIFER (at the door). S’sh.

(She takes a step into the garden. They all listen.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. I think I hear his car.

JENNIFER (looking in). He comes!

(She disappears, but they are not noticing her. All, save ANGELA, have become self-conscious. There is a strained silence. They feel at their clothes to make sure they are all right. MRS. FAITHFULL touches up IMOGEN. ANGELA, at ease, is still smoking.)

EMILY (announcing). Prince Michael Robolski, Mr. Oliver.

(They come in. The PRINCE is a man of 40, with an upturned moustache, pleasant-looking, active in body and mind. He speaks with a very slight foreign accent, and wears a coloured ribbon in the lapel of his coat. OLIVER is a very young Englishman, smooth, round-faced, and rather obviously new to his job.)

ANGELA (getting up gracefully). Hallo! Nice to see you again.

[Pg 30]

PRINCE (bending over her hand). Mademoiselle! But this is delightful! May I present my good friend who takes care of me, Mr. Oliver?

ANGELA (to OLIVER). How do you do? (They shake hands.)

BATTERSBY (coming forward). Very glad to see you again, Prince Michael.

PRINCE (shaking hands with him). But how kind of you to have me in your house.

BATTERSBY (hand out to OLIVER). How do you do? Find the way all right?

OLIVER. Oh yes, rather, thank you, sir.

ANGELA (to the PRINCE). Now then, come along.... This is Mrs. Faithfull.

PRINCE (holding out his hand). Madame!

MRS. FAITHFULL (curtseying). How do you do?

ANGELA. And Miss Faithfull.

MRS. FAITHFULL. May I present my little girl, Imogen, to Your Highness?

PRINCE (holding out his hand, and smiling). How do you do, Miss Imogen?

(IMOGEN nearly swoons.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. Imogen, dear! I am afraid, Prince Michael, that my little girl is rather shy.

PRINCE (charmingly). But we are all friends here, are we not?

(He takes her hand.)

IMOGEN (in a faint whisper). How do you do?

(MRS. FAITHFULL administers first aid.)

ANGELA. Dr. Ainslie.

PRINCE (smiling). The Champion of the Established Church?

ANGELA. He’s a Republican, really.

AINSLIE. Angela has been telling tales out of school.

[Pg 31]

PRINCE (holding out his hand). Still we shake hands, do we not?

AINSLIE (shaking it, and smiling). Without prejudice.

PRINCE. Oh, but perfectly. (To ANGELA) You see, I remember what you tell me. (He comes to the HOLTS.) And this would be—you tell me of them⁠——The soldier with the pretty wife⁠——(To ETHEL) Pardon, madame, but she did say so. And now I see for myself.

ANGELA. Captain and Mrs. Holt.

PRINCE. Holt! But of course.

(They shake hands.)

ETHEL (blushing). How do you do?

ROBERT (bravely, like a soldier). How do you do, sir?

(OLIVER has been following with BATTERSBY.)

ANGELA. But where’s Jennifer?

(They all look round in bewilderment.)

PRINCE. That would be Madame Boulager, the General’s widow.... And that’s all Princes are good for in these times, is it not so, Doctor? Remembering.

ANGELA. Well, come and have a drink.

PRINCE. Mademoiselle thinks of everything. (He takes a cocktail, and looks round the room.) So this is where my friends the Battersbys live?

ANGELA. You like it?

PRINCE. How can I not like it? It is yourselves. I bow to the flowers as I come through the garden: “Miss Angela, we meet again.” I shake hands with the front door, and say, “Battersby, how well you are looking.” (Indicating the gallery) Mademoiselle stands up there sometimes. (ANGELA nods.) And looks down on the little children playing below. I can see her. (Raising his glass to the room) I drink to you. (He drinks.) And Mademoiselle is here also. (To his cocktail) “How do you do, Miss Angela?” (He picks up a second glass.) But you must drink too.

[Pg 32]

EMILY (announcing). Mrs. Bulger!

(JENNIFER sweeps superbly in.)

JENNIFER (to ANGELA, who comes to meet her). Darling, I’m so sorry I’m late. Do forgive me! (She kisses her.)

ANGELA (smiling and releasing herself). Come along. Prince Michael, this is my friend, Jennifer.

(JENNIFER’S smile changes suddenly into an expression of amazement. She stares at the PRINCE, who smiles pleasantly back at her. Then with an effort she gains control of herself.)

JENNIFER (slowly). How do you do, Prince Michael?

PRINCE (with a friendly smile). How do you do? (He has a glass in each hand, and he looks whimsically from one to the other of them.) You will forgive me?

JENNIFER (with a sudden laugh). I think I’ll have one too.

(He gives her one. They drink, their eyes on each other.)

EMILY. Dinner is served.

The women have had their coffee in the dining-room, and now—10:30 nearly—they are all coming back together, talking as they come.

PRINCE. I assure you, Miss Battersby, that absence of ceremony is what most I like. I should have been desolated if you had deserted us.

AINSLIE. You get enough ceremonial, I expect.

PRINCE. Those wearisome Court dinners! (He shudders.) So long as the women are there—charming!

JENNIFER. Whoever the women are?

(They gradually find themselves seats, instinctively grouping themselves round the PRINCE.)

PRINCE. Whoever the women are. But when they leave us⁠——!

BATTERSBY. Stuffy political talk, eh?

PRINCE (nodding). So wearisome.

ANGELA. I can’t stand politics at any price.

PRINCE. Nor I. When the women are there, we talk of many things. But when the men are left alone with their wine and their cigars, and one of our great statesmen move his chair next to mine, and in a low voice begin to tell me of the little dancer he has discovered—(he makes a gesture of boredom)—no; I, too, cannot stand politics.

MRS. FAITHFULL (hastily). Yes, I suppose dancing is as much a national pastime with you as with the Russians.

[Pg 34]

PRINCE. As with all nations.

JENNIFER. I feel that I want to ask Prince Michael a great deal about his country. (She looks meaningly at him.) And about himself.

PRINCE (returning her look). I am at your service, madame.

JENNIFER. Suppose we begin like the geography books. Chief industries. Exports and imports.

ETHEL (brightly). They always asked that, didn’t they?

PRINCE. Since the Peace Conference our chief industry has been fighting.

ROBERT (nodding professionally). Ah! Quite so, sir.

PRINCE. A European War is an impossibility just now. The big countries dislike each other so much that there are no Allies, and without Allies, how can you have a really good war? So we little countries—how do you say?—keep the pot boiling. Our season opens in March. If we declare war first, we export soldiers. If the enemy declares war first, we import them. At the close of the season, in October, we export journalists, and import Boundary Commissioners.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Most interesting. Your literature, of course, we are all getting to know.

PRINCE (pleased). Indeed? Our famous poet-dramatist, Tushkin—you read him?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Naturally.

(There is a general murmur of assent.)

PRINCE (looking at them admiringly). So you all know him? Excellent.

BATTERSBY. Is he popular in your country?

PRINCE. He is considered highly immoral.

MRS. FAITHFULL (unhappily). Oh! I should hardly⁠——

AINSLIE. In this country immoral plays are only allowed on Sundays.

[Pg 35]

PRINCE. Oh? In that case Tushkin would certainly be limited to Easter Sunday.

MRS. FAITHFULL (hastily). Really, really, really! (To IMOGEN) What is it, dear? Yes.... Yes, I’m sure you could. My little girl wants to ask you, Prince Michael—is that a Neo-Slavonian order which you are wearing?

PRINCE. But certainly. Our Order of the Leopard. First Class.

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh yes, of course.

ROBERT. A military order, sir?

PRINCE. A general order—according to the class, you understand. There are seven classes altogether.

ETHEL. Oh yes!

PRINCE. The First Class for members of the blood royal; however distinguished, or, as in my case, undistinguished. (Murmurs of dissent.) I thank you! The Second Class for distinguished statesmen, diplomats and so forth. The Third Class for those eminent in war. Our famous Generals.

ROBERT. And Admirals. Quite so, sir.

PRINCE. It is, I assure you, not so much lack of gallantry as lack of a coast-line which prevents us from having equally famous Admirals.

ROBERT (red). Of course. I was forgetting.

PRINCE. The Fourth Class is for our Bankers, our Financial Geniuses, our great employers of Labour. Your Mr. Harrod would be a Leopard of the Fourth Class. Our Fifth Class for the professional men who have achieved eminence—lawyers, doctors and the like. And the Sixth Class for the men of science. Voilà!

MRS. FAITHFULL. But you said seven classes, Prince Michael.

PRINCE (carelessly). Oh, the Seventh Class is just for writers, painters and composers. I had forgotten them.

[Pg 36]

MRS. FAITHFULL. Oh, yes!

IMOGEN (nervously). Ma—may⁠——

MRS. FAITHFULL. S’sh, dear!

PRINCE. You were saying, Miss Imogen?

MRS. FAITHFULL. How kind of you, Prince Michael! You wanted to ask the Prince, dear?

IMOGEN (with a rush). Wh—which is the top class?

MRS. FAITHFULL (pained). Really!

PRINCE. The artists last, as in England. We are great admirers of the English.

AINSLIE. You don’t follow us in having an Established Church, I hope?

PRINCE (laughing). Ah, that Established Church!

(They all laugh.)

JENNIFER (suddenly). He shan’t be laughed at!... Well, Prince Michael?

PRINCE. In Neo-Slavonia we have what you would call a “good form” church, just as you have here, but it has no authority—except, no doubt, with Heaven.

AINSLIE. Good!

JENNIFER. So you are great admirers of the English, Prince Michael?

PRINCE. Who is not?

BATTERSBY. A good many, I’m afraid.

PRINCE. That air of—how shall I describe it?

ROBERT (coughing). I am an Englishman—take it or leave it.

PRINCE. Excellent, excellent!

ETHEL (reproachfully). Robert!

PRINCE. That is how England goes about the world. No wonder she is loved. And America, she says, “I am an American—gee! isn’t that great?” And France, the most insular country in the world, France says, “Moi, je suis français—pardon!”

JENNIFER. And the Neo-Slavonian?

[Pg 37]

PRINCE. He says, “I talk about myself too much.” (He makes a movement as if to get up.)

ANGELA (getting up). Let’s go into the garden, shall we? (To PRINCE) Or would you rather play Bridge?

PRINCE. I can play Bridge anywhere. (Looking at JENNIFER) Only here can I talk to your friends. (He looks at ANGELA, who smiles and understands.)

ANGELA (to MRS. FAITHFULL). Come along, then.

(They lead the way.)

ETHEL (to IMOGEN). Are you coming, dear?

(They go out together. The men wait for JENNIFER.)

JENNIFER. Don’t wait for me. I have a shawl upstairs. (She moves slowly as if to get it.)

BATTERSBY. Right.

PRINCE. May I not wait, madame?

JENNIFER. But how kind of you, Prince Michael!

BATTERSBY. That’s right, Prince Michael. Bring her along. (He shepherds the others out.)

(JENNIFER, three stairs up, and the PRINCE, in the middle of the room, stand waiting until the others can no longer be heard.)

PRINCE (moving towards it). Shall I close the door?

JENNIFER (mockingly). As Your Highness pleases.

(He smiles, and comes back.)

(JENNIFER comes down the stairs, and stands two or three yards away, looking at him.)

JENNIFER. Well, Michael?

PRINCE (smiling). Well, Jennifer? (He has no foreign accent now.)

JENNIFER. So you’ve come back to me at last.

PRINCE. Yes.

JENNIFER. Four years, isn’t it?

PRINCE. About that.

JENNIFER. You’re getting on in the world.

PRINCE. Aren’t I?

[Pg 38]

JENNIFER. Fancy! A real Prince!

PRINCE. But of a very small country.

JENNIFER. When I last saw you, you were plain Michael Brown of Hammersmith.

PRINCE (nodding). Yes. And you were beautiful Mrs. Michael Brown of West Kensington.

JENNIFER (laughing). Oh, Michael, what am I going to do about you?... May I sit down, Your Highness?

PRINCE (arranging a chair for her). The wife always takes the husband’s rank and precedence. Your chair, Princess.

JENNIFER (sitting down). I thought perhaps ours was a morganatic marriage.

PRINCE. There are no morganatic marriages in Neo-Slavonia.

JENNIFER. Ah, now tell me. I’ve been longing to ask you all the evening—only it sounded so absurd. Is there such a country as Neo-Slavonia?

PRINCE (shocked). Good heavens, no! You don’t suggest that I’m a common impostor, do you?

JENNIFER. I wondered. Aren’t you?

PRINCE (with dignity). Certainly not.

JENNIFER. I’m glad.

PRINCE. Besides, where would be the fun? I’m an inventor.

JENNIFER. I see.

PRINCE. I invented the small buffer-state of Neo-Slavonia. I invented all of it. Its name, its people, its customs, its orders and its literature. I then gave myself the title of Prince in that country. Who but I had the right to bestow that title? Whom more worthy of it than myself could I find?

JENNIFER (nodding). Prince Michael Robulski.

MICHAEL. Robolski. In Neo-Slavonia the termination “-ulski” is now obsolete.

[Pg 39]

JENNIFER. I must try to remember.

PRINCE. It’s a jolly little country. You must let me show it to you one day.

JENNIFER. Thank you. But would it be quite proper for us to go about together?

PRINCE. Proper?

JENNIFER. The late General James Bulger—C.B.—was very old-fashioned. I don’t think he would like his widow⁠——How do they regard these things in your country?

PRINCE. Ah, now tell me. I have been longing to ask you all the evening—only it sounded so absurd. Was there ever a General James Bulger—C.B.?

JENNIFER (shocked). Good heavens, no! You don’t suggest that I’m a common bigamist, do you?

PRINCE. I wondered. Aren’t you?

JENNIFER (with dignity). Certainly not.

PRINCE. I’m glad.

JENNIFER. Besides, where would be the fun? I’m an inventor.

PRINCE. I see.

JENNIFER. I invented a big, red-faced soldier called Bulger. I invented all of him. I invented his rank and his orders, and his medals. I then married him. Who but I had any right to consider myself his wife?

PRINCE. True. You know, I had an uneasy feeling⁠——

JENNIFER. That I had married again?

PRINCE. Well, you might have thought I was dead.

JENNIFER (sweetly). Even that mightn’t make me want a second husband.

PRINCE (acknowledging the hit). I suppose not. Then why drag in Bulger?

JENNIFER (after a little silence). Michael!

PRINCE. Yes?

[Pg 40]

JENNIFER. Did you ever wonder what had happened to me after you left me so suddenly?

PRINCE. Often.

JENNIFER. You remembered that you had got a wife somewhere?

PRINCE. Of course.... Did you ever wonder what had happened to me?

JENNIFER (carelessly). Sometimes.

PRINCE. You had your own money, so I knew you wouldn’t starve.

JENNIFER (nodding). And eating is the great thing in life, isn’t it?

PRINCE (lightly). I’ve thought so once or twice in the last four years.

JENNIFER (thoughtfully). I don’t know how it is, but if people ask after your husband, and you say, “Oh, he left me a year or two ago; I don’t know why; we were rather on edge after the war, and he couldn’t find a job, and I suppose he suddenly got sick of me,” it never sounds⁠——I don’t know how it is, but it never⁠——Well, you know, Michael, I thought I could think of something more respectable than that. So when I came down here, where nobody knew me, I announced that my husband had left me for the only reason which a loving, dutiful, high-minded husband, such as yourself, could have for leaving a loving, dutiful, delightful wife—such as me. He had died.

PRINCE (nodding). And by the terms of the will which he made on his death-bed, had changed his name to Bulger.

JENNIFER (smiling). Well—that⁠——! You see, I wanted him to be a soldier.

PRINCE. Good Heavens, hadn’t you had enough of soldiers? Wasn’t I one for four years, if it comes to that?

[Pg 41]

JENNIFER. Oh, my dear, not one of those rough, amateur, fighting soldiers! A real peace-time soldier! All clean, and in a nice red coat, and covered with medals! A professional soldier!

PRINCE. The sort to whom we give the Order of the Leopard, Third Class, in Neo-Slavonia?

JENNIFER. Exactly! A soldier. A General. A C.B. It’s very respectable to be a General’s widow.

PRINCE. But you can be a General without being called James Bulger. In Neo-Slavonia⁠——I beg your pardon, I keep forgetting. But I’m sure that you can be a General without being called James Bulger.

JENNIFER (eagerly). Not as I saw him. Not this one. General James Bulger, C.B. Can’t you see him?

PRINCE (nodding). I can hear him.

JENNIFER. You don’t know what a comfort the thought of him has been. In many a difficulty I have asked myself, “Now, what would the General have said?”—and then I’ve remembered, “Not in front of the Vicar.”

PRINCE. A fine soldier. One of the old breed. My only objection to him is that he had no business to go handing his name about like that.

JENNIFER. But the name has been a great comfort too. (Shyly) You may have noticed that I have become a little—a little⁠——Or have I not?

PRINCE (emphatically). Not a day!

JENNIFER. I wasn’t referring to days so much.

PRINCE (emphatically). Not an inch!

JENNIFER (excitedly). Really? Michael! How Neo-Slavonia has improved you! But to English eyes there does seem to be a⁠——a tendency⁠——Well, the name has been a great help. Because when people are told, “I want you to come and meet my dear friend Mrs. Bulger,” they come expecting the worst, and when they [Pg 42]see me, they say—(imitating them)—“Oh, but how—I didn’t—I had no idea!”—and any little—tendency—becomes an added charm, as though, in my kindly way, I were humouring the name.... Do you understand?

PRINCE. Perfectly.

JENNIFER. And another advantage of it is that it makes them all call me Jennifer so quickly. I like that. I’m a friendly soul.

PRINCE. The men too?

JENNIFER (sweetly). Why not?

PRINCE. I am thinking of the General. You remember how old-fashioned he was. I don’t think he would have liked it.

JENNIFER. Why, his last words were, “Jennifer, Jennifer!”

PRINCE. One doesn’t want one’s last words broadcast. What did he die of, by the way?

JENNIFER. One of those Indian frontier skirmishes.

PRINCE. What was a real General doing, getting mixed up dangerously in one of those?

JENNIFER. It wasn’t in the danger-zone. At least, not officially. (In a whisper, after a glance to see that they are alone) A soda-water bottle burst just as he was opening it. (In her natural voice) I always call it “a stray bullet.”

PRINCE (smiling). You’ve been taking a risk, haven’t you? Who’s that heavy fellow who’s here to-night⁠——

JENNIFER. Captain Holt?

PRINCE. He must have been in India. He might make inquiries—I daresay he reads back numbers of the Army List on Sunday afternoons.

JENNIFER. Well, but it was all settled before he came. Anyway, I don’t see why he should doubt me. He hasn’t got a suspicious nature like yours.

[Pg 43]

PRINCE. If you had consulted me, I should have recommended a nice quiet death near Woking.

JENNIFER (shaking her head). No. That wouldn’t have done. You see, at first—just at first—I didn’t want⁠——You see, I thought my husband might come back to me. So I didn’t want to be too definite about his death. I wanted to leave a loophole of explanation. He had been left for dead, captured by the advancing enemy, escaped, lost his memory, perhaps.... So that if he had turned up one day⁠——(She pauses.)

PRINCE. Yes?

JENNIFER (gaily). Then I shouldn’t have seemed quite such an impostor.

PRINCE. Inventor.

JENNIFER (agreeing). Inventor.

PRINCE (after a pause). And now, after four years, he has come back?

JENNIFER (surprised). Who?

PRINCE. Your husband.

JENNIFER. Good gracious, no! Prince Michael Rob⁠——No, don’t tell me. That’s the obsolete one—Prince Michael Robolski of Neo-Slavonia, wishing to renew his acquaintance and—(smiling sweetly)—shall I say “further his suit”?—with the charming Miss Angela Battersby, is paying a short, a very short visit, to Wych Trentham.

PRINCE. I don’t see why very short.

JENNIFER. Well, you see, my dear Prince, at any moment I may discover the exact position on the map of Neo-Slavonia.

PRINCE. Yes, but why this passion for accurate geography suddenly?

JENNIFER. Because I am fond of Angela Battersby. And I won’t let you make a fool of her.

PRINCE. Ah, now I do see your point. But I think [Pg 44]that, however short my visit, I should feel it my duty—the Neo-Slavonians are notoriously a polite race—to say good-bye to—Captain Holt.

JENNIFER. (thoughtfully). Oh!

PRINCE. I have taken a sudden liking to the studious Captain. I can’t let you make a fool of him.

JENNIFER (smiling). Yes, I see your point too.... I’m afraid, Michael, we’re both impostors.

PRINCE. Not impostors: inventors, creators. I wish you would see the difference. We have given an idea to the world. At least I have. To the people I meet, Neo-Slavonia is now as much a real country as Jugo-Slavia or Lithuania. Well, that’s my doing.

JENNIFER. I see. And when did the great idea come to you?

PRINCE (smiling reflectively). It was forced on me. Really it wasn’t my fault.... It was at Monte Carlo.

JENNIFER (interested). Where you were looking for work?

PRINCE. I’d given up looking for work. I’d had enough of that in England after the war. I was looking for money. Much more fun.

JENNIFER. I’ve been told that there’s quite a lot in Monte Carlo. Any luck?

PRINCE. Fairish.... Well, you know what the South of France is like. Stiff with potty Royalties from God knows where. (With a sudden laugh) I say, it is funny to be talking English again; I mean the real English that the English talk.... Well, I was lunching with some people I’d never met before, as you do out there, and rather a stupid girl, trying to make conversation, and feeling around for my name, asked me what I did. I said I didn’t do anything; and she said, “I suppose you’re a Prince.” And I said, “Yes, yes”—just as you’d say, “Yes, yes,” if anybody asked you in [Pg 45]the Temple if you were a barrister, and you weren’t really listening.

JENNIFER. That wasn’t Angela?

PRINCE. Oh no, Miss Battersby was much later, when I was generally accepted as a Prince. It was surprising how quickly I was committed to it. (Proudly) Of course, as soon as I saw how things were going, I insisted on the Neo-Slavonia. I wasn’t going to be an ordinary impostor.

JENNIFER. And did nobody know that there wasn’t such a place?

PRINCE. Nobody. You see, I looked at it this way. At the Peace Conference there was nothing to prevent the Big Four creating a new buffer-state called Neo-Slavonia. Was there?

JENNIFER. No.

PRINCE. Well, now, if they had created it, it was certain that one or two of them wouldn’t have known where it was.

JENNIFER. Absolutely.

PRINCE. So I thought, “If they wouldn’t know, I don’t see why anybody else should want to.” You see what I mean?

JENNIFER. Perfectly.

PRINCE. Of course, I worked up the local colour gradually. At one time it was a very near thing whether it had a sea-coast or not; but I felt it was rather dangerous. What do you think?

JENNIFER (gravely). Oh yes, I think a sea-coast would have been rather dangerous.

PRINCE. Of course, we have a certain amount of local water-borne traffic on the—the Danube. I fancy it’s the Danube.

JENNIFER. Oh, Michael, you ought to know that!

PRINCE. I find it easier to remember when I am using [Pg 46]a slight Neo-Slavonian accent. Plain Michael Brown was never much good at geography.

JENNIFER. Nor so popular, I suppose.

PRINCE. Oh, no. You get a very good time as a Prince. There’s a lot of hospitality going about.

JENNIFER. And a lot of credulity, too.

PRINCE (smiling). Yes, fellow-inventor, there is.... If you say anything dogmatically enough, the other man is always a little doubtful of himself.... You’d be surprised how many literary authorities—critics and such like—have agreed with me in thinking that Tushkin should have been given the Nobel prize instead of his more popular fellow-countryman, Gregorovitch. I’ll lay a thousand to eight that there’s not one person in the world who could give you a complete list of the Nobel prize-winners. My own theory is that every other year they invent the name and stick to the money.

JENNIFER (shaking her head at him). Oh, Michael! And did none of that hospitality lodge in your throat?

PRINCE. My dear Jennifer, why should it? If I got fifteen shillings worth of food and drink, didn’t I give fifteen shillings worth of entertainment in return for it? Ask your friends which they prefer: a dinner where they’ll meet a fifteen-shilling Prince, or a dinner where they’ll have to listen to a hundred-guinea violinist. They’d vote for me every time. The professional Prince.

JENNIFER. And that’s how you’ve been living lately?

PRINCE. Well, I’ve had tips, you know.

JENNIFER (interested). Ten-franc notes under the napkin?

PRINCE. Not quite so crude as that. Tips about stocks and horses.

JENNIFER. Oh, I see.

PRINCE. If you are high enough up, and supposed not [Pg 47]to want it, you can always get plenty of help in making money. I’ve done pretty well this last year. In fact, almost well enough to be able to afford to look for work again.

JENNIFER. Then, on the whole, we needn’t have been too anxious about each other?

PRINCE. We needn’t. You’ve had your income to yourself, and lived beautifully in the country; and I’ve had my freedom, and lived⁠——

JENNIFER. Like a Prince⁠——

PRINCE. Like a man, anyway, in the open world. And the bickerings of Hammersmith are gone for ever.

JENNIFER (after a pause). And now what?

PRINCE. Well, what?

JENNIFER. Is it Your Highness’s pleasure to come back to me?

PRINCE. Good heavens, no!

(JENNIFER looks surprised.)

JENNIFER. Oh!... I just wanted to know.

PRINCE (smiling). I can only come back if General Bulger’s widow invites me.

JENNIFER (laughing). My dear Michael! if I invite you! Oh, my dear Michael! (She is laughing again.)

PRINCE (undisturbed). You laugh as adorably as ever.

JENNIFER. Bless the man, now he’s going to make love to me!

PRINCE. To a Neo-Slavonian what more delightful way of spending an evening?

JENNIFER. Well, I’d sooner you did it to me than to Angela. I won’t have any of that, I warn you, Michael.

PRINCE (shaking a finger at her). Oh, Mrs. Bulger, Mrs. Bulger, think of your flirtations at—Simla, was it?

JENNIFER. You come to England at the risk of being exposed as an impostor⁠——

PRINCE. An inventor.

[Pg 48]

JENNIFER. ——just so as to get another glimpse of her. Was that necessary? I say again, I am fond of Angela.

PRINCE. And she is fond of Jennifer.

JENNIFER. In her non-committal way, I think so.

PRINCE (becoming very foreign suddenly). Ah, this angel, this Angela! She is not so non-committal away from your English fogs. She expand! She talk!... She speak to me of her friends. She speak much of her great friend, Jennifer. Jennifer? I say. Jennifer? What a beautiful name! Tell me of this lady with the so beautiful name! She tell me. It is Madame Boulager. Boulager—one of your great English families. I am intrigued. I am—how do you say it?—agog. Tell me of this Madame Boulager, I say. Your Angela tell me. But it is not until she say one thing that I know for certain who Madame Boulager is.

JENNIFER (clapping her hands eagerly). Go on, what did she say about me?

PRINCE. She said, “Jennifer goes about as if she is singing to herself, ‘Isn’t it fun being Jennifer?’” Then I knew. And I said suddenly, but in our Neo-Slavonian tongue, so that I didn’t give myself away (he appears to be clearing his throat and sneezing simultaneously)—which means, “By Jove! It’s my Jenny!”

JENNIFER (carried away). Oh, Michael! And was it? I mean—go on.

PRINCE. That’s all. I came, I saw, I was re-conquered. (Holding out his hand) How do you do, Mrs. Brown?

(You could see that JENNIFER was a little touched by this recital, but the prodigal is not going to be welcomed home so quickly as he thinks. He may have been a Prince in Monte Carlo, but he is not going to have his own way so easily in England.)

JENNIFER (drawing her hand away). Michael, I don’t [Pg 49]know what to think about you—but I think you had better go back to Neo-Slavonia ... or where you will.

PRINCE. Must I?

JENNIFER. Well, obviously you can’t stay here.

PRINCE. Why not?

JENNIFER. What as? Prince Michael? My first husband? My future husband? Ridiculous. It’s much too difficult.

PRINCE (eagerly). Never mind the difficulties. I can manage that all right. That’s where the fun comes in. If you want me to stay, I stay.

JENNIFER (laughing at his assurance). If I want you to! Why should I want you to?

(No Prince could stand that laughter from a woman.)

PRINCE (quickly). If I decide to stay, I stay.

JENNIFER (sparkling). Is that a threat?

PRINCE. A statement.

JENNIFER (dangerously). Take care, Michael.

PRINCE (equally dangerously). Take care, Jennifer.

JENNIFER. If you challenge me, I take it up.

PRINCE. Shall I give you the same warning? (With a sudden smile) Or shall I just say, “What do you want me to do?”

JENNIFER. Whatever you please, except stay here, where you will do nobody any good.

PRINCE. And if I disobey?

JENNIFER. Then, very reluctantly, I shall explain to my friends the exact position on the map of Europe of Neo-Slavonia.

PRINCE. And the exact position on the map of Asia of General Bulger’s body?

JENNIFER. If necessary. (She smiles sweetly at him.) My friends will not be hard on me when they hear that my husband was a scamp of whose name and identity I did not wish to be reminded.

[Pg 50]

PRINCE (approvingly). Yes, that’s a good card to play. Well done, Jennifer. (Smiling) But I also—I play cards.

JENNIFER. Play them in Monte Carlo. It’s safer.

PRINCE. You are afraid that I have too many hearts in my hand?

JENNIFER (laughing, but a little nervously). Not mine, my dear Michael.

PRINCE (nodding). Not the Queen. Well, we shall see. Your orders are that I go back to London to-morrow—and then, if I please, to the devil.

JENNIFER (quickly). No, no, Michael, I didn’t say that.

PRINCE. On my way to London to-morrow, is it permitted that I look in here just to say good-bye to my hostess?

JENNIFER. You can say good-bye to-night.

PRINCE. In Neo-Slavonia⁠——(JENNIFER laughs, and he waits for her to finish.)

JENNIFER. I beg your pardon.

PRINCE (unperturbed). In Neo-Slavonia we have a custom that, on the morning after hospitality, one pays a formal visit to one’s hostess in order to render thanks. Is it permitted?

JENNIFER (reluctantly). Well, if you must. You can have till twelve to-morrow. After that, if you are still here⁠——

PRINCE (boyishly). Say “Noon to-morrow.” It sounds more thrilling, and it avoids misapprehension.

JENNIFER (laughing). Noon, then.... But I mean it.

PRINCE (nodding). I shall be ready for you. (Carelessly) I have till noon, then.... If I don’t see you again alone—good-bye, Jennifer.

JENNIFER (half tender, half amused, wondering what he is up to). Good-bye, Michael. (She holds out her hand, but he is not looking.)

[Pg 51]

PRINCE. Just do something for me, will you?

JENNIFER (eagerly). Yes?

PRINCE (casually). Tell young Oliver—he’s outside somewhere—that I want him. He will have to see about the car—and I shall have other arrangements to make. Good-bye.

JENNIFER (after waiting a moment for some sign from him). Good-bye.

[She goes out.

(Left alone, the PRINCE looks at his watch. Then he lights a cigarette and walks up and down thinking. OLIVER comes in.)

OLIVER. You wanted me, sir?

(The PRINCE nods, and looks at him for a little without speaking.)

PRINCE. The time has come for us to part, Oliver.

OLIVER (anxiously). Aren’t you satisfied with me, sir?

PRINCE. Entirely satisfied. You write my letters, you drive my car, you order my breakfast, and all the time you look—how do you say it?—as innocent as a baby. But it was a temporary engagement, was it not?

OLIVER. Yes, sir. I quite understood that. But there is another three weeks to go.

PRINCE. I engage you for the month, I give you the month’s salary. It is enough. Now I ask you to do one little thing more for me—and then my orders are that you go back to your Cornwall, is it, and have three weeks holiday. Is that understood?

OLIVER. Yes, sir. It’s very kind of you.

PRINCE. This is the last thing. I want you to go now, quietly—can you get your hat and coat without seeing anybody?—

OLIVER. I expect so, sir.

PRINCE. I will say your adieux for you. Go very quietly, take the car, drive back to—what is it?

OLIVER. Medenham.

[Pg 52]

PRINCE. To the hotel, yes. Stay the night there yourself—pay my bill in the morning—how much?—and then go off to Cornwall.

OLIVER (reckoning it on his fingers). Four pound ten, sir, would see it easily.

PRINCE (giving him a note). Give the change to anybody you like. That is all.... You understand?

OLIVER. Yes, sir. Are you staying here, sir?

PRINCE (smiling). That we shall see. (Holding out his hand) Good-bye.

OLIVER (shaking it). Good-bye, sir. (Awkwardly) I’m sorry that you⁠——If ever another time you should want⁠——I mean, I owe you three weeks⁠——

PRINCE (hurrying him out). I will remember.

OLIVER. I’m afraid I feel rather a fraud, sir.

PRINCE (with a last push). I, too, Oliver.... Good luck to you.

(OLIVER goes. And only just in time, for ANGELA comes in from the garden.)

ANGELA. Well?

PRINCE. Miss Battersby, I could kiss your hand for the delightful evening I have had, were it not that⁠——

ANGELA (amused). What?

PRINCE. That I would rather shake it in your English way.

ANGELA (holding out her hand). Just as you like.

PRINCE (pressing it). I thank you. She is adorable.

ANGELA. Jennifer? I knew you’d like her.

PRINCE (romantically). I love her.

ANGELA (carelessly). I did tell you she was a widow?

PRINCE. The widow of a gallant General in your army. She tell me herself.

ANGELA. She has a little money of her own.

PRINCE (promptly). Five hundred a year. She tell me her⁠——(Hastily) I mean, I guess it.

[Pg 53]

ANGELA. About that, I suppose. I can’t do it into—marks, is it, in your country?

PRINCE (smiling). Mademoiselle, I perceive that you are a match-maker. But it would not be necessary to do it into marks. Did I marry, I should not go back to Neo-Slavonia.

ANGELA. If Jennifer married, she wouldn’t leave Wych Trentham. She’s much too fond of it.

PRINCE (a little taken aback). Oh!... And all your other friends, they are not likely to be leaving it?

ANGELA. Why should they?

PRINCE. There will be a match-maker one day for Mademoiselle, perhaps?

ANGELA (shaking her head). I’ve got somebody to look after. Anyway, I’m not the marrying sort.

PRINCE (smiling). Mademoiselle, that is a challenge to Cupid which in the whole history of the world has never yet been refused. I shall dance at your wedding within a year.... Do you dance at weddings in this country?

ANGELA. Oh, Lord, at everything.

PRINCE. Then I dance. And the next year at Miss Imogen’s.

ANGELA. Oh, Imogen, yes.

PRINCE (thinking). Miss Imogen. So dead when Madame her mother is there, so alive when she is alone.

ANGELA (surprised). I didn’t know you’d seen her alone?

PRINCE. I know the type. It would be amusing to see if I am right. Is it permitted?

ANGELA. Permitted? It has been waited for all evening. (Going to the door) I’ll send her.

[She goes out.

PRINCE. Mademoiselle is too kind.

(As soon as he is alone he feels in his pocket, and brings out a bunch of letters, and a note-case. [Pg 54]He selects a letter and some notes, and goes to the desk, where he puts them into an envelope which he addresses to himself. IMOGEN comes in, accompanied as far as the door by her mother.)

MRS. FAITHFULL (giving her the last touches). There!... Perhaps just a little⁠——Yes. (In a whisper) “Your Highness” at first, and then “Prince Michael.” (She vanishes.)

IMOGEN (coming in). Hallo!

PRINCE (getting up hastily). Miss Imogen! How kind of you!

IMOGEN. I say, do you know, I must tell you, before you came I said I didn’t believe you were a real Prince at all. Wasn’t it cheek?

PRINCE. It was very natural, Mademoiselle.

IMOGEN. I say, you’re not really going to-night, and never coming back again, are you?

PRINCE. It depends to some extent on yourself, Miss Imogen.

IMOGEN (giggling). I say! Oughtn’t you to kiss my hand when you say things like that?

PRINCE (taking her hand). Will you do something for me?

IMOGEN. Rather! Anything! (He kisses her hand.) Oo! Could it be something really wicked, so that I can tell Mother afterwards that it was the Prince who asked me to do it? (Giggling) Oh, think of Mother’s face!

PRINCE. Alas, it is not really wicked.

IMOGEN (dashed). Oh!

PRINCE (quickly). But it is a secret. Between you and me. For evermore!

IMOGEN. Oo, that’s all right! What is it?

PRINCE. This is a very great secret. I cannot even explain to you what it means. Not yet. You must take me on trust.

[Pg 55]

IMOGEN (remembering that last novel). To the death, Prince Michael.

PRINCE (touched). You dear! (He holds up the letter.) I want this letter delivered here to-morrow morning. At five minutes to twelve. It is addressed to myself. Can you give it to one of your village boys to-morrow to bring up to the house?

IMOGEN. Rather!

PRINCE. If he is asked where it comes from, he is to say that a gentleman gave it to him.

IMOGEN (eagerly). Righto. I understand.

PRINCE. At five minutes to twelve exactly.... You will give him something? (He takes out a handful of money and selects half-a-crown.)

IMOGEN (laughing). Oo, I say! Half-a-crown! He’d suspect something at once. Sixpence.

PRINCE. You are a better conspirator than I. Sixpence. (He gives it and the letter to her.)

IMOGEN. ’Kyou. (She puts the letter down her dress in the approved manner. See Chapter XIV.)

PRINCE. In return, I give you the highest reward your country has to offer. “Imogen, you’re a sportsman.” (He holds out his hand. IMOGEN takes it, and is completely carried away.)

IMOGEN. My Prince! (All funny suddenly) Oo, I say, I believe I’m going to cry. (Winking to keep the tears back) A hanky, quick! (He gives his to her. She blows her nose loudly, and dabs at her eyes.)

PRINCE. Better?

IMOGEN (nodding). ’M. I say, I’ve ruined your hanky. I’ll have to send it on to you. You’ll tell me where, won’t you?

PRINCE. That’s all right.

IMOGEN. Honestly I didn’t do it just to⁠——(Reluctantly) Well, I suppose I could have used my own. But [Pg 56]I really was crying. (Instinctively feeling the Presence in the neighbourhood) Look out, here’s Mother.

PRINCE (in a whisper). Five minutes to twelve!

IMOGEN (in a whisper). Right!

PRINCE (aloud). And you are fond of lawn tennis?

IMOGEN. Oh yes, Prince Michael!

MRS. FAITHFULL comes in.

PRINCE (bowing). Madame!

MRS. FAITHFULL. Ah, Prince Michael, how kind of you to be taking an interest in my little girl. I hope she has been behaving nicely.

PRINCE. I give her what you call the good-conduct prize. The testimonial and the lucky sixpence. (He laughs.)

MRS. FAITHFULL (extremely amused). How delightful! We shall always remember, shan’t we, Imogen? (IMOGEN nods shyly) I do hope, Prince Michael, that what Mrs. Bulger has been telling me is not true?

PRINCE (anxiously). What she has been telling you?

MRS. FAITHFULL. That you are going back to your own country, almost at once.

PRINCE (relieved). Ah!... So she tells you that. Well, it is “Perhaps” and “Perhaps not.”

MRS. FAITHFULL. Well, that gives us a little hope, doesn’t it, Imogen?

(IMOGEN smiles shyly.)

PRINCE. My head (touching it) say “You’d better go.” My heart (touching it) say “Don’t go!” My soul (feeling for it vaguely)—where is my soul?—My soul say “You ought to go.”... They are still arguing. I wait for the verdict.

MRS. FAITHFULL (laughing). How amusing! We must remember that, mustn’t we, Imogen?

PRINCE (looking at his watch). And my watch says, [Pg 57]“You must go.” But he means only “Back to your hotel.”

(ANGELA and BATTERSBY, JENNIFER and the HOLTS are coming in.)

ANGELA. Who must go?

JENNIFER. All of us, dear, I expect.

PRINCE. It is I, Miss Angela. I have a long way to go. You are all together here, at home.

BATTERSBY. Well, have a whisky first.

ROBERT (looking at his watch). By jove, yes.

PRINCE (to BATTERSBY). Thank you. Now where is my good Oliver?

ETHEL. Mr. Oliver was out with all of us.

BATTERSBY (looking round the room). That’s funny. Where is Oliver?

ROBERT. He and Ainslie have gone off somewhere, I expect. (He goes to the door.)

ANGELA. Dr. Ainslie has gone. (To the PRINCE) He asked me to make his apologies. A message came for him.

BATTERSBY (bringing whisky to the PRINCE). Thank God I’m not a doctor. Help yourself, Holt.

ROBERT. Thanks. (He goes to the table) Mrs. Faithfull?

MRS. FAITHFULL. A little lemonade, please.

PRINCE. Thank you. (He takes his whisky from BATTERSBY.)

JENNIFER (slowly and clearly). I sent Mr. Oliver in to you about ten minutes ago, Prince Michael.

PRINCE (amazed). To me here? (His glass stops in mid-air.)

JENNIFER. Yes. (She looks at him, wondering.)

PRINCE. But what an extraordinary thing!

ANGELA. He’s probably gone to see about the car.

[Pg 58]

PRINCE. Ah, yes! No doubt. (He drinks.)

BATTERSBY. I’ll tell him.

PRINCE. Pray don’t trouble. He will be here directly.

BATTERSBY. It’s all right.

[He is gone.

ROBERT (to the PRINCE). He can call to him from the end of the lawn, sir. You left the car in the road, sir, I suppose, sir?

PRINCE (anxiously). Yes. It would be safe there?

ANGELA. Oh, Lord, yes.

MRS. FAITHFULL. We are a very unsophisticated little colony here, Prince Michael.

JENNIFER. Well, we don’t steal, anyway.

PRINCE (raising his glass to her). Only hearts.

(She turns away.)

ANGELA. I say, do help yourselves, all of you. Isn’t there any lemonade?

PRINCE. What can I get you?

ANGELA. No, thanks. Jennifer?

JENNIFER (her eyes on the PRINCE). No, thank you, dear.

ROBERT (to IMOGEN). What about you, Miss Faithfull?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Just a little lemonade, please.

ROBERT. Right. (He goes for it.)

BATTERSBY (coming in at the door). I say, the car isn’t there!

ETHEL. Not there?

ANGELA. It must be.

BATTERSBY. Well, it isn’t.

(HOLT clicks his heels in front of the PRINCE, and goes out briskly, with the determination to see this thing through.)

JENNIFER (looking at the PRINCE). What an extraordinary thing!

(He catches her eye, there is a look of understanding between them, and he turns away.)

[Pg 59]

PRINCE. Your lanes are narrow. He is turning round, perhaps.

ETHEL. Yes, that’s it, I expect.

BATTERSBY. He wouldn’t have to go as far as that. I should have heard the engine.

PRINCE. My good Oliver, I hope nothing has happened to him.

MRS. FAITHFULL. He has been very quiet all evening. I suppose—have you had him long?

PRINCE. You think he is—how do you call it?—a fraud?

JENNIFER. Fraud, humbug, impostor—we have various words for it. (Again they exchange glances.)

PRINCE. But my Oliver! So innocent-looking!

IMOGEN (suddenly). Bolshevists!

(They all turn quickly to her, and she subsides into her lemonade.)

BATTERSBY. Well, it’s very odd.

HOLT comes in.

ROBERT. The car isn’t there, sir.

BATTERSBY (a little ironically). Thank you, Holt.

ANGELA. Well, that’s that. He has run away, your Oliver.

PRINCE (smiling). Then I walk away. Is it not so?

ANGELA. Nonsense, you can’t walk. We can put you up.

JENNIFER (sweetly). The Doctor could drive you to your hotel in his car.

PRINCE (with pretended eagerness). Ah!

ANGELA. He’s out in it.

PRINCE (with pretended disappointment). Oh! (He winks at JENNIFER.)

ANGELA. Father can sleep in the studio. He often does, don’t you, Father? (She rings.)

[Pg 60]

BATTERSBY. Yes, dear, yes. (To the PRINCE) I should say, “Yes, dear, yes,” in any case, of course, but it does happen to be true in this case. I have a camp bed there.

PRINCE. You are too kind. But I have never slept in a studio. I should like the experience.

ANGELA. Father is much more⁠——

EMILY comes in.

PRINCE (holding up his hand). Please! It will give less trouble.

ANGELA. Just as you like. (To EMILY) Make up the bed in the studio for Prince Michael.

EMILY. Yes, miss.

[She goes out.

MRS. FAITHFULL. We have a spare room, dear. I’m sure if Prince Michael⁠——

ETHEL. So have we. We should be only⁠——

JENNIFER (sweetly). Captain Holt also has a motor-bicycle.

PRINCE (to HOLT). Ah!

ROBERT. Not running just now, unfortunately.

PRINCE. Oh! (Again he catches JENNIFER’S eye.) Then I am afraid, dear Miss Battersby, that I must trespass⁠——

ANGELA. Of course. That’s settled.

PRINCE (to MRS. FAITHFULL and ETHEL). And thank you, ladies, for your great kindness. I shall always remember it.

JENNIFER (suddenly). I must be going.

ANGELA. Oh, must you?

JENNIFER (to the PRINCE). I shall not see you again, Prince Michael⁠——

ANGELA. Oh, look in in the morning and say good-bye.

JENNIFER. I’m afraid the Prince will have gone before [Pg 61]I can manage it. I shall be rather busy up till—noon. Good-bye, Prince Michael.

PRINCE (taking her hand and bowing over it). It is always allowed one to hope. I shall give myself what comfort I can by saying, “Au revoir, Mrs. Bulger.” (He kisses her hand.)

JENNIFER (kissing her hand to them). Good-night, everybody. (They all say “Good-night.”) (To ANGELA) Good-bye, darling. It’s been so delightful.

ANGELA. Good-bye.

(She and her father withdraw a little from the others, and discuss the question of pyjamas for the PRINCE.)

JENNIFER (with a meaning eye on the PRINCE). I shall be round about—noon.

(The PRINCE bows in understanding. With a wave she is gone.)

(The FAITHFULLS and the HOLTS immediately surround the PRINCE.)

MRS. FAITHFULL. We shall never let you go now, Prince.

ROBERT. No, look here, you must stop and play on Saturday. Do you bowl?

MRS. FAITHFULL. Our little party on Thursday—a few friends⁠——

ETHEL (to PRINCE). I don’t know if you’re fond of fishing⁠——

(They have their backs to JENNIFER, who is looking through the open window. The PRINCE raises his glass to her mockingly, triumphantly. She shakes her fist at him, as the curtain comes down.)

It is 11.30 next morning. ANGELA is at the writing-desk, busy with a few letters. IMOGEN appears noiselessly at the window. She looks round the room, and then disappears again. BATTERSBY comes in from the dining-room.

BATTERSBY. We all seem very late this morning. Has the Prince had breakfast?

ANGELA. I sent it round to the studio. I thought he’d prefer a Continental one.

BATTERSBY. Probably the one thing he looked forward to was a welter of eggs and bacon. You’ve given him quite a wrong idea of our old English customs.

ANGELA. He can have eggs and bacon for lunch, if he’s very keen. Have you seen him?

BATTERSBY. I borrowed him a razor from Ainslie, and I also took him some clothes.

ANGELA. Clothes⁠——I forgot about that.

BATTERSBY. I don’t say he’ll be beautiful, but he’ll be decent.

ANGELA. You’d better send over for his bag, and find out about the Oliver man.

BATTERSBY. I suggested it, but he asked me to wait. He’s a little uncertain about his plans. He said something about a letter.... I suppose the post has come?

ANGELA. Yes.

[Pg 63]

BATTERSBY (without much hope). Nothing for me, I suppose?

ANGELA. No.

BATTERSBY. I thought not. The number of people who sit down every morning and say “I don’t think I’ll write to Battersby to-day” is positively startling. There must be well over forty million of ’em in England alone.

ANGELA. He couldn’t get a letter here anyway.

BATTERSBY. The Prince? I should be very much annoyed if he did. It would be very disconcerting if a man who stayed here accidentally for one night got a letter, and I who have stayed here on purpose for years and years got none.... I suppose the paper hasn’t come?

ANGELA. No, not yet. I’ll speak to Lumley. He’s getting slack again.

BATTERSBY. There ought to be some method of getting in touch with the outside world. How would it be to have The Times sent down by post every day, and then it wouldn’t matter if the Lumley boy were going for a whistle in this direction or not?

ANGELA. If you like, dear.

BATTERSBY. Besides, it would give the postman more respect for me, if he saw my name now and then. I met him in the garden yesterday as he was bringing up the letters. There were three for you, two for Emily, four for cook and a seed-catalogue for James. I passed it off with a careless laugh, but I could see what he was thinking (He looks over his shoulder, and sees her writing).... Give my love to whoever it is, and say that I should dearly appreciate a post-card⁠——

ANGELA. It’s Debenham and Freebody.

BATTERSBY (unmoved). ——from either of them.

(The PRINCE comes in. He is wearing an old coat and a pair of white flannel trousers [Pg 64]of BATTERSBY’S. He has shaved off his moustache.)

PRINCE. Good morning to you. What a charming day!

BATTERSBY. Good morning, Prince.

ANGELA (getting up). Oh, good morning. I do hope you slept well, and all that?

PRINCE. The bed couldn’t have been more comfortable.... I had forgotten that there were so many birds in the country.

ANGELA. We’re used to them, of course.

BATTERSBY. But the silly things don’t realise it, and go on just the same. (The PRINCE turns to him) Hallo! I say! I hope that that razor⁠——

PRINCE (nodding). It was carried away. It has shaved the good doctor so often, that before I knew what had happened⁠——

BATTERSBY. We must tell Ainslie. As a scientific man, he’ll be interested.

ANGELA. I like it. It makes you look more English.

PRINCE. That was why I did it, Mademoiselle. The only compliment to your country I could think of so early in the morning. The birds were whistling and singing, the sun was shining, and I said to myself, “I love England! I shall stay here for ever. I shall be an Englishman.” So I had what you call the clean shave.

BATTERSBY (fingering his beard). It isn’t absolutely essential.

PRINCE (with a bow). The full beard or nothing, as in your English navy. (With a gesture at BATTERSBY’S) If only it had been possible—(regretfully)—but there was no time.

BATTERSBY (in a whisper). You see, dear, he would have liked eggs and bacon.

[Pg 65]

PRINCE. So now I am an Englishman.... I think of calling myself Brown.

ANGELA (smiling). Prince Brown.

PRINCE. Or shall I give myself the honourable, if not strictly beautiful, title of Mister?

BATTERSBY. What would Neo-Slavonia say to that?

PRINCE. Well, that’s the question.

ANGELA. Will the country go to pieces without you?

PRINCE (solemnly). I fear it might.... But don’t let me interrupt your letters, Mademoiselle. I shall be quite happy with the paper. (He picks it up.)

BATTERSBY. It’s a piece of yesterday’s, I’m afraid.

PRINCE. I shall be quite happy with a piece of yesterday’s paper.

BATTERSBY. There’s a small boy called Lumley whose duty it is to forget to bring the paper every day. He is amazingly reliable. So I generally go down about this time and fetch it for myself. If you don’t mind⁠——

ANGELA. Go on, Father. You’ll never be happy till you’ve seen it.

BATTERSBY (with dignity). To some women the fact that anybody should be interested in activities outside his own household will always be one of the more impenetrable mysteries. (He goes out with an air.)

PRINCE. Miss Battersby is interested, however.

ANGELA. In some things.

PRINCE. In some people.

ANGELA (smiling). In two people.... (Looking at her watch) You won’t go till she comes?

PRINCE. I will stay until then, if I may. (He also looks at his watch, and then says, a little anxiously) This little boy of whom Mr. Battersby talks⁠——

ANGELA. Lumley?

PRINCE. Yes. He is unreliable?

ANGELA. Very, I’m afraid.

[Pg 66]

PRINCE. You ask him to do something, and he goes off bird’s-nesting, or fishing?

ANGELA. Rather like that.

PRINCE. However, there are perhaps other little boys in the village not so unreliable?

ANGELA. I expect they’re all pretty much the same.

PRINCE. Oh!... (We have another momentary glimpse of IMOGEN at the window).... But I mustn’t interrupt you. This piece of yesterday’s paper is full of good things.

ANGELA (addressing the envelope). I’ve just finished.

(AINSLIE appears at the door.)

AINSLIE. May I come in?

ANGELA (over her shoulder). Hallo! Come in.

AINSLIE. Good morning. Good morning, Prince Michael.

PRINCE. Good morning, doctor. Still here, you see.

AINSLIE. I was sorry to have to hurry off last night, and so, hearing what had happened, I thought I would look in and make my apologies and good-byes this morning.

PRINCE. How charming of you. (Smiling) And a Republican, too!

AINSLIE. My manners are without prejudice to my convictions.

ANGELA. We’re hoping that perhaps it won’t be good-bye just yet.

AINSLIE. Oh, I’m glad. Jennifer gave me to understand that I should just have time to catch the Prince before he went.

PRINCE. How thoughtful of Mrs. Bulger.

ANGELA (getting up, letters in hand). You won’t fight if I leave you alone for a moment?

PRINCE (feeling AINSLIE’S biceps). No. I promise.

[Pg 67]

ANGELA. As long as you don’t whistle the Neo-Slavonian national anthem, or anything provocative like that, he’ll be all right.

[She goes out.

AINSLIE. I’m afraid I shouldn’t recognise it.... (Awkwardly) I don’t know the etiquette, but may I lean against a table or something?

PRINCE (solemnly). I think I should lean first. (He does so) There!

AINSLIE (leaning too). Thank you. (He begins to fill his pipe) You won’t mind my saying that I wish I hadn’t met you?

PRINCE. If you won’t mind my asking why.

AINSLIE. I like keeping my prejudices intact. Are you the only Prince with a sense of humour, or have I been wrong all these years?

PRINCE. Isn’t it against all medical etiquette for a doctor to be wrong?

AINSLIE. There you are! You’ve no business to say things like that. (Preparing to light his pipe) Do we smoke?

PRINCE. We smoke. (He picks up one of BATTERSBY’S pipes, and holds it in his hand until AINSLIE’S pipe is alight. Then he solemnly puts it down again.)

AINSLIE. Thank you.... Curious thing about that young Oliver. Have you heard any more this morning?

PRINCE. We are sending over to the hotel for news. We may hear something at any moment. (He looks at his watch.)

AINSLIE. I suppose you knew all about him?

PRINCE. Does one ever know all about anybody?

AINSLIE. I was thinking of his medical record.

PRINCE (tapping his head). He had an accident a few years ago.

AINSLIE. Ah! Concussion?

PRINCE. I imagine so. A stray bullet—on the Indian [Pg 68]frontier, I understand. Such an accident might cause complete loss of memory and so forth, I suppose?

AINSLIE. Undoubtedly.

PRINCE. Thank you. (Pretending to hand him money) Your fee.

AINSLIE (laughing). Will you appoint me court doctor?

PRINCE. Gladly.

AINSLIE. I shall look forward to it. Meanwhile there’s a good deal to do in the village. Do we move?

PRINCE. We move. (They move towards the door.)

AINSLIE. I’m glad that we’re not losing you just yet. (Looking into the garden) You weren’t playing hide-and-seek in the garden just before I came?

PRINCE. No, Mr. Battersby had one or two things to do.

AINSLIE. I thought I saw⁠——But I daresay it was nothing. Au revoir, then.

[He goes out.

PRINCE. Au revoir.

(He settles down to his paper.... IMOGEN appears again, and seeing that he is alone, whistles cautiously. He takes no notice. She whistles again—and again.)

IMOGEN (in a loud whisper). I say!

PRINCE (looking round). Hallo!... Miss Imogen! (He gets up.)

IMOGEN. Are you alone?

PRINCE. Utterly. (He comes to her.)

IMOGEN. I say, you’ve shaved off your moustache!

PRINCE (feeling his face). So I have.

IMOGEN. May I come in?

PRINCE. May I conduct you in? (He gives her his hand and leads her in.)

IMOGEN (giggling). I say, what fun!

PRINCE (smiling). Isn’t it?

IMOGEN. You and me.

[Pg 69]

PRINCE. Us.... Was that you whistling?

IMOGEN. Yes.

PRINCE. It wasn’t you whistling outside the studio this morning from about four o’clock till nine?

IMOGEN. Not as long as that. I did whistle a bit.

PRINCE. Yes.... Now tell me. You did what I asked you?

IMOGEN. Rather! That’s why I wanted to see you. Just to tell you I had.

PRINCE. Good!

IMOGEN. The boy is going to bring it up in about five minutes. That’s right, isn’t it?

PRINCE. Perfect.... It isn’t a boy called Lumley, I suppose?

IMOGEN. Yes, it is. Why?

PRINCE. Oh, nothing.... You’re sure you can trust him?

IMOGEN. I’m sure I can’t trust him. And I told him so. And I’m going to watch him do it, and he doesn’t get the sixpence until I’ve seen him do it.

PRINCE (admiringly). What an ally to have! (He holds out his hand) Shake!

IMOGEN (shaking it). Oh, I say! (Shyly) I say?

PRINCE (anxiously). You aren’t going to cry again? (She shakes her head.) Well?

IMOGEN. That sixpence you gave me to give him.

PRINCE (anxiously). It was a good one?

IMOGEN. Oo, rather! But would you mind if I gave him another one of my own instead? (Shyly) Because ... because....

PRINCE (smiling). I wish you would, Imogen. And the other will be your lucky sixpence?

IMOGEN (nodding). ’M. And you’re not going now, are you?

PRINCE. I think now I shall be able to stay.

[Pg 70]

IMOGEN. Is that why you shaved? So your enemies shouldn’t know you?

PRINCE. Something like that. It’s a symbol.

IMOGEN. Of what?

PRINCE. Victory, I hope....

IMOGEN (suddenly). What’s that?

PRINCE. What was it?

(They listen.)

IMOGEN. I must fly. At any moment we might be discovered alone together.

PRINCE. True. And there is also Lumley’s boy to be watched.

IMOGEN. Oo, I say, I’d forgotten him. Good-bye, Prince Michael! (He holds out his hand. Romantically she goes on one knee and kisses it. Then she goes off—crying again.)

PRINCE. The darling! (He returns to his paper.... And soon JENNIFER is at the door.)

PRINCE (without looking round). I make it five minutes to twelve.

JENNIFER. So you are still here?

PRINCE (getting up). You gave me till noon.

JENNIFER. How did you know it was me?

PRINCE. What a silly question to ask! Of course I knew it was you! (He turns to her.)

JENNIFER. Michael!

PRINCE. What?

JENNIFER. Nothing. Why did you—(with a wave of the hand)—do that?

PRINCE. Do what?

JENNIFER. Shave your moustache.

PRINCE. I didn’t. That wasn’t my moustache. It was Prince Michael Robolski’s.

JENNIFER (eagerly). You mean you’ve told Angela? She knows?

[Pg 71]

PRINCE. That I’m an—inventor?

JENNIFER. That you—yes. That we’re both inventors.

PRINCE. My dear Jennifer, how could I? Think how awkward it would be for all of you! The things you all said to me last night! I couldn’t be so cruel.

JENNIFER. Then go away now—and nobody need ever know.

PRINCE (like a small boy). But I don’t want to go! I like Wych Trentham. I like Mr. Battersby. I like Miss Angela. I like the Doctor. I like Miss Faithfull.... I like Jennifer.

JENNIFER. One or the other, Michael.

PRINCE. The Doctor has just been up to say good-bye to me. The poor man was in tears. I daresay you met Miss Faithfull. She has just been up to say good-bye to me. The poor girl was in hysterics. Mr. Battersby, struggling with his emotions, lent me these trousers. He has now gone to buy me a paper. They all love me.

JENNIFER. Everybody loves a Prince.

PRINCE. Except Jennifer.

JENNIFER. They won’t love plain Michael Brown.

PRINCE. And yet he is a very lovable man really.

JENNIFER. Well, do you go or stay?

PRINCE (smiling). I’ll toss you for it. Heads I stay, tails I remain. (He tosses) It’s tails. I remain. I remain, yours very sincerely, Michael Robolski.

JENNIFER. Then I tell Angela.

(ANGELA comes in, a letter in her hand.)

ANGELA. Hallo, darling!... Where’s the doctor?

PRINCE. Gone. We embraced, and I gave him the Order of the Leopard, Fifth Class.

ANGELA. I’ve got a hundred things to do, so I’ll leave [Pg 72]you to amuse each other. (To the PRINCE) You’re staying to lunch, aren’t you?

PRINCE (with a look at JENNIFER). Please.

ANGELA. Good. (To JENNIFER) You’d better, too, darling.

JENNIFER. Angela, dear, wait a moment.

PRINCE (looking at his watch). I make it two minutes to twelve. (To JENNIFER) I beg your pardon, I thought you asked me the time.

ANGELA. What is it? I really am busy. (To the PRINCE) Oh, this letter has just come for you.

PRINCE (relieved). Ah! Thank you. Is it permitted?

ANGELA. Of course. (The PRINCE opens his letter.)

JENNIFER. Wait a moment, dear. There’s something I’ve got to tell you.

ANGELA. Exciting?

JENNIFER. It is rather.

PRINCE (who is reading his letter). Pardon! You would wish me to withdraw?

JENNIFER. I would wish you to stay.

PRINCE (bowing). May I just⁠——(he indicates the letter, and finishes it) Good! (He takes a deep breath) At last! (To JENNIFER) Now I am at your service, Madame.

JENNIFER. Angela, Prince Michael⁠——

PRINCE. Just a moment, if I may interrupt you. You called me Prince Michael. I cannot leave you under that misapprehension any longer. Miss Battersby! My lips at last are unsealed. (In his English voice) I am not Prince Michael!

ANGELA (casually). Why not?

PRINCE (with dignity). I am trying to explain. (Tapping his letter) At last I am at liberty to speak. I owe you the most sincere apology. You thought you were entertaining Prince Michael Robolski of Neo-Slavonia last night. In a sense you were. But it was not I.

[Pg 73]

ANGELA. What do you mean?

PRINCE. I was only the humble secretary. He who called himself James Oliver was the real Prince.

JENNIFER. Oh!

PRINCE. You are surprised?

JENNIFER (recovering). Just for the moment.

ANGELA. So you’re an Englishman after all?

PRINCE. Certainly. Three months ago the Prince engaged me as his secretary. I asked him what were my duties. He said, “To grow a moustache and listen.” For a month I grew a moustache and listened, while he talked to me about Neo-Slavonia. In the end I felt that I knew the country even better than he did. Then he said, “Now if we go to a place where we are both unknown, can you pretend to be Prince Michael, while I pretend to be his secretary?”

ANGELA. Why?

PRINCE (not knowing). Why?

JENNIFER. Yes, why?

PRINCE. Why? That was what I said. Why? He gave reasons, political reasons, which would sound stupid to you if I repeated them now, but to one who understood Neo-Slavonian politics as I did, were very, very—er, very.

ANGELA. Where was this?

PRINCE. Where was it?

JENNIFER. Yes, where was it?

PRINCE. Where was it?... In a little seaport town called Bratsk. The—Cromer of Neo-Slavonia.

ANGELA. But I thought Neo-Slavonia had no coast-line.

JENNIFER (eagerly). Yes!

PRINCE (reproachfully). One small pier and a group of bathing-machines do not constitute a coast-line.

ANGELA. I beg your pardon.

JENNIFER. Silly of us.

[Pg 74]

ANGELA. Well?

PRINCE. We went to Monte Carlo—I as the Prince, he as my secretary. Every now and then he would disappear. It was not my business to follow him. I am engaged to grow a moustache, not to search for footprints. One day he takes me to England. “Very soon now,” he says, “we shall be able to reveal the truth.”

ANGELA (smiling). And so, very soon now, you are going to?

PRINCE (with dignity). I am doing it at this moment. He gives me permission in this letter. (He taps the letter) He also gives me my wages—(he holds up the notes)—instead of a month’s notice. I am my own master again.... And out of a job.

ANGELA. And that’s that?

PRINCE (with a sigh of mental exhaustion). That, roughly speaking, is that.

ANGELA. Well, I’m glad one of you was the Prince. I don’t know what Mrs. Faithfull would say if there had never been a Prince at all.

JENNIFER. There wasn’t.

PRINCE. Ha!

ANGELA. How do you mean, darling?

JENNIFER. There is no such country as Neo-Slavonia.

PRINCE. Ha again.

ANGELA (calmly). Darling, how can you know that?

JENNIFER. Have you ever seen it on the map?

ANGELA. Have you ever seen Czecho-Slovakia on the map?

PRINCE (aside). Or Maida Vale.

ANGELA. Or Maida Vale?

JENNIFER. No.

ANGELA. Well!

PRINCE. Well!

[Pg 75]

JENNIFER. Well, I wasn’t certain either. So this morning I telegraphed to a friend in the Foreign Office.

ANGELA. But would he know?

PRINCE. How could he know?

JENNIFER (displaying telegram). Here is his answer. (She gives it to Angela) I said, “Where is Neo-Slavonia?” He replies⁠——

ANGELA (reading). “Never heard of it.” Well, of course, it mightn’t be in his department. (Handing back the telegram) I don’t think that that’s conclusive.

PRINCE. I don’t think that’s at all conclusive.

JENNIFER. My dear, I know that there isn’t such a country.

ANGELA. I don’t see how you can know.

PRINCE. I don’t see how any one can know.

ANGELA. You might suspect. (To PRINCE) What do you think?

PRINCE (automatically). What do you think? I mean, What do I think?

ANGELA. Well?

PRINCE (after thought). I believe Mrs. Bulger is right.

JENNIFER. Thank you.

ANGELA. But how⁠——

PRINCE. I believe that he had made it all up.

ANGELA. But I thought you said you had actually been in Neo-Slavonia with him?

JENNIFER. Bratsk—the local Cromer.

PRINCE (with dignity). You go to a town—how do you know who the town belongs to? If he says it is a Neo-Slavonian town, why should I doubt him? I am engaged as a secretary, not as a Fellow of the Royal Geographical Society. (To ANGELA). Yes, the more I think about it, the more I feel that he made it all up. (Triumphantly) And that’s why he disappeared so suddenly last night—without even saying good-bye. [Pg 76]He saw that Mrs. Bulger was suspicious. (Sadly) Yes, I feel sure now that the Prince was an impostor. Don’t you agree with me, Mrs. Bulger?

JENNIFER. Entirely.

PRINCE (to ANGELA). You see, Mrs. Bulger agrees with me entirely. I wonder what his game was. It may have been just pure love of adventure. I shouldn’t care to think too hardly of him.... Miss Battersby, how can I apologise for having brought this on you?

ANGELA. Mr. Oliver, it has been a privilege to listen to you.

JENNIFER. Oliver? (To the PRINCE with a friendly smile) Of course! Oliver.

PRINCE (puzzled). Oliver?

JENNIFER. Your name. You changed names with the Prince.

PRINCE (recovering gallantly). Not names. Identities.

ANGELA. Why not names?

JENNIFER. Why not names?

PRINCE (wondering). Well⁠——

ANGELA. You took his—why didn’t he take yours?

JENNIFER. Why didn’t he take yours?

PRINCE. This is really rather embarrassing.

JENNIFER (catching his eye). Yes, I can see how embarrassing it is.

PRINCE (suddenly). Can you? Well, if you can’t now, you will directly. Miss Battersby, the Prince refused to take my name. He said, “No, I cannot take that horrible name.”

ANGELA. Why?

PRINCE (impressively). Because my name is—Bulger!

JENNIFER (staggered). Oh!

PRINCE. You are surprised again?

JENNIFER. Just for another moment.

PRINCE BULGER (to JENNIFER). I have sometimes [Pg 77]wondered if we are relations? (To ANGELA). You remember how interested I was when you first told me your friend’s name? I wondered then.

ANGELA. Jennifer’s husband was a General in the Indian Army.

PRINCE (eagerly). Really? How odd! Not James?

JENNIFER (weakly). James.

PRINCE. How very curious!

ANGELA. Did you know him?

PRINCE. I am James Bulger of the Indian Army.

JENNIFER. No, no!

PRINCE (quickly). Or am I not? You see, Miss Battersby, I was knocked out rather badly in a small frontier skirmish—by a stray bullet—left for dead, captured by the advancing enemy. When I came to myself, my memory had gone. I remembered nothing. Not even my own identity. A flask in my possession with the name James Bulger on it and the simple inscription “Presented by a few old friends of the Hammersmith Temperance Association” was my only clue. But was it my own flask, or had James Bulger lent it to me? I shall never be certain. For at times I have had a curious feeling that my real name is—(he looks at JENNIFER)—Brown.

ANGELA. It sounds very likely. A lot of people are called Brown.

PRINCE. Is that so? (To JENNIFER) In that case you must permit me to return your husband’s flask to you.

JENNIFER (weakly). Thank you. You haven’t it on you?

PRINCE. And if you will be so very kind as to talk to me a little about him, it may be that you will strike some responsive chord in my memory, and set it vibrating.

ANGELA (getting up). That’s a good idea. And when [Pg 78]you’re quite certain who you’re going to be, you must let me know. Anyway, you’ll stay to lunch? I think you’ve earned it.

PRINCE. It is charming of you to have me.

ANGELA (graciously). Not at all. The excitement is ours.

[She goes out.

JENNIFER. Well, Michael? (She sits down.)

PRINCE (triumphantly). Well, Jennifer? (He sits next to her. She turns away, and he turns away. They talk, back to back.)

JENNIFER (reluctantly). You’re very clever.

PRINCE. Aren’t I?

JENNIFER. Naturally you’ve had a good deal of practice.

PRINCE. Naturally.

JENNIFER. I suppose you feel you’ve gained something by it all?

PRINCE. Lunch—anyway. If I had let myself be exposed by you, I shouldn’t have had lunch.

JENNIFER. Oh, if you’re as hungry as that⁠——

PRINCE. I am afraid you haven’t realised the extraordinary delicacy with which I have handled the matter?

JENNIFER. I hadn’t, no.

PRINCE. You see, I wasn’t sure what you wanted. Did you want to go on being the wife of General Bulger? If so, here I am, your long-lost husband, Bulger, miraculously restored to you. Did you want to confess the truth, that you are really Mrs. Michael Brown? Here am I, the only original Michael Brown. Or do you want to marry again, and try another name? Here am I, still at your service, prepared to remember that my name is—whatever you most fancy. (Proudly) Very few people could have been as tactful as that.

JENNIFER. But how considerate of you!

PRINCE (modestly). I am that sort of man.

[Pg 79]

JENNIFER. You seem to have provided for everything.

PRINCE. I tried to.

JENNIFER. And yet there was one possibility you overlooked.

PRINCE. Good Heavens, what?

JENNIFER. In your extraordinary delicacy you didn’t allow for the fact that I might want to be left alone.

PRINCE (looking at his watch). For how long?

JENNIFER (a little crossly). What do you mean, for how long? When a woman says that she wants to be left alone, you don’t ask her for how long.

PRINCE. Why not?

JENNIFER. I don’t know why not. One doesn’t. It’s a ridiculous question. Naturally, I mean that I want to be left alone for ever.

PRINCE. I see. You mean till you’re about ninety.

JENNIFER. No, I don’t. I wasn’t thinking about being ninety.

PRINCE. Good! Then what about eighty-nine? Suppose I drop in on your eighty-ninth birthday⁠——

JENNIFER. I shall not be at home.

PRINCE. Not if I came in the afternoon—with a few flowers?

JENNIFER (coldly). I want to be left alone.

PRINCE. By me—or by everybody?

JENNIFER. By you. By everybody in the way you’re talking about. I don’t propose to marry again.

PRINCE (gently). It was I who was proposing.

JENNIFER. Then I am not open to offers of marriage.

PRINCE. Well, if you won’t marry again, will you live with either of your two previous husbands?

JENNIFER. No.

PRINCE. You refuse?

JENNIFER. Absolutely.

PRINCE. You’re very difficult to please.

[Pg 80]

JENNIFER. No, I’m not. I’m very easy to please. I only want you to go away.

PRINCE (reproachfully). After all the trouble I’ve taken?

JENNIFER. Go away.

PRINCE. It is a little hard on a man ... who has been travelling for years ... in an unknown country ... to come back to his wife, and to find that—like Penelope ... no, not like Penelope ... well, it’s a little hard.

JENNIFER. I should keep Penelope out of it, if I were you.

PRINCE. I was trying to.

JENNIFER. When Ulysses left her, he did at least give her some idea when he was coming back.

PRINCE. But what a wrong idea! “Back at Christmas,” he said cheerfully, and it was twenty years before he saw her again.

JENNIFER. She knew what he was doing, anyhow.

PRINCE. Rescuing Helen, the most beautiful creature in the world. That would be a great comfort to any woman.

JENNIFER. I don’t want to argue about it.

PRINCE. I went away in a much better cause than Ulysses. If you had read the right sort of stories when you were young you would have realised that, metaphorically speaking, you and I were in a sledge, pursued by a pack of wolves over the snowy steppes of Siberia. Ivan Ivanovitch, our faithful Cossack driver, flogs the fast-wearying horses; from time to time I empty my revolver into the advancing hordes and force them to stop and eat each other; all to no purpose. And then, when I make the supreme sacrifice by hurling myself into the midst of the ravening pack, what happens? I am blamed because I left the sledge suddenly, and forgot to say, “Back on the 25th.”

[Pg 81]

JENNIFER. I don’t think that that is a perfect parallel.

PRINCE. According to Einstein there are no perfect parallels. But I’m doing my best. (He gets up) I’m doing my best. (She looks away) Jenny! (She has her hand to her ear, arranging the hair above it. He seizes her wrist—and then suddenly talks down her ear, as if it were a telephone, using her hand as the receiver) Hallo, is that the exchange? I want Jenny. One in a million ... Jenny, one in one double 0, double 0, double 0.... Yes.... Hallo, Jenny, is that you?... Guess!... No.... No.... I say, what swell people you know!... Shall I tell you?... Michael.... Don’t you remember Michael? The ugly fellow who was always grousing because he couldn’t get a job.... Yes. Casual sort of fellow.... It’s him ... he.... Oh, much the same.... I suppose you wouldn’t let him come down to your village, and just look at you occasionally.... Oh, I don’t know. He could sit behind you at church or something.... Oh, don’t you? Then it’s quite time you did.... You wouldn’t care about it?... Oh!... Oh, I just wondered. I expect you’re right. (He hangs up the receiver and walks away, whistling carelessly, to the writing-desk, where he sits down and begins to write.)

JENNIFER (after watching him for a little). What are you doing?

PRINCE. Making my will, and leaving everything to you, of course.

JENNIFER. Oh, are you shooting yourself?

PRINCE. Obviously.

JENNIFER. I thought you made a will when we first got married.

PRINCE (annoyed). Can’t I do it again if I want to?

JENNIFER. Of course. But I thought I got the money [Pg 82]anyhow? Even if you died—what’s the word? Rather a horrid one⁠——

PRINCE. “Suddenly.”

JENNIFER. Intestate. (To herself as if commenting on a man who has died of this unfortunate complaint) So painful, poor fellow!

PRINCE (fiercely). Good heavens, if a man can’t make a remorseful will just before shooting himself, life becomes utterly impossible.

JENNIFER. I beg your pardon.

PRINCE. I’m sorry. Naturally I am a little on edge.

JENNIFER (after a pause—to herself). Four “s’s” in “possessed.” Some people only put three.

PRINCE. In my last moments I propose to allow myself perfect liberty in the matter.

JENNIFER (after a pause). Which would be the best solicitor to go to? My own or yours?

PRINCE. I leave that to you. (Looking upwards) I shall never meet either of them again.... (Looking downwards) At least, I hope not.

JENNIFER (after a pause). Michael!

PRINCE. H’sh, h’sh!

JENNIFER. Michael!

(He doesn’t answer. She trills like a telephone bell.)

PRINCE. Damn that telephone. (She rings again) Oh, Lord! (He gets up and goes to her, putting his left hand to her mouth, and her right hand to his ear.)

JENNIFER. Hallo!... Hallo!... Oh, is that Prince Michael of Neo-Slavonia?... Yes! However did you guess?... Really?... A little bit older and fatter.... What?... Oh, how sweet of you!... You can tell from the voice? Michael, how clever of you!... Well, you’ll see for yourself.... Yes, that’s what I wanted to say.... Just before you shoot yourself.... Oh, well, you must ask me.... I don’t know. [Pg 83]I haven’t decided.... All right, I’ll wait for you. Good-bye.

(She kisses his hand. He kisses hers.)

PRINCE. Well, Jenny?

JENNIFER. Well, Mike?

PRINCE. I’ve come back.

JENNIFER. So it seems.

PRINCE. What about it?

JENNIFER. I don’t know.

PRINCE. Shall we try?

JENNIFER (nodding). If you like.

PRINCE. Thank you, Jenny.

JENNIFER. It’s an experiment, of course.

PRINCE. Isn’t that the most fun?

JENNIFER. You’re an adventurer at heart, you know.

PRINCE. You too, Jennifer.

JENNIFER (smiling). I suppose I am.

PRINCE. Adventurers, both.

JENNIFER. I suppose any morning I may wake up and find that you’ve gone off to be the Prince of some imaginary country.

PRINCE. And any afternoon I may wake up to find that you’ve run off with some imaginary General.

JENNIFER. Yes, we’ve got to remember that.

PRINCE. Yes....

JENNIFER. Michael?

PRINCE. Jennifer.

JENNIFER. I think we’ll keep an atlas in the house.

PRINCE (nodding). And an Army List.

JENNIFER. And some day, perhaps, I shall come upon you looking wistfully at that atlas, wondering where Neo-Slavonia is.

PRINCE. And some day, perhaps, I shall find you fluttering the pages of that Army List, and wondering which General most wants a widow.

[Pg 84]

JENNIFER. And when that happens to either of us, then one will know that the other one⁠——

PRINCE. Wants a little holiday.

JENNIFER. So they’ll say to each other quite casually, “Oh, are you off?”

PRINCE. And off they’ll go.

JENNIFER. And then when they’ve been away long enough⁠——

PRINCE. Not four years this time⁠——

JENNIFER. Only a little while⁠——

PRINCE. They’ll try to find each other again.

JENNIFER. And they will have so much to tell each other⁠——

PRINCE. That they will never be bored.

JENNIFER. It might work that way.

PRINCE. It might.

JENNIFER (holding out her hands). Worth trying, Michael?

PRINCE (taking them). Worth trying, Jennifer.

(As they stand there, BATTERSBY bursts in with the paper, obviously excited.)

BATTERSBY. I say! I say! I say! Just as well I went to get the paper.

PRINCE (vaguely, dropping Jennifer’s hands). The paper?

BATTERSBY (showing the place). Look here, Prince! There! (They take the paper and look at it together) I say, Angela! (He hurries off to her.) I say! Angela!...

PRINCE (reading). Sudden Revolution in⁠——Neo-Slavonia! (He stares blankly at her.)

JENNIFER. But you said there wasn’t!

PRINCE. There isn’t! I invented it.

JENNIFER (pointing to paper.) But there must be!

PRINCE (nodding). There must be. (Sadly) Jennifer, [Pg 85]Jennifer, I thought I was a creator, and I’m just an ordinary impostor after all.

JENNIFER (very soothingly). Never mind, darling. Better luck next time!

(Angela is at the door, a cigarette in her mouth, a cocktail in her hand.)

ANGELA (regarding them with an indulgent smile). Come along, children!

(Hand in hand, they walk past her, the children, and go out.... She follows them.)

[Pg 88]

Scene: Drawing-room of John Winter’s house in the provincial town of Melchester.

The first performance of this play in London took place at the Theatre Royal, Haymarket, on April 22, 1925, with the following cast:

The drawing-room of the Winters’ house in Melchester. Like so many other rooms in England, it is a mixture of styles—the John style and the Ariadne style. The fireplace and mantelpiece, with its presentation clock and twin vases, is pure JOHN. Probably he insisted on the clock; and ARIADNE, realising that the mantelpiece was now hopeless, encouraged him to put some of the other presents there. The pictures are JOHN, including the hand-painted water-colour of an unexpected part of Switzerland, given by a grateful lady-client, for whom he has appeared in the county court. There are one or two early JOHN pieces among the furniture and easily recognisable by their ugliness; not that his taste is bad, but simply that a drawing-room requires so much furniture, and if an aunt or a sister or a foreclosed mortgage has provided a proportion of it, it is folly to waste good money in buying the same things over again. For to JOHN all money is good money; to be sought, to be won, and not to be thrown away. ARIADNE doesn’t like throwing it away, but she likes exchanging it for beautiful things, and here and there she has managed to do this. She also likes comfort, and there is a chair for JOHN and a sofa for herself which, to some of the Melchester ladies, seem almost indecently easy for a drawing-room.

[Pg 90]

On a small table there is a big bowl of roses, with a note tucked in the middle of them. We shall hear more about these.

The room is in darkness, for it is after seven on an autumn evening.

Ariadne comes in and turns on the light. She is a happy young woman with a sense of humour which finds itself well exercised in Melchester. Just at the moment she is in the middle of a quarrel with her husband, and she carries on her face the lingering afterglow of their last heated remarks to each other. Probably the afterglow is more pronounced on John’s face; we shall see directly. Ariadne would be coolly ironical, for the most part. She walks round the room, takes the note from the roses, shrugs her shoulders at the writing, and puts it back again; then picks up the evening paper from a table, and sinks into the sofa.

John follows. Undoubtedly he is ruffled, but he is not going to show it. As one of the leading solicitors of Melchester it is his business to control his feelings. But though his keen, intelligent, clean-shaven face may be a mask to his clients, Ariadne can read every word of it. She gives him a look, and smiles to herself.

JOHN (looking at his watch). Plenty of time. I thought I was going to be late. (He compares his watch with the clock on the mantelpiece) H’m. Fast again. (He puts the hand of the clock five minutes back) I shall have to have it seen to.

ARIADNE (not looking up from her paper). Oh, don’t do that.

JOHN. They wouldn’t keep it long.

ARIADNE (with an ironical look at the clock). I wasn’t thinking of that.

JOHN. Well, what?

[Pg 91]

ARIADNE. It must be so nice always putting things right—and knowing you’re right yourself.

JOHN (with restraint). I put my watch right by the Town Hall. That’s how I know.

ARIADNE. The Town Hall puts all the watches right. How satisfactory for it.

JOHN (ignoring this). Anything in the paper?

ARIADNE. And the watches put all the presentation clocks right. And the kitchen clock takes its time from this one, so however wrong you are, there’s always some one you can tell.

JOHN. I am afraid this is too subtle for me. Anything in the paper?

ARIADNE (offering it to him). Want it?

JOHN (taking it). Sure you’re finished with it?

ARIADNE. Actually, no; but speaking as a wife, “Yes, John.”

JOHN (opening it). I don’t suppose there is much in it anyway.

ARIADNE. Not enough for two, apparently. We might take in another copy of it.

JOHN. My dear Ariadne, what a ridiculous suggestion!

ARIADNE. Why?

JOHN. Two copies of the same paper!

ARIADNE. Twenty-six shillings a year, that’s all.

JOHN. Why throw away good money?

ARIADNE. But money, even if it’s good money, is meant to be thrown away.

JOHN. Not on wanton extravagance like that.

ARIADNE. Surely if you get pleasure and profit from it, that’s enough. If I pick up the paper first, you resent it, don’t you? And if I have to wait for it until you have read every last word of the advertisements, well, however used I am to waiting, it leaves a little mark each time. So we should both be happier if we had two [Pg 92]copies, shouldn’t we? And you can’t often buy a little extra happiness every day for twenty-six shillings a year.

JOHN. What’s the matter with you to-night?

ARIADNE. Working the remains of our quarrel off before our guests come.

JOHN (anxiously). You’re going to be civil to Horace Meldrum?

ARIADNE. Of course!

JOHN. Why you ever started a quarrel about him I can’t conceive.

ARIADNE. I oughtn’t to have said quarrel. There was no quarrel. I merely said that I wouldn’t have Mr. Meldrum in my house again, and you said that in that case you would ask him to dinner to-night. Hardly a quarrel.

JOHN. I explained quite clearly why we had to be polite to him.

ARIADNE. You explained that he was one of your most important clients.

JOHN. The most important.

ARIADNE. Yes. Oh, you put it very clearly.

JOHN. I am not the only solicitor in Melchester, you know.

ARIADNE. And Mr. Meldrum isn’t the only bounder.

JOHN. I admit he’s—well—what shall I say?

ARIADNE. Shall I say it?

JOHN. But I’m getting a good deal of his work, and if we can keep the right side of him there’s no saying what it will lead to.

ARIADNE. That’s what I feel.

JOHN. If he took offence suddenly about anything, he’d think nothing of going straight off to another solicitor⁠——

ARIADNE. And making love straight off to another solicitor’s wife.

[Pg 93]

JOHN. Oh, come! You aren’t a newly married girl. You know how to keep that sort of man in order.

ARIADNE. As a rule, yes. But in one of those awkward cases when you have to choose between preserving the honour and dignity of your husband and preserving the prosperity of his business⁠——

JOHN. Nonsense! That’s going much too far.

ARIADNE. Almost the very words I said to Mr. Meldrum last time.

JOHN. I don’t like having him here any more than you do, but I can’t deliberately throw good money away.

ARIADNE. There’s another way of putting that, you know.

JOHN. What?

ARIADNE. I don’t like throwing good money away, but I can’t deliberately let my wife be insulted.

JOHN (burying himself in his paper). Insulted! Rubbish!

(Ariadne stretches out a hand and takes the note from the bowl of roses.)

ARIADNE (holding the note out to him). Here.

JOHN. What?

ARIADNE. Your client’s last letter to me.

JOHN (taking it). You haven’t opened it.

ARIADNE. I don’t need to. I can guess what’s inside it.

JOHN. But it might be important.

ARIADNE. I thought you would like to open it. You are my husband.

JOHN (doubtfully). When did it come?

ARIADNE. This afternoon, with those flowers. (She indicates the roses.)

JOHN (going round to inspect them). Did Meldrum send you these? How awfully decent of him. You can’t get roses like that for nothing.

[Pg 94]

ARIADNE. You can’t.... Aren’t you going to open the letter?

JOHN. Why do you want me to?

ARIADNE. I know how he writes. I thought you would like to know.

JOHN (uncertainly). It’s just—a few polite nothings.

ARIADNE. I daresay. Won’t you read it? I have no secrets from you.

JOHN (hesitatingly). Well, it’s—it’s your letter.

ARIADNE. Are you afraid to?

JOHN. How do you mean afraid? It’s your letter, why don’t you open it?

ARIADNE. I know so well the sort of thing; you don’t. Are you afraid to know?

JOHN. Of course not. (But he turns it over nervously.)

ARIADNE. Well?

JOHN (offering it to her). It isn’t my letter. Why don’t you open it? You refuse to? Very well. It’s your letter, you refuse to open it. I have no right to. (He tears the letter into four pieces and throws it into the waste-paper basket.)

ARIADNE (shaking her head at him). Oh, John!

JOHN (blustering). Why do you make such a melodramatic fuss about a mere note like that? Perfectly harmless note accompanying a few flowers. Very decent of him, considering. Look at Hester. She’s known him as long as I have. She doesn’t make a fuss. He and Hector do a lot of business together. Do you think Hester makes a fuss when he goes to their house? Do you think she shrieks out that she is being insulted?

ARIADNE (smiling). Don’t tempt me, John.

JOHN. I suppose now you are going to run down my sister. I suppose no one in Melchester is good enough for you. That’s how it is.

[Pg 95]

ARIADNE. You were once, John.

JOHN. The long and the short of it is that you don’t like Meldrum. If it’s any satisfaction to you, neither do I. But for the sake of the business, on which you depend as much as I do, I ask you to be friendly to him. Well, polite, anyhow.

ARIADNE. I will be more than polite. I will be friendly. That I promise.

JOHN (coming up to her). You’ve got a way with you, you know. You can’t pretend you haven’t. I’ve seen you with all sorts of people, people you must have hated, smiling at ’em as sweetly as if you’d loved them all your life.

ARIADNE (smiling to herself). I will smile like that at Mr. Meldrum. Watch me.

JOHN. Only the other day Hester was admitting that there was something about you⁠——

ARIADNE. How nice of her! I love to think of you and Hester having long talks about me, and your sister admitting things like that. (She takes a rose from the bowl, and holds it up) Aren’t they pretty?

JOHN (very friendly). He throws his money about, doesn’t he? But then he can afford to.

ARIADNE (putting the rose in her dress). I like people who throw it about.

JOHN. He’s quite a good sort when you get to know him.

ARIADNE. I must get to know him, I can see.

(And there the discussion ends for the moment.)

JOHN (looking at his watch). Hester’s late. She isn’t usually late. I suppose Hector has been kept by some business. I don’t know why one expects them always to be first⁠——

ARIADNE. I suppose because they always are.

JOHN. Meldrum is sure to be late, of course.

[Pg 96]

ARIADNE. Detained—by business.

JOHN. Well, he is pretty busy just now with all these new cheap cottages he’s putting up.

ARIADNE (suitably impressed). Ah! (John returns to his paper.) (After a pause) Oh, by the way, I am going up to London to-morrow.

JOHN. To-morrow? Saturday?

ARIADNE. Yes.

JOHN (a little annoyed). Can’t you wait till Wednesday?

ARIADNE. I don’t like excursion trains. I suppose I’m fussy.

JOHN. Oh well.... What is it? Shopping?

ARIADNE. One or two things. I shall lunch at the club.

JOHN. The club! Now there’s a needless extravagance. How many times do you go to your club in a year?

ARIADNE (lightly). I don’t know, John, and I don’t care, John, and I’m going to lunch there to-morrow, John. Now don’t say another word while I get my smile ready for Hector.

JOHN (suspiciously). Smile?

ARIADNE. Smile of welcome.

(A hearty voice is heard outside.)

JOHN (looking at his watch). Here they are at last.

ARIADNE. I expect he forgot to put his watch right by the Town Hall.

MARY (announcing). Mr. and Mrs. Chadwick.

(HECTOR, a bore in the grand style, with every cliché at his command, a bore who—it would seem—really takes a pride in his art, has been too much for Hester. She has faded, without quite knowing why. She is still proud of HECTOR; one could not fail to be of so supreme an artist; and [Pg 97]she has given up her right to the hearth-rug and the central position, without resentment; but she feels that there should have been something more in life than HECTOR’S voice. She is fond of her brother, and has always known that ARIADNE was not good enough for him.)

HECTOR. Good-evening!

JOHN. Ah, here you are.

ARIADNE (offering a cheek). Good-evening, Hester.

HESTER. Good-evening. Good-evening, John. (She goes and kisses him.)

JOHN. Good-evening, dear.

HECTOR (shaking hands with ARIADNE). I was afraid we were late. A rush of business came in just as I was leaving the office⁠——

HESTER. Hector is very busy just now.

HECTOR (taking out his watch). Is that clock right, John?

JOHN. Right by the Town Hall.

HECTOR. That’s good enough for me. (Altering his watch) I’m five minutes slow. Funny thing about watches. Now I daresay if somebody else wore this watch, it would be five minutes fast.

ARIADNE. You’re too quick for it, Hector.

(They sit down.)

HESTER. Who else are coming?

JOHN (a little awkwardly). Meldrum.

HECTOR. Horace Meldrum. Ah! These new houses of his will be a pretty good thing for you, John. I suppose you’ve got the conveyancing of them.

JOHN. The Sutton Road ones anyhow. But you know what Meldrum is.

ARIADNE (brightly). We are going to get them all, Hector. We are going to do all Mr. Meldrum’s work for him. Even if he gets mixed up in a divorce case we are going to act for him.

[Pg 98]

HESTER. My dear Ariadne!

JOHN. Ariadne’s joking, of course.

HECTOR. Honi soit—and so on. Horace is much too careful to get mixed up in anything of that sort.

HESTER. Anybody else?

ARIADNE. Janet Ingleby.

HESTER. Oh, Janet. And Charlie, I suppose?

ARIADNE. No, not Charlie.

JOHN. We only knew at the last moment that Mr. Meldrum was coming, so we just got Miss Ingleby to make up the number.

HESTER. Oh, I see.

HECTOR. Charlie will be doing well for himself if that comes off. I wonder what old Ingleby will cut up for when his time comes. Any idea, John?

JOHN. Hundred thousand. More.

ARIADNE. Good heavens! We must be nice to Janet.

HECTOR (profoundly impressed, to JOHN). You don’t mean it, you don’t mean it.

JOHN. I don’t know, of course.

ARIADNE (disappointed). Oh, aren’t you his solicitor?

JOHN. If I were, dear, I shouldn’t even be able to guess at what he’s worth.

HECTOR. Professional etiquette, Ariadne. The Law Society would rap you pretty sharply over the knuckles if you talked about your client’s affairs in public, eh, John?

JOHN. I can’t imagine a decent solicitor doing it.

HESTER (to ARIADNE). Like doctors and bankers. It wouldn’t do at all.

HECTOR. Secrets of the confessional. Even in the Law Courts—but I think that that point hasn’t been decided yet.

ARIADNE (apologetically). Oh, I see. But who is the [Pg 99]lucky man who really knows how much Mr. Ingleby will—cut up for?

JOHN. Some London firm. Parkinsons, I think.

HESTER. He’s always been like that. They even run an account at Harrod’s, Janet tells me.

HECTOR. Uncivic of him. Distinctly uncivic.

ARIADNE. But you must have a local solicitor as well, mustn’t you? Supposing a dog bit him outside the Town Hall⁠——

JOHN (considering). County Court action. Yes, he would then, of course.

ARIADNE (with decision). Then in case a dog bites him, I shall be very nice to Janet.

HECTOR (to HESTER). What was that? I didn’t quite get that.

HESTER. I don’t think it was very important.

JOHN (stiffly). A joke of Ariadne’s.

HECTOR. Well, well, nobody likes a good joke more than I do. Let’s have it, Ariadne.

ARIADNE. Shall I explain it, John?

JOHN. I hardly think it necessary.

ARIADNE. I am sorry, Hector. You’ll have to imagine it as being tremendously funny.

Enter MARY.

MARY (announcing). Miss Ingleby.

(JANET INGLEBY is a handsome, rather discontented-looking girl of 25, with no illusions, a lazily dangerous tongue, and an eye to business.)

JANET. Good-evening. (To ARIADNE) How are you, dear? (Shaking hands with the others) I do hope I haven’t come at the wrong moment.

HECTOR (gallantly). Could any moment be the wrong moment for a young and charming lady?

JANET. Easily.

[Pg 100]

HECTOR (taken aback). Oh!

JANET. If I had come in five minutes ago when you were all discussing me⁠——

JOHN. No, no.

HECTOR. I protest, upon my soul, I protest.

JANET. Am I the last?

ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum.

JANET. Well, aren’t we all going to discuss him now?

HESTER. My dear Janet, as if we should.

ARIADNE. Of course not. We’ve done it already.

JANET. That’s hardly fair, is it? You ought to have waited for me.

JOHN (with a smile). We thought perhaps you would rather discuss Charlie.

HECTOR. Ah, how is my dear friend Charlie?

JANET. Charlie is off.

HECTOR. Dear, dear!

ARIADNE. Oh, Janet! Why?

JANET. Father turned him down.

HESTER. I thought the modern girl didn’t pay any attention to her father’s views.

JANET. I don’t suppose she does. But, if she’s not a fool, she pays a good deal of attention to her father’s money.

HECTOR. Dear, dear! And so he threatened to cut you off with the proverbial shilling.

JANET. Yes. And both Charlie and I felt that a shilling wasn’t enough.

ARIADNE (reproachfully). But he wasn’t just marrying you for your money, dear?

JANET. No, that was the trouble. Father said, “Look here, Janet, if any enterprising young man comes along who wants a wife and twenty thousand, to put into his business, I’m ready to talk to him. But this young [Pg 101]fellow isn’t thinking about business at all. You’ll just fritter the money away between you, and what’s the good of that?”

HECTOR. Yes, I see his point.

JANET. Oh, so do I. You can’t live on the interest of twenty thousand. You must do something with it. Charlie couldn’t think of anything.

JOHN. Yes, that’s true enough.

ARIADNE. Well, as long as you aren’t broken-hearted, Janet.

JANET. Oh Lord, no. We had a very good time together, and that’s all of that.

Enter MARY.

MARY (announcing). Mr. Meldrum.

(Enter HORACE—handsome, if you like that style—dashing, as far as his weight will allow—a supreme egotist, without a wonder or a misgiving in him. A bounder undoubtedly, but in the heroic manner.)

HORACE (to the company). Good-evening, good-evening. (To ARIADNE) Good-evening, dear lady, I trust I am not late, but as I daresay your husband will have told you, I have a good deal on just now. (With a nod) Evening, John. (To HESTER) Ah, Mrs. Hector! and how has the world been treating you since I last saw you? Let me see, that was on Tuesday, wasn’t it? (HESTER murmurs that it was Monday, but he is already on his way to JANET.) Ah, Miss Janet! I was talking to your father over the phone only this morning. You’re looking very pretty, my dear. Got a new way of doing your hair, haven’t you?

JANET. Yes, it is fairly new. You keep to your old way?

HORACE. Ha, ha, very good! I like a young woman to [Pg 102]show a bit of spirit. You’ll get on, my dear. I always told your father so. (To HECTOR) Ah, Hector! Before I forget, come and have a talk with me on Monday. I’ve got something I can put in your way.

HECTOR. Splendid, splendid, my dear fellow.

HORACE (taking out his watch and looking at the clock). Yes, I thought I wasn’t as late as all that. (To JOHN) You’re a couple of minutes fast.

JOHN (a little diffidently). I don’t think so. I put it right by the Town Hall clock.

ARIADNE. Yes, we put it right by the Town Hall.

HORACE (with finality). A couple of minutes fast.

JOHN. Oh—thank you. (He goes to the clock and alters it. While he is doing this, MARY comes in.)

ARIADNE. Dinner, Mary?

MARY. Yes, madam.

ARIADNE. Thank you. (To the others) Shall we go in?

(There is a little natural hesitation near the door on the point of procedure. True, HESTER is a married woman, but then JANET’S father may cut up for a hundred thousand pounds. Fortunately HORACE keeps his head.)

HORACE (genially). Ah, shall I go first?

(He goes first. The others follow. As they go, JOHN at the door turns off the switches. The lamps by the fire are still alight—good money thrown away. Firmly, without hurrying, he walks across the room and puts them out; then back again after the others.)

Scene 2

The curtain drops—to rise again three hours later. ARIADNE and HESTER are on the sofa, HESTER at work on something. The others are playing bridge. HORACE (with him JOHN) is winning; you can see it by the way he is [Pg 103]snapping down the cards; JANET is losing and doesn’t like it; JOHN is dummy; and HECTOR for once is not talking, save for an occasional “Ah!” or “H’m!” or “You play that.”

HORACE. The last two are ours. Four tricks. That’s thirty-two below. That’s the rubber.

ARIADNE. Did you win, Mr. Meldrum?

HORACE. I did, dear lady.

ARIADNE. How clever of you!

HECTOR. You know the old adage, Horace. Lucky at cards, unlucky in love.

ARIADNE. Oh, I’m sure that doesn’t apply to Mr. Meldrum.

HORACE. I’m sure it doesn’t too.

HESTER. How much have you lost, Hector?

HECTOR. We haven’t worked it out yet, dear.

JANET (who has been scoring). Four hundred and seventy—that’s four and sixpence.

JOHN (who is also scoring). Five hundred and two.

HORACE. Five hundred and two, that’s five shillings.

JANET. How do you make that? (She looks over his shoulder) You have given yourself sixteen above, what’s that for?

JOHN. Simple honours.

HECTOR. We had the honours, dear boy.

JANET. Of course we did.

HECTOR. I had the knave.

JANET. And I had the queen and ten. Four and sixpence.

JOHN. Sorry. Four and sixpence.

HORACE (calmly). I had the knave.

HECTOR. My dear boy⁠——

JANET. I distinctly remember⁠——

HORACE. I had the knave.

[Pg 104]

JANET. I know Mr. Chadwick had the knave.

ARIADNE. Does it matter very much who had the knave?

JANET (to HORACE). We’ll turn up the tricks, if you like.

JOHN (to ARIADNE). It just makes the difference, dear.

HECTOR (to JANET). I’m afraid I’ve shuffled the cards now.

HORACE (getting up). Five shillings. Well, I’d sooner win it than lose it.

HECTOR (getting up and coming over to the sofa). You see, it’s either five shillings or four and six, according to who had the knave.

ARIADNE. Dear me! Then you all ought to have watched the poor man much more carefully.

JANET. I know Mr. Chadwick had it.

HORACE. Well, look here, I tell you what I’ll do, Hector. I’ll toss you ten shillings or nothing.

HECTOR. Right. (HORACE spins a coin.) Tails.

HORACE. Heads. My luck’s in.

HECTOR (making sure it was heads). Right. (He takes out a note which HORACE solemnly tucks away.)

JANET (defiantly to JOHN). Four and six. (She gives him the money.)

JOHN. Thanks. That’s all right.

HORACE. I’ll help myself to another drink if nobody objects.

JOHN. Oh do! Sorry! What about you, Hester?

HESTER. No, thank you.

HORACE. Mrs. John? Can’t I persuade you?

ARIADNE. No, thank you.

HORACE (humorously). I can afford it, you know. I’ve won ten shillings. (ARIADNE laughs kindly.) Miss Janet, what about you? Just to show there is no ill-feeling.

[Pg 105]

JANET (still rather ruffled over that sixpence). Thanks.

HESTER (getting up). Well, we ought to be going, I suppose. (To HECTOR) Are you ready?

HECTOR. Yes, dear. Ready, aye ready. (They say good-byes, and JOHN goes to the door with them.) (To JANET) I’m afraid it’s no good offering you a lift, as you don’t go our way.

ARIADNE (to JANET). Haven’t you got the car, dear?

JANET. Good Lord, no. Father doesn’t waste the car on me like that. I don’t mind walking. It isn’t far.

HECTOR (relieved). Ah well, that’s all right.

JOHN (from the door). I’ll see Miss Ingleby home.

JANET. No need to.

JOHN. Of course I will.

ARIADNE (the perfect wife). Of course he will! How is your father?

JANET (not realising how nearly a dog bit him outside the Town Hall). Oh, all right. Well then, I’ll say good-night. And thanks very much.

ARIADNE. Good-night, dear. Sure you are all right?

JANET. Of course. Good-night, Mr. Meldrum.

HORACE. Good-night, Miss Janet. Remember me to your father. I’ll be round seeing him one of these days, I expect.

JANET (as she goes out). Right. I’ll count the spoons.

HORACE. Ha, ha, ha! Smart little devil. I like a girl with spirit.

(Final good-nights are heard from the hall. Then after a pause comes “Ready?” from JOHN and “Right” from JANET. After another pause the front door is heard to shut. During this, HORACE has been staring at ARIADNE, the self-assured stare of the man who is certain that that is what a pretty woman likes. ARIADNE sits demurely on the sofa waiting for him to begin.)

[Pg 106]

HORACE. I got your message.

ARIADNE. What message was that?

HORACE. The one you are sending me now.

ARIADNE. Am I?

HORACE. Your rose, dear lady.

ARIADNE (demurely). Oh!

HORACE. My rose.

ARIADNE (more demurely). Oh!

HORACE. Our rose.

ARIADNE (most demurely). Oh!

HORACE. How beautiful it looks there. (Striving for the right metaphor) Nesting.

ARIADNE. I didn’t know roses did that.

HORACE. Ariadne’s does. It nests in her bosom like a—like⁠——

ARIADNE. It is difficult, isn’t it? You’ll have to start again.

HORACE (who has probably had just a little too much whisky). Like a dove. Like a little dove. A little pink dove.

ARIADNE. Fancy! I wonder what a pink dove looks like, nesting in a buttonhole. (He comes towards her. She takes it out of her dress and puts it in his buttonhole) There! It looks just like a rose.

HORACE. Thank you, dear lady. (He kisses her fingers; then goes back to his place, and expands himself) Somehow I never feel properly dressed until a pretty woman has put a flower in my buttonhole. (He stands in front of the fireplace jingling his money.)

ARIADNE. Had a good week?

HORACE. Pretty fair, pretty fair. And a bit more to come to-morrow morning.

ARIADNE. I suppose I mustn’t ask how much.

HORACE. You’d be surprised if I told you.

ARIADNE. Try me.

[Pg 107]

HORACE. Not far short of a cool thousand. That’s about what it will work out at for the week.

ARIADNE. A cool thousand! Fancy. And a bachelor. No wonder you are always properly dressed.

HORACE. So to-morrow afternoon I am running up to dear old London to see what Piccadilly Circus looks like.

ARIADNE. On business?

HORACE (chuckling). Strictly on business. Strictly on business. And if anybody asks me what business, I shall say that’s my business. (He laughs heartily.)

ARIADNE. Then I shan’t ask you what business.

HORACE. I’d tell you, my dear lady. I’m going to see my doctor. Ha, ha! That’s a good one. My doctor.

ARIADNE. Yes, that’s a good one. I like that one.

HORACE. Joking apart, my dear, I’ll tell you why I’m going to London. Just for a little bit of fun. Just a little bit of fun after a hard week’s work. On a Friday night I say to myself sometimes, “Horace, you’ve been a good boy all the week, and you’ve earned your little bit of fun.”

ARIADNE. I’m sure you have.

HORACE. That’s what I call going to see my doctor. Doctor Fun I call him. L. B. Fun.

ARIADNE. What amusing things you say.

HORACE. Little Bitta Fun. L. B. Fun—see it?

ARIADNE. Yes, now I do.

HORACE. Well, that’s what I’m going to London for. Get up in time for lunch. What about a cosy little lunch at Frascati’s; just as a start?

ARIADNE. Alone?

HORACE. Aha, dear lady, that’s telling.

ARIADNE. Perhaps I oughtn’t to have asked.

HORACE. Well, let’s say not quite alone. A little [Pg 108]bit of pink muslin opposite, with perhaps something inside it.

ARIADNE. What a sweet way of putting it.

HORACE. After lunch—what shall we say? You shall say, dear lady.

ARIADNE. Well—what about the South Kensington Museum?

HORACE (much amused). Aha, that’s a good one! A visit to the South Kensington Museum, tea with the Dean of St. Paul’s, dinner at an A.B.C., a concert at the Albert Hall, and a snack of something at Fulham Palace to end up with. Ha, ha, ha! That’s me!

ARIADNE (pretending to be offended). I don’t believe you’re serious. You’re laughing at me.

HORACE. Laughing at you? Bless my soul, whatever put that into your pretty little head? Look in at the South Kensington Museum at three o’clock to-morrow, and you will find your humble servant talking to the head keeper.

ARIADNE. I’ve a good mind to take you at your word, and look in at three o’clock.

HORACE (coming closer to her). Why don’t you?

ARIADNE. I shan’t have time, I’m afraid. I’m catching the 3.10 back.

HORACE. Back? Are you going to London to-morrow?

ARIADNE. Yes.

HORACE. Fancy that. Alone?

ARIADNE. I don’t know yet.

HORACE. When will you know?

ARIADNE. Perhaps in a minute or two.

HORACE (joining her on the sofa). How very curious that you should be going to London to-morrow—too.

ARIADNE. That’s what John said.

HORACE (doubtfully). John? So John said that. Why did John say that?

[Pg 109]

ARIADNE. He said that it was cheaper to go on Wednesday.

HORACE (relieved). Oh, I see! But only if you go third class.

ARIADNE. But then I always do.

HORACE. Poor little woman, what a shame!

ARIADNE. Why? It’s much more amusing.

HORACE. If you are alone, perhaps⁠——

ARIADNE. Oh, you are never alone third class.

HORACE (getting very close). But for two it’s much more amusing first class.

ARIADNE. Is it?

HORACE. Particularly if the guard is a friend of yours.

ARIADNE. Oh?

HORACE. He’s a very great friend of mine.

ARIADNE. Oh!

HORACE. It’s funny we should both be going to London to-morrow, isn’t it?

ARIADNE. But we mightn’t both be going by the same train.

HORACE. Ah!... What train are you going by?

ARIADNE. The 10.15.

HORACE (disappointed). Oh! That’s a pity.

ARIADNE. Why?

HORACE. I can’t get away before the 12.5. There’s a bit of business I’ve got to see to⁠——

ARIADNE (demurely). I think I am going first class.

HORACE (considering). It may mean a matter of a hundred pounds⁠——

ARIADNE. Or aren’t there any first-class carriages on the 10.15 train?

HORACE (making up his mind). No, dammit, one can’t throw away good business just for a bit of fun.

ARIADNE. Not even if it wore pink muslin?

HORACE (slapping his knee). That’s it! You do your [Pg 110]shopping or whatever it is, and I’ll come up later, call for you wherever you like, and we’ll have that little lunch at Frascati’s. How’s that? I’ll be with you at half-past one.

ARIADNE. Well, of course, I do like something to eat about then.

HORACE. Right! That’s a bet! Where do I pick you up?

ARIADNE. Well, I shall be at my club⁠——

HORACE (jovially contemptuous). Your club! You women and your clubs! But bless you, in spite of your votes and your clubs and your cigarettes, you are just the same women under your clothes as Eve was before you. And, thank God, you always will be.

ARIADNE. Yes, but that isn’t the address of the club. Or don’t you want to know the address?

HORACE. Well, give us the name. I suppose the cabman will know where it is.

ARIADNE. The United Arts.

HORACE (whipping out his pencil and writing on his cuff). A. W. United Arts, 1.30.

ARIADNE (watching him). What an interesting time your laundress must have.

HORACE. Naturally, I never put any business secrets there. (He puts back his pencil.)

ARIADNE. A very wise distinction.

HORACE. One-thirty at the United Arts. And now what about that train back?

ARIADNE. Which one?

HORACE. Exactly, which one?

ARIADNE. I’m catching the 3.10.

HORACE. But that makes it such a very little bit of fun.

ARIADNE. I think John will expect me⁠——

HORACE. Not if you tell him you are coming by a later one.

[Pg 111]

ARIADNE. Is there a later one?

HORACE. There’s one about five.

ARIADNE. I don’t think I know that one.

HORACE. It isn’t a very good one. There’s a better one about eight.

ARIADNE. It seems a much later one.

HORACE. But the best of them all is the 10.45.

ARIADNE. Why is that the best of them all?

HORACE. I would try to explain why—before we caught it.

ARIADNE. It seems a very long explanation.

HORACE. You wouldn’t be bored.

ARIADNE. Attractive man!

HORACE. Adorable woman!

ARIADNE. You seem very certain of yourself.

HORACE. It isn’t difficult to entertain a pretty woman.

ARIADNE. Experienced man!

HORACE. Well, yes, I’ve knocked about a bit.

ARIADNE. But all women like that, don’t they?

HORACE. They do, you may take my word for it.

ARIADNE. I don’t think I shall go to London to-morrow.

HORACE. Oh yes, you will.

ARIADNE. Well, perhaps I will.

HORACE. Of course you will.

ARIADNE. But I shall come back by the 3 train.

HORACE. Oh no, you won’t.

ARIADNE. Well, perhaps I won’t.

HORACE. Of course you won’t.

ARIADNE. Masterful man!

HORACE. I know how to manage women, bless their pretty little faces.

ARIADNE. I can see you do.

HORACE. Now, let’s be practical.

ARIADNE. Businesslike.

[Pg 112]

HORACE. You can’t be shopping in London till ten o’clock at night; you’ll have to say you’ve been called away suddenly—to a sick relative.

ARIADNE. Why are sick people always supposed to want their relations so badly? I never want anybody when I’m looking my worst.

HORACE. Have you got any relations?

ARIADNE. Heaps—and all John’s.

HORACE. Any in London of your own?

ARIADNE. An uncle. I was telling Hester about him. He lost his liver in Burmah. He’s touchy about it now.

HORACE. Well, there you are; he’s ill. D’you see? You leave a note to-morrow to say you’ve just been rung up as you were starting to the station. Uncle dying. May not be back till late. See?

ARIADNE. I see. Isn’t it rather deceitful?

HORACE. Little bit of fun. What’s the harm in a little bit of fun?

ARIADNE. True. You mustn’t think I haven’t got a sense of humour.

HORACE. Well then, you see, it doesn’t matter what time you come back. Your ground’s prepared ... even if⁠——(He hesitates.)

ARIADNE. Well?

HORACE. Even if—(very softly)—we found a better train than the 10.45.

ARIADNE. But I thought you said that that was the best?

HORACE. The best—on Saturday night.

ARIADNE (looking at him thoughtfully). Do you know you’re a very wonderful man? (HORACE laughs comfortably.) Even I—hardly realised⁠——(He leans towards her. She gets up hastily.)

HORACE. What is it?

[Pg 113]

ARIADNE. John. I heard the door.

HORACE (getting up). One-thirty. (He kisses his hand to her.)

JOHN comes in.

ARIADNE. How quick you’ve been!

HORACE. Well, I must be getting along.

ARIADNE. Oh no! Must you?

JOHN. Have another drink?

HORACE. No thanks, my boy. (To ARIADNE) Afraid I must, Mrs. John. Got a lot to do to-morrow. (Holding out his hand) Good-bye—and thank you for a most delightful evening.

ARIADNE. Good-night. I’ve enjoyed it too, you know.

HORACE. How nice of you! (To JOHN) No, don’t bother.

(But JOHN insists on seeing his most important client out. Alone, ARIADNE drops into the sofa with the evening paper.)

JOHN (coming back). Well! It wasn’t so bad after all, was it? (He pours himself out a drink.)

ARIADNE (reading her paper). Not so bad.

JOHN. Did you get on with Meldrum all right?

ARIADNE. Quite all right, John.

JOHN (with a sigh of relief). That’s good.

(He drinks.)

Saturday. About five o’clock. HESTER and HECTOR are outside; we hear their voices. MARY is telling them that her mistress is out. She opens the door, and they come in.

HESTER. Oh! Then will you tell your master we’re here?

MARY. Yes, madam. I think he’s just come in.

HESTER. Where has your mistress gone?

MARY. She has gone up to London, madam.

HESTER. London!

MARY. Yes, madam.

HESTER. When do you expect her back?

MARY. She didn’t say, madam. She had a dressing-case with her, but she didn’t say she was staying the night.

HESTER. A dressing-case!

MARY. Yes, madam. I’ll tell the master you’re here.

[She goes out.

HESTER. London. She didn’t say anything about London last night, did she?

HECTOR. Nothing. It’s very odd.

HESTER. I wonder if⁠——

HECTOR. What?

HESTER. She was telling us after dinner, before you came in, that her uncle⁠——

[Pg 115]

HECTOR. The General?

HESTER. Yes—was suffering from indigestion very badly. We happened to be talking about illnesses.

HECTOR. You think that a sudden fatal stroke—fatal spasm, perhaps I should say⁠——

HESTER. Being Saturday it looks like something urgent.

HECTOR. Evidently.

HESTER. If it had been Wednesday, it wouldn’t have been so surprising.

HECTOR. The General, no doubt.... I suppose he’s pretty comfortably off?

HESTER. He has his pension, of course.

HECTOR. But that would die with him. Anything to leave? Anything to come in Ariadne’s direction?

HESTER. I shouldn’t think so. She would have told us.

HECTOR. Ariadne’s queer in some ways. It would be just like her not to have said anything about it.

(HESTER sees the letter on the mantelpiece.)

HESTER. Ah, there you are!

HECTOR. What?

HESTER. A note for John. (She picks it up.)

HECTOR. From Ariadne?

HESTER. Yes. Called away suddenly, you see.

HECTOR (going up to examine the envelope). Now what would you say that meant? (He gives the matter his full consideration.) I see it like this. If the General’s attack had actually been fatal, she would have rung John up at his office.

HESTER. He would have gone with her in that case.

HECTOR. That may be. He is very busy just now. The point is that she would have rung him up. Leaving a note makes it clear that, whatever has happened to the General, it is no more than a preliminary warning.

HESTER (looking at the envelope). Sprawly handwriting.

[Pg 116]

(JOHN comes in, and they back hastily away from the letter.)

JOHN. Hullo!

HESTER. Ah, here you are.

(JOHN kisses her and shakes hands solemnly with HECTOR.)

JOHN. Didn’t expect you to-day. I had to go over to Handfield. Only just got back.

HESTER. I’ve heard of a cook for Ariadne—so I just⁠——

HECTOR. I thought I’d just walk round with her, and pass the time of day.

HESTER. She’s gone to London, I hear.

JOHN. Yes.

HECTOR. No bad news from the General, I trust.

JOHN. The General?

HECTOR. We supposed that she must have been called away suddenly.

JOHN. Oh no. Shopping!

HESTER. On a Saturday?

JOHN. She particularly wanted to go. I suggested that she should wait till Wednesday.

HECTOR. Exactly! That was what misled us.

HESTER. But the shops would be shut on Saturday afternoon.... Besides, why stay the night?

JOHN (surprised). But she’s not staying the night.

HESTER. Oh, well, Mary said⁠——

HECTOR. Her dressing-case⁠——

HESTER. There’s a note for you.

JOHN. What? Oh yes! (He goes to it.) She caught a very early train.

HESTER. Oh, well! But it’s a funny day to go.

HECTOR (taking out his pocket time-table). The 10.15, I suppose. Let me see, if she caught the 10.15—they’ve altered it now. It used to run into King’s [Pg 117]Cross at⁠—— Here we are—10.15. Runs into King’s Cross at⁠——

JOHN. Good God!

HESTER. What is it, John?

HECTOR (resigned). Ah! He is dead.

JOHN. It’s impossible!

HECTOR. Not impossible, my dear boy. Inevitable, alas! But none the less distressing.

JOHN. Ariadne!

HESTER. What is it, John? Let me look. (She takes the letter from him.)

JOHN. It’s ridiculous!

HECTOR. Well, but what is it, my dear boy? (Trying to get at the letter) May I⁠——

HESTER. Good gracious!

HECTOR. May I be allowed⁠——

HESTER. Had you any idea of this?

JOHN. Is it likely?

HECTOR. Might I⁠——

HESTER. But why?

JOHN. Why, indeed!

HECTOR. Might I be allowed⁠—— (He gets the letter at last. They watch him reading it.) Merciful heavens!

JOHN. I don’t believe it.

HECTOR. My old friend Horace Meldrum!

HESTER. She doesn’t actually say Mr. Meldrum.

HECTOR. True. Let us be fair. She just says Horace. “Horace and I are going into the unknown together. Do not try to follow us.” But if it is not Horace Meldrum, who can it be?

HESTER (to JOHN). Did she know any other Horace?

HECTOR. There are no other Horaces.

JOHN. Not that I know of. But it can’t be Meldrum. That’s impossible.

[Pg 118]

HECTOR (turning over the letter). Ah, a postscript! This may throw more light on the matter.

JOHN. A postscript?

HESTER (trying to look over his shoulder). I didn’t see that.

HECTOR. “P.S. I am putting this against the clock so that you will be sure to see it.” That, at any rate, shows thoughtfulness.

JOHN (bitterly). Ha! (To HECTOR) Here, give it me! (He takes the letter.)

HESTER. Why do you say it can’t be Mr. Meldrum?

JOHN. She hates him. She told me so only yesterday.

HESTER. Ah!

HECTOR. Hate and love! You know what the old adage says. Love and Hate—I forget the actual wording.

JOHN (fiercely). I tell you she hated him. She thought he was a bounder.

HECTOR (staggered). My old friend Horace Meldrum a bounder!

JOHN. A bounder, I tell you! A cad! That’s not love!

HESTER. It might be deception.

HECTOR. You think she was just throwing dust in his eyes? It may be so.

JOHN (going to the door). I’ll ring up Meldrum now. I’ll prove it to you⁠——

HECTOR (suddenly). John! My poor John!

JOHN (turning back at the door). What?

HECTOR. To think that it should have escaped my memory!

HESTER. What? You never told me.

HECTOR. How can I have been so foolish! I called in to see Horace Meldrum earlier this afternoon on a small matter of business⁠——

[Pg 119]

JOHN (eagerly). Well?

HECTOR. I was told that he had gone to London.

JOHN. Good God!

HESTER. Are you sure, Hector?

HECTOR. My dear, how can I be mistaken now that it comes back to me?

HESTER. Well, that’s odd certainly.

JOHN. Perhaps Ariadne didn’t go herself, after all. Perhaps she has just gone out somewhere in the town.

HESTER. Mary told us she had gone to London.

JOHN. Did she?... What were you saying about a dressing-case?

HECTOR. Taking, according to Mary, a dressing-case with her.

HESTER. Why should she do that?

HECTOR. And not on a Wednesday, mark you, but a Saturday!

HESTER. On the excuse of doing some shopping.

JOHN. Mary told you, you say. Well, I’ll make sure of that anyway. (He strides across the room and rings the bell.)

HECTOR. Steady, dear boy, steady!

HESTER. Don’t bring the servants into it until you have to, John.

JOHN. Yes, that’s true.... But I’ve rung.

HECTOR (holding up a large white hand). Allow me to deal with it.

[He goes out and is heard dealing with it.

HESTER. I’m always so frightened of the servants knowing anything.

HECTOR (outside). Have you—ah, it’s all right, thank you. I thought I had mislaid a small parcel. Yes, that was all, thank you. (He comes in with a brown paper bag which he puts down) Don’t let me forget that, dear, when we go. (To JOHN) A small pine for dessert to-morrow.

[Pg 120]

HESTER. Well, they both went to London. That seems certain.

JOHN. Why shouldn’t they both go to London?

HECTOR. Why not? But you have her letter, and you have the corroborative evidence of the dressing-case and the absence of Meldrum. We must reconcile ourselves to the facts.

JOHN. The letter, yes. (He reads it again.)

HESTER. What is it she says about some disagreement with you?

HECTOR. Yes, she brought me into it there.

HESTER (taking the letter). May I? (Reading it) Yes, this. “We are poles asunder, as Hector would say, on the most vitally important thing in life.”

HECTOR. Why as I would say? I don’t recollect ever using the phrase.

HESTER. The most vitally important thing in life. (Giving him back the letter) What was that, John?

HECTOR. Some money trouble? The question of her allowance?

JOHN. No, no. She knows I never grudged her anything. This comes out of a clear sky.

HECTOR. I understand, my dear fellow; a thunderbolt from the blue.

JOHN. There was the usual give and take of married life, of course. But she was happy. You saw her last night. Wouldn’t you have said she was as happy as—well, as anybody else?

HESTER. She seemed much as usual, certainly.

(There is a short silence.)

JOHN (suddenly). Why, of course!

HESTER. What?

JOHN. That letter.

HECTOR. You have it.

JOHN. No, the one he wrote to her.

[Pg 121]

HESTER. When? You haven’t told us of this.

JOHN. Last night—he sent those flowers and a letter.

HECTOR. Flowers and a letter! Now we are getting to something tangible. What did the letter say?

JOHN. I didn’t read it.

HESTER. Well, but she may have left it somewhere.

JOHN (awkwardly). No. I—she tore it up.

HESTER. In here?

JOHN. Yes. (He goes to the basket, looks in it, then rings the bell) Cleared away, of course.

HESTER. John, what are you doing?

HECTOR. Steady, dear boy, steady.

JOHN. They have the waste paper in the kitchen, I suppose. What happens to it?

HESTER. But you can’t ask the servants about a torn-up letter.

JOHN. Why not? A business letter accidentally thrown away⁠——

HESTER. No, no! It’s so—you can’t. They will guess.

JOHN. They’ll guess soon enough if every time I ring the bell I have to send out Hector to make an excuse for it.

HESTER (proudly). Hector will think of something without going out this time.

HECTOR. Er—yes—er⁠——(The door opens and he hastily whispers to JOHN.)

MARY. Did you ring, sir?

JOHN. A whisky and soda for Mr. Chadwick.

MARY. Yes, sir.

[She goes out.

HECTOR (apologetically). On the spur of the moment, and seeing what a warm day it is⁠——

HESTER. In any case, John, she saw him last night. Were they alone together after we’d gone?

[Pg 122]

JOHN (reluctantly). Ye—yes. I saw Janet home, you know.

HESTER. Of course. Then there you are!

(They are all silent, thinking. JOHN looks at his watch and automatically looks at the clock.)

HECTOR (keeping all their spirits up). The old clock keeping pretty good time? (But, for once, nobody minds.)

JOHN (suddenly). I shall go to London.

HECTOR. Ah!

HESTER. What can you do there?

JOHN. Make inquiries at her club. Something. Anything.

HECTOR. Her club. Come! This gives us a starting-point. We must explore every avenue. Her club. (He thinks.)

HESTER (for it still rankles). Why did she ever want a club—in London?

JOHN. She said she was going to lunch there. I could find that out anyhow.

HECTOR (with great presence of mind). Tsss! (MARY is coming in with the whisky. He hurries forward to take charge of it.) Thank you. (Bottle in hand) John?

[MARY goes out.

JOHN. No, no.

HECTOR (pouring himself out one). You won’t mind if I do? You won’t think it unfeeling?

HESTER. Of course not, Hector, how could he think so?

HECTOR (raising glass). I can only say, in the most profound meaning of the phrase—Here’s luck!

JOHN. I can catch the—what is it—5.30?

HECTOR (dropping his glass and whipping out his time-table). Just a moment. 5.29, isn’t it?

HESTER. It seems so hopeless.

JOHN. Good God! What else can I do? Must do something.

[Pg 123]

HECTOR (proudly). 5.29, I thought so.

HESTER. Suppose you find them together?

JOHN. I’ll break his damned neck for him.

HESTER. No, no, John, nothing rash.

HECTOR (still on the 5.29). John was speaking metaphorically, dear.

HESTER. Hadn’t Hector better go with you?

HECTOR. I am at your service, my dear fellow. Very fortunate that it has all happened at a week-end. There are no rival claims of business. The 5.29 runs in at⁠——

JOHN. No, no, I can’t bother Hector.

HECTOR. It would be a pleasure—a melancholy pleasure. I shall engage Horace Meldrum in conversation, while you⁠——

JOHN. While I break his neck.

HECTOR. I was going to say, “While you reason with Ariadne.” ... Runs in at....

JOHN. Put it how you like. Only for God’s sake come on.

(He takes HECTOR’S arm and marches him to the door. The door opens and ARIADNE comes in. JOHN and HECTOR draw back in amazement.)

JOHN (carried away for the moment). Ariadne! My darling!

ARIADNE. John!

HECTOR. Well, well, well!

JOHN (sternly, remembering that he is an injured husband). Where have you been?

HECTOR. You may well ask!

ARIADNE. Running away from you, John.

JOHN. Then what are you doing here now?

ARIADNE. I have come back to you, John. (She sits down.)

JOHN (angry at the fright he has had). It was just a joke, was it, your letter?

[Pg 124]

HECTOR. A joke in very doubtful taste. In more than doubtful taste.

HESTER. If it was a joke.

ARIADNE (looking at them). You have shown them my letter?

HECTOR. We know all.

JOHN. What could I—they were here. Do you think I can read a letter like that, and put it calmly in my pocket, as if nothing had happened?

ARIADNE. No, no, of course not, dear.

HESTER. Dear!

HECTOR. Have you any right to call him “dear,” that is the question.

ARIADNE (reproachfully). I only ran away this morning, Hector.

HECTOR. True, true. Nothing could have⁠——Quite so, quite so.

JOHN. You have been to London?

ARIADNE. Yes.

JOHN. And why have you come back now?

ARIADNE. He missed his train.

JOHN. Who?

ARIADNE. The gentleman I was running away with.

HECTOR. Meldrum. My old friend Horace Meldrum.

JOHN (fiercely). Was it Meldrum? Where is Meldrum?

ARIADNE. He missed his train.

JOHN. What do you mean? You say here in your letter⁠——(He turns it over, trying to find the place.)

ARIADNE. Let me find it for you, dear.

JOHN (refusing her offer). Here it is. “Horace and I,” that’s Meldrum?

ARIADNE. Of course. (Surprised) You haven’t any other friends called Horace?

HECTOR. The very point I made. Do you remember, Hester?

[Pg 125]

JOHN. “Horace and I are going into the unknown together. Do not try to follow us.”

ARIADNE. Yes, that’s right.

JOHN. Well?

ARIADNE. Darling, I keep telling you. He missed his train. The 12.5.

HECTOR (as if he now understood it all). The 12.5. Ah! (He nods his head solemnly. A dangerous train.)

JOHN. But I don’t see⁠——

ARIADNE. When you arrange to go into the unknown with a woman by a certain train, you can’t just go and miss the train. It’s so careless.

HESTER. You could have gone by the next.

ARIADNE (carelessly). I expect he did. I daresay he is searching London for me now.... Ring the bell, Hector, will you? I am dying for some tea.

HECTOR (indignantly). Tea! (But he rings the bell.)

ARIADNE (sweetly). I’ve been going backwards and forwards all day.

JOHN. I am afraid I am still very stupid. Meldrum, as I understand it, was to have gone with you to London by the 12.5 train?

ARIADNE. No, no. I had gone by the 10.15. He was to come up later and call for me at my club.

HECTOR. Her club. You see, Hester, we were right to make that the starting-point.

JOHN. And he was coming up by the 12.5?

ARIADNE. Yes. Only he missed it.

HECTOR. Presumably he was detained by some business⁠——

ARIADNE. Presumably. (Enter MARY.) Tea, please, Mary. (To them all) Have you had any?

HESTER. Is it likely?

HECTOR. Tsss! (He indicates the maid.)

[Pg 126]

ARIADNE. You waited for me. How nice of you! Tea for four.

MARY. Yes, madam.

[She goes out.

ARIADNE. I am sorry, dear. You were saying that Horace was probably detained by business.

JOHN. Well?

ARIADNE. Well, you see, if a man is detained by business when you are going to watch a cricket match with him, that doesn’t matter so much, but if he is detained by business when you are running away with him—well, ask Hester.

HECTOR. My dear lady!

HESTER (coldly). I have never run away from my husband.

ARIADNE. But you must often have wanted to. I am sorry, Hector, but—any husband.... (To HESTER) How would you feel if just as you had worked yourself up to it, you got a telegram “Missed train.” Just like that. “Missed train.” It’s so—so uncomplimentary. Wouldn’t you feel that if he had really loved you, he would have run the whole way to London behind the train, rather than waste a moment sending telegrams?

JOHN. That’s absurd.

ARIADNE. Oh, of course, if you are going to stand up for him⁠——

JOHN (indignantly). I am doing nothing of the sort! I merely say⁠——

ARIADNE. And I merely say that when you are running away with a woman it’s an insult to her to miss the train.

HECTOR. He might have only just missed it.

ARIADNE. Then he should have taken a special, shouldn’t he, Hester?

HESTER (unwillingly). Well, certainly, it would have shown a more⁠——

ARIADNE. There you are! Hester feels just as I do.

[Pg 127]

HESTER (indignantly). I feel nothing of the sort!

ARIADNE (coaxingly). A little bit.

HECTOR. A special! Do you know how much a special costs?

ARIADNE. Ah, now we’re talking! How much does a special cost, John?

JOHN (absently). Fifty pounds? (Furiously) I don’t know! (This is not in the least how he had meant the scene to go.)

ARIADNE. I thought solicitors knew all those things.

HECTOR. Every penny of fifty pounds!

ARIADNE. And what am I worth? About twenty? Oh, ridiculous of him to have taken a special! Most unbusiness-like. Ariadne’s one thing, but fifty pounds!

JOHN (now entirely lost). Really! I don’t think⁠——

HECTOR (warningly). Tsss! (MARY comes in to prepare the tea. HECTOR becomes tactful.) You came back by the 3.10, I suppose? Did you have a good day’s shopping?

ARIADNE (smiling to herself). I did all I wanted.

HESTER. Such a good train, the 3.10.

HECTOR. I always say it’s the best down train we have.

ARIADNE. I say it a good deal, but not so often as that.

HECTOR. Excellent train, don’t you think so, John?

ARIADNE. The 12.5 is a very good train up to London—if you can catch it.

HECTOR (uncomfortably). Quite so, quite so.

(MARY has now gone.)

ARIADNE. Let’s see, where were we?

HESTER. She’ll be coming in again directly with the tea.

ARIADNE. What shall we do? Go on talking about trains till she comes in and goes out again, or go on now, and then get back to the trains when⁠——

[Pg 128]

JOHN (sharply). What do the servants know? What did you say to them when you went off this morning?

ARIADNE. Just that I was going up to London to do a little shopping.

HECTOR. Ah! the very impression I was endeavouring to give Mary just now.

JOHN. Shopping with a dressing-case?

ARIADNE. Well, I might have been taking a dress up to be cleaned or something. Mightn’t I, Hester?

HESTER. They wouldn’t have guessed anything yet. But servants always know the sort of woman you are. You can never hide that from them.

ARIADNE. Only from husbands.

JOHN. Well, if they don’t know, that’s something to start with. I was afraid⁠——

HECTOR (always ready). Tsss!

MARY comes in with the tea.

ARIADNE (with an air). I went up by the 10.15. Another good train.

HECTOR. I always say that the few trains we have are good. Only what we want is more. Quantity as well as quality.

ARIADNE. How true!

HECTOR. When you get into Parliament, John, you’ll have to see to that.

ARIADNE. Thank you, Mary.

[MARY goes out.

Now then, we’re quite safe unless somebody comes and calls. Perhaps I had better tell Mary that I am not at home?

JOHN (impatiently). Nobody will call. The position then is this: you had arranged to go off with Meldrum. You were to go first, and he was to follow you by a certain train?

[Pg 129]

ARIADNE. Yes, dear. Tea, Hester?

JOHN (violently). Oh, damn the tea! Tea, tea, tea! How can we settle anything when you’re always talking about tea?

ARIADNE (soothingly). The sooner we start drinking it, the sooner we shall stop talking about it. Hester?

HESTER (haughtily). No, thank you.

ARIADNE (coldly). Hector, pass Hester a bun.

HESTER. I don’t want anything, thank you.

ARIADNE. Hector? You do, don’t you?

HECTOR (taking a cup). Thank you. After all, it’s a stimulant. One wants to keep a very clear head. (He takes a bun—another stimulant.)

ARIADNE. Did you say you wouldn’t have any, John?

JOHN (gruffly). No, thank you.

ARIADNE (pouring herself a cup). There! Now, then, where were we? Oh, yes—I was to go first and he was to follow me by a certain train. That’s right.

JOHN. And he didn’t follow you?

ARIADNE. Not by that train.

HECTOR. Let me see, if he missed the 12.5, he’d probably catch the⁠——(Out comes the time-table) Now, then.

HESTER. What does it matter what train he went by?

HECTOR (turning the pages rapidly with a moistened finger). In a case like this nothing is immaterial.

JOHN. Well, then, you got a telegram at your club saying that he’d missed his train.

ARIADNE. And was coming by the next. (Taking a telegram from her bag) Here it is.

JOHN. Ah! (He reads it.)

HECTOR. May I? (He takes it and reads) Ah! Handed in at Melchester Central, 12.20. Received Knightsbridge, 12.38. “Missed train. Expect me at three. Horace.”

[Pg 130]

JOHN. And what did you do?

HECTOR. One moment, dear boy. (Returning to time-table) He would catch the 1.17. Runs into town—runs into town⁠——(He turns a page.)

JOHN (his temper rising). And what did you do, when you read the telegram?

ARIADNE. Came home again.

HECTOR. Change at West Hutton. I knew it wasn’t a good train. Yes, he ought to have caught the 12.5.

ARIADNE. He ought. That’s what I keep saying.

JOHN (sarcastically). And as he didn’t, you have decided that you don’t want to go into the unknown with him after all?

ARIADNE. No. It would be so very unknown if he kept on missing trains.

JOHN. Whereupon you come coolly back here, as if nothing had happened, and order tea?

ARIADNE. I was too excited to have lunch. Thinking of him.

JOHN. And now what do you propose to do?

ARIADNE (at last saying the right thing). Wait to hear what you propose to do with me, John.

JOHN. Ah!

HECTOR. Exactly. Now we are getting to grips with the problem. To take the possibilities. Divorce.

JOHN (staggered). Divorce?

HESTER. Rubbish!

HECTOR (with dignity). Divorce, I was about to say, is impossible.

ARIADNE. Not impossible, but very bad for business.

JOHN (sharply). Why not impossible?

ARIADNE. John! And you a solicitor! Is anything impossible to a really good solicitor? Think of me in the witness box! How your counsel would rend me! I wonder who you would brief.

[Pg 131]

HESTER. It’s absurd, anyway. We don’t want a divorce in the family.

ARIADNE. Of course we don’t.

HECTOR. So be it. We rule out divorce and come to the second alternative. Separation. Judicial or otherwise.

ARIADNE (shaking her head). So expensive.

HECTOR. What would a separation figure out at, John, all told?

(It is as much as JOHN can do not to shriek.)

ARIADNE. I was thinking of the expense afterwards. It would mean two establishments for John. Even as it is, with me helping him by making love to his clients, we can only just keep this one going. Isn’t it so, John?

(But at this JOHN gives way altogether.)

JOHN (shouting). What do you want? What do you think is going to happen? Do you think you can come back here⁠——

HECTOR (always helpful). The past blotted out⁠——

JOHN. Do you think you can go off as you please⁠——

HECTOR (still helping). Here to-day and gone to-morrow.

JOHN. Do you think you can just go away and come back when you like⁠——

HECTOR (explanatorily). Without so much as a with-your-leave or a by-your-leave⁠——

JOHN (swinging round on HECTOR). Shut up!

HESTER (appalled). John!

ARIADNE (gleefully to herself). He’s angry!

JOHN (still shouting). Why do you come interfering? Can’t I manage my own affairs? You keep talking and talking and talking⁠——

HECTOR. My dear John!

JOHN. I can’t say anything, but what you must say something⁠——

HECTOR. I am dumbfounded.

[Pg 132]

JOHN (almost crying). Why can’t you leave me alone? She’s my wife, isn’t she?

ARIADNE (under her breath). Well done!

HECTOR (to the world). I am absolutely at a loss! In this very distressing business I am merely putting my brains, such as they are, at your disposal. And this happens! I am absolutely at a loss!

HESTER (hurrying to her wounded husband’s aid). After all, John, you asked for our advice⁠——

HECTOR. You took us into your confidence⁠——

HESTER (stroking her wounded husband’s head). Hector only wants to help.

HECTOR (sadly). It is beyond me. I am out of my depth.

ARIADNE (recalling JOHN to the present). Dear, Hector is out of his depth.

JOHN (ashamed of himself). I am sorry, Hector. (He holds out his hand which HECTOR shakes heartily.)

HECTOR (happily, the perfect gentleman). Say no more, my dear fellow! An apology—between friends⁠——

JOHN (opening the door). Would you mind? Forgive me, Hester. (HESTER gets up and he shakes her hand.) I think perhaps Ariadne and I⁠——It was very kind of you to⁠——Perhaps to-morrow we may⁠——Of course you won’t say anything until⁠——

(He has got them to the door.)

HESTER. That’s all right, John.

HECTOR (vaguely). An apology—between friends. (Under his breath to HESTER) My dear, do we⁠——(He indicates saying good-bye to ARIADNE) No? Doubtful taste, perhaps. Perhaps better not. Quite so.

(JOHN takes them out. While he is away ARIADNE touches herself up in front of the glass and comes back to her tea.)

JOHN (as he comes back). Damn that fellow!

[Pg 133]

ARIADNE. Hector? Such a nice man.

JOHN. Gas-bag.

ARIADNE. It’s your brother-in-law. Your own sister’s husband, and making lots of money. You can’t call a man like that a gas-bag.

JOHN. Never mind that. (Firmly. A husband and a solicitor) Now then, Ariadne.

ARIADNE. Yes, John.

JOHN. I want some explanation of this. Why did you go away with that fellow?

ARIADNE. You told me to be nice to him.

JOHN. (to Heaven). Nice to him!

ARIADNE. Yes, it was the nicest thing I could think of.

JOHN. And when your husband asks you to be friendly to a man who is a good client of his, that’s how you do it.

ARIADNE. Yes. When they don’t miss their train.

JOHN. Well!

ARIADNE (anxiously). You don’t think I was too friendly? I had to think of the business, and he’s such a very important client, isn’t he?

JOHN. Look here, if you think that by ridiculous exaggeration of my words like that⁠——

ARIADNE. Don’t sneer at exaggeration. All art is exaggeration. It isn’t until you look at a thing a little out of its perspective that you see it as it really is.

JOHN. I don’t want a lecture on art.

ARIADNE. No, John. And it means using such long words. But I want you to understand that my heart was in the right place if—if the rest of me wasn’t. I overdid the faithful wife, that’s all.

JOHN. Faithful wife! You have a sense of humour, Ariadne.

ARIADNE. I have, John. Nothing can take that from me.

JOHN (suddenly). I don’t believe a word you’ve been [Pg 134]saying. You ran away with him because you loved him. (She says nothing. He goes over to her and shakes her by the shoulders.) Answer! Do you love this fellow?

ARIADNE. Why do you call him a fellow? Only yesterday you were telling me what a good sort he was.

JOHN (to himself). Meldrum! Good God! How little one knows one’s friends! That sort of man!

ARIADNE. But I told you yesterday he was that sort of man.

JOHN. God! I’ll break his neck for him.

ARIADNE (interested). Is that legal?

JOHN (grimly). I’ll—break—his—neck for him.

ARIADNE. Is it businesslike? Of course you’d have the winding up of the estate⁠——

JOHN. If he thinks he can try any of those games in this house⁠——

ARIADNE. Isn’t it funny? Yesterday you liked him and I didn’t, and to-day you don’t like him and I⁠——

JOHN (turning to her suddenly). Supposing he had caught that train! Where would you be now?

ARIADNE. Ah, but he didn’t. He was detained by business. Business first.

JOHN (melodramatically). In all but actual fact you are unfaithful to me!

ARIADNE. Ah, but facts are what count in this hard-headed town.

JOHN. But for the trifling accident of missing a train⁠——

ARIADNE (excusing him). I suppose he is very busy just now.

JOHN (the husband forgotten in the solicitor). Those new houses. I told you.

ARIADNE. I suppose he suddenly decided that they could be run up for less or that they didn’t really want bathrooms. I must ask him what it was.

[Pg 135]

JOHN (the husband roused). You’ll do nothing of the sort! I’ll take damned good care you never see him again.

ARIADNE. Darling, is that wise?

JOHN. What do you mean?

ARIADNE. We don’t want to offend him, do we?

JOHN. Offend! That’s funny! That’s very funny! (He laughs bitterly.)

ARIADNE. Yes, dear, but we mustn’t let our sense of humour interfere with our sense of business.

JOHN (very sarcastic). He hasn’t offended me. Oh no! He has only run away with my wife.

ARIADNE. But you must save something from the wreck. You don’t want to lose a wife and a good client on the same day.

JOHN (now entirely unmanned). Damn my clients!

ARIADNE. John, you’re losing your head. You’re saying things you’ll be sorry for one day.

JOHN (violently). And you’re saying things you’ll be sorry for. And what’s more, my girl, you’ll be sorry for them now. I tell you I’ve had about enough of this. (He goes up to her fiercely) You shame me in front of my relations, you insult me, you ruin my business for me, you⁠——

ARIADNE (triumphantly). Ah ha! I knew that would come in. Business! Business!

JOHN (seizing her wrists). Stop it, do you hear? Stop it, or by God, I’ll⁠——

(The door opens very quietly and HECTOR creeps in.)

HECTOR (in a stage whisper). It’s all right, I’m not staying. I just⁠——Did I leave a small pine—ah, there it is. Thank you, thank you.

(He picks up his pineapple and tip-toes softly out of the room.)

Monday. ARIADNE is alone in the drawing-room, reading. MARY is clearing away tea. The front door bell rings.

ARIADNE. I am at home to anybody, Mary. From the Mayor downwards—(after thought)—upwards—(after further thought)—downwards.

MARY. Yes, madam.

(She goes out, leaving the door open. In a little while HECTOR’S voice is heard booming.)

HECTOR’S VOICE. Ah, Mary! Is Mr. Winter in? I just dropped in on my way next door.... (MARY’S voice is not heard.) ... Ah! No, I think perhaps.... No, it was your master I particularly wished—in the circumstances perhaps hardly⁠——Thank you, thank you.

(He goes, MARY comes back.)

MARY. It was Mr. Chadwick, madam. He said⁠——

ARIADNE (smiling). I heard him, Mary. He talks very clearly.

MARY. Thank you, madam.

[She goes out.

(ARIADNE returns to her book.)

ARIADNE (to herself). Cut by Hector. (JOHN comes in, evening paper in hand. She jumps up) Darling! (JOHN takes no notice.) Cut—by John. (She goes back to the sofa and picks up her book) And now I’ve lost the place. That comes of being impetuous. (JOHN [Pg 137]settles down with the paper.) Did you see Hector? (JOHN grunts.) Yes or no, as the case may be.... He’s just gone out.... He’s coming back again.... (After a long pause) How delightful.

JOHN (sulkily). What?

ARIADNE. Oh, nothing. (After a pause) Anything in the paper?

JOHN. No.

ARIADNE. Nothing in the paper. (After a pause) Did you have a good day?

JOHN. H’m.

ARIADNE. A good day. Now what shall I say next? (Brightly, after a pause) I’m reading a book about bees.

JOHN. H’m.

ARIADNE. What a mercy! I’ve found a subject which interests him.... It says in my book about bees that when the queen bee has finished with her husband she kills him. Did you know that? It’s a funny idea, isn’t it? You’d have thought that she’d have kept him to talk to her in the evenings. It must be so lonely for her without anybody.

JOHN. H’m.

ARIADNE. He isn’t as fascinated as I thought. (After a pause) I wish I had been married to Hector. Whatever his faults, nobody can say that he doesn’t talk.

JOHN (rudely). And nobody can say that his wife ran away from him.

ARIADNE (sweetly). Oh, is that what it is? I knew there was something the matter.

JOHN (throwing down his paper). What do you expect me to do? Thank you for coming back to me, and then chatter away gaily as though nothing had happened?

ARIADNE. No, but I think that, after two days of [Pg 138]completely silent thought, you ought to do something. What are you going to do, John?

JOHN (mumbling). Haven’t decided.

ARIADNE. Would you like me to go away for a few days until you have decided?

JOHN (brutally). With whom?

ARIADNE. Oh, John! (She shakes her head at him.)

JOHN (angrily). Why do you make me say things like that? I was just reading my paper—and then you make me say horrible things like that. What do you expect me to do? I’ve tried to see Meldrum, I keep on trying to see Meldrum, but if he’s away, what can I do?

ARIADNE (surprised). Away?

JOHN. Of course he’s away. At least he’s never at home or at his office when I go to see him.

ARIADNE (eagerly). What are you going to say to him?

JOHN. Tell him that, if I see him inside my house again, I’ll knock his head off.

ARIADNE. John! My darling! (She goes to him and puts her arms round his neck.)

JOHN. Go away! (He tries to unloose her arms.)

ARIADNE. And you are prepared to lose all his business?

JOHN (bravely). If necessary.

ARIADNE (admiringly). John!

JOHN (hopefully). It may not come to that, of course.

ARIADNE. But it must!

JOHN (uncomfortably). My dear child, you can’t let sentiment interfere with business. No business man does. If it’s convenient to Meldrum that I should continue to act for him, naturally he will want me to.

ARIADNE. And naturally you will?

JOHN. Naturally.

[Pg 139]

ARIADNE (leaving him). I think I shall go on with my book about bees.

Enter MARY.

MARY. Miss Ingleby is at the door and wants to know if you’re engaged, madam.

ARIADNE. Oh no, ask her in, Mary.

MARY. Yes, madam.

[She goes out.

ARIADNE. You’d better pretend you’re busy, hadn’t you, dear? Janet would know at once that you didn’t love me any more.

JOHN (sulkily). Right.

[He goes out and is heard speaking to JANET.

JOHN (outside). How are you? You’ll find Ariadne in there. I’ve got one or two letters to write.

JANET. Thanks. (She comes in.)

ARIADNE. Good-evening, dear. I suppose you’ve had tea.

JANET. Oh, Lord, yes, ages ago. (She sits down.) I rather want your advice, that’s why I came.

ARIADNE. Well, as long as you promise not to take it⁠——

JANET. That’s something about you that makes you different from most of the people here.

ARIADNE. I suppose Hector would think it uncivic of me to take that as a compliment.

JANET. Well, anyway, I’ll tell you what’s happened; though, I know pretty well what you’ll say.

ARIADNE. How disappointing of you!... Go ahead. (Tucking them away) I’m all ears.

JANET. Well, I went to London on Saturday.

ARIADNE. London! On Saturday! Fancy!

JANET. To have lunch with some friends. I was coming back by that 5 train⁠——

ARIADNE. I know. It isn’t a very good one.

[Pg 140]

JANET. How funny! That was just what Horace Meldrum said.

ARIADNE (surprised). Horace Meldrum? When?

JANET. When he saw me catching it.

ARIADNE (innocently). Oh, did he go to London on Saturday?

JANET. He had to run up to see a man about something.

ARIADNE. Oh, I see.

JANET. We were both catching the 5 train back.

ARIADNE. Fancy! So he was coming back too?

JANET. Well, he was at the station anyway.

ARIADNE. Looking for somebody perhaps.

JANET. Well, anyhow we met just outside the platform, and naturally we got talking, and he said that the best train of the day was the 10.45.

ARIADNE. Yes, I’ve heard that very well spoken of.

JANET. And he thought it would be rather fun if we had dinner somewhere and came back by that train together.

ARIADNE. He likes a little bit of fun, I know.

JANET. I thought it would be rather fun, too. So we did.

ARIADNE (anxiously). He didn’t mention any—better trains?

JANET. No, that was the best.

ARIADNE. And you caught it?

JANET. Yes.

ARIADNE (with a sigh of relief). Then what do you want my advice about?

JANET. Well, I’m telling you.

ARIADNE. Sorry.

JANET. He got a bit wuzzy at dinner—well, I don’t mind that, I’ve seen a bit of it in my time.

ARIADNE. However old are you? A hundred and one?

[Pg 141]

JANET. When I say wuzzy, I don’t mean—well, he could have driven a car all right. I mean fond of himself—and of me—and of the waiters—you know.

ARIADNE. I know.

JANET. And in the train—we had a carriage to ourselves⁠——

ARIADNE. Really? First class, I suppose?

JANET. Yes, and the guard was a friend of his.

ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum has a great many friends in the guards.

JANET. Well, in the train⁠——

ARIADNE. I suppose he kissed you.

JANET. Well, of course! You don’t think I am making a song about that, do you?

ARIADNE. I’m sorry, go on.

JANET. Well, in the train he asked me to marry him.

ARIADNE (awed). Janet, I wish I could have heard him.

JANET. It was rather funny. He asked me to share his little nest, and things like that. Well, I told him that I couldn’t say off-hand, and he said, “That’s right, little woman, you think it over.” But he’s been practically living with us since, talking business with Father, and he thinks it’s settled, and Father thinks it’s settled, and⁠——

ARIADNE. And Janet?

JANET. Janet isn’t quite certain. Because, you see, there’s a lot to be said on both sides.

ARIADNE. I see. And which side do you want me to say it on?

JANET. I know what you’ll say—you’ll say, “Of course you mustn’t.”

ARIADNE (indignantly). I shan’t say anything of the sort.

JANET. You’re a bit old-fashioned in some ways. Don’t you think so?

[Pg 142]

ARIADNE. I’m trying not to be.

JANET. I feel that at any moment you’ll ask me if I’m in love with Horace.

ARIADNE. My dear child—I mean, my dear elderly friend, how could I ask you anything so ridiculous?

JANET. Mind you, I’m not saying that I have no use for love. But what I feel is that love and marriage are two different things.

ARIADNE. They are sometimes, of course.

JANET. Well, look round a bit, at all the married couples you know. How many of them are in love with each other? Are the Chadwicks?

ARIADNE (twinkling). You must ask Hector one day—when I’m there.

JANET (suddenly). I’ll ask somebody else. Are you and John?

ARIADNE. Oh, my dear! How embarrassing of you!

JANET. Well, tell me.

ARIADNE (after a pause). I think so, Janet.... In our hearts.... It gets covered up from time to time with business, and domestic worries, and other things, but I think it’s there.

JANET (a little taken aback). Oh!

ARIADNE. That’s what makes marriage such terrible fun. Trying to keep it. Trying to find it again. The other thing is so ridiculously easy. Any fool can get married, and throw her hand in.

JANET. Y-yes.

ARIADNE. You and I are much too good for that, Janet. We’re in a different class. Any brainless little fluffity girl can marry, and fall in love with somebody else, and be fallen in love with. It takes a real woman to keep marriage intact.... You could do it.... And it is such fun. But you must have the right husband to start with.... Oh yes, John and I are all right ... [Pg 143]really ... though perhaps he doesn’t know it just at this moment.

JANET (thoughtfully). I felt perhaps it was a bit cheap.

ARIADNE. Cheap ... yes.... Free love—and free verse. They may be better, but—(with a smile)—but they’re a damn sight easier. I like difficult things. (There is a short silence.)

JANET (getting up slowly). Yes. Horace is too easy.

ARIADNE. Much.

JANET. Thanks, Ariadne.

ARIADNE. Do something for me.

JANET. Of course.

ARIADNE (smiling to herself). Let him think—for to-day anyhow—that it is settled.

JANET. My dear, it will take me more than a day to persuade him that it isn’t.

ARIADNE. And it really isn’t?

JANET. It isn’t. Horace is off.... Charlie was off.... I suppose I shall find somebody one day.

ARIADNE. Why not find a job of work to do while you’re looking round?

JANET (struck by the novelty of it). Good idea! I will. So long. (She goes ... wondering what she could do.)

(Left alone, ARIADNE waits until JANET is out of the house, and then opens the door and calls across to JOHN’S study.)

ARIADNE. John!... John.... It’s all right, Janet has gone. We can resume our silence from where we left off.... Bother! (She wanders round the room in an undecided way, and then goes back to the sofa and picks up her book.) I suppose it will have to be bees again.

Enter MARY.

MARY. Oh, Mr. Meldrum rang up, madam, while you were engaged with Miss Ingleby. I couldn’t quite [Pg 144]catch whether it was Mr. or Mrs. Winter he was asking for. He just wanted to know if you was in.

ARIADNE (hopefully). Yes, Mary?

MARY. He was coming round, I understood him to say, madam. I think the master has gone up to dress. I think I heard him going into the bathroom.

(The front door bell rings.)

ARIADNE. Oh! Well, you’d better show Mr. Meldrum in here in case it’s very urgent business.

MARY. Yes, madam, I think that’s him now.

ARIADNE. Very well, Mary. (MARY goes out and ARIADNE smiles to herself on the sofa.) Dear Horace!

MARY (announcing). Mr. Meldrum.

HORACE comes in.

HORACE (advancing airily, hand extended). Ah, dear lady, I just looked round to say how sorry I was⁠——

ARIADNE (rising dramatically). Horace!

HORACE (less airily). How sorry I was our little luncheon fell through⁠——

ARIADNE. My darling!

HORACE (startled). Eh?

ARIADNE. I was afraid something had happened to you.

HORACE. Oh no, no, no. A little bit of business turned up. You know how it does. And I said to myself, “Mrs. John is a sensible woman, she’ll understand how it is when a little bit of business turns up. She’ll let me off that little bit of lunch I promised her.” But I thought I’d just come round—only polite⁠——

ARIADNE (bewildered). Horace!

HORACE. What’s the matter?

ARIADNE. Ah, I understand. How tactful of you. [Pg 145]But you can speak quite safely now. We are alone. My husband is upstairs having a bath. Darling!

HORACE. I—I—I—Really!

ARIADNE. As if business would have kept you away from me! What was it, dear? You had an accident? You fell down?

HORACE. Really, Mrs. Winter, I don’t quite—I think you must have made⁠——(He breaks off, not knowing what to say.)

ARIADNE. Ah, but never mind! We are all right now.

HORACE (mechanically). All right now.

ARIADNE. Quite sure?

HORACE. Quite sure.

ARIADNE. Then when do we start?

HORACE. When do we⁠——?

ARIADNE. When do we start?

HORACE (mechanically). Start.

ARIADNE. Yes, start.

HORACE. Start where?

ARIADNE. That’s for you to say, Horace. What about Spain?

HORACE. Spain?

ARIADNE. Yes, Spain.

HORACE (mechanically). Spain.... Spain.... Spain.... Spain....

ARIADNE. Spain—until it’s all blown over.

HORACE. Spain until it’s all blown over.... (With an effort) My dear lady, I—I don’t know what you’re talking about.

ARIADNE (horrified). Horace!

HORACE. I don’t know what you’re talking about.

ARIADNE. Have I made a terrible mistake?

HORACE (seeming to find some comfort in the phrase). I don’t know what you’re talking about.

[Pg 146]

ARIADNE. You did ask me to come away with you?

HORACE. I don’t know what⁠——

ARIADNE. To leave my husband and come away with you?

HORACE (with energy). Never! Never! Never! Never!

ARIADNE. Not on that Friday night when I wore your rose?

HORACE. Never!

ARIADNE. And you wore mine?

HORACE. Never!

ARIADNE. We are thinking of the same Friday? I mean this last one.

HORACE. Never thought of such a thing. Never entered my head.

ARIADNE (wrinkling her forehead). I’m sure you said something.

HORACE (awkwardly). Just a little bit of lunch—I don’t say I didn’t suggest a little bit of lunch. What’s the harm in that?

ARIADNE. Was that really all?

HORACE. Absolutely all, ’pon my honour.

ARIADNE. Oh! How awful!

HORACE. Awful? What’s awful?

ARIADNE. What have I done?

HORACE. What have you done?

ARIADNE. Why, you see, I left a note for John.

HORACE (faintly). You left what?

ARIADNE. You see, I misunderstood you, and I left a note for John saying we were going away together.

HORACE. But—but—but⁠——

ARIADNE. And then you didn’t meet me as we arranged, and I thought you must have had some terrible accident, so I hurried back here to wait until you were well again.

[Pg 147]

HORACE (anxiously). Yes, but what about the note?

ARIADNE. It was too late. John had read it.

HORACE. But—but—but—my dear lady⁠——

ARIADNE. Wasn’t it a pity?

HORACE. But wha—wha—what did it say?

ARIADNE. Oh, just that you and I were going away together, and he wasn’t to follow us. I didn’t say anything about Spain, because I wasn’t quite sure.

HORACE. Well, of all the—well, of all the—well, of all the⁠——

ARIADNE (penitently). I was hasty, I see that now. But what are we going to do?

HORACE. What’s he going to do, that’s the point?

ARIADNE. Do you mean John?

HORACE (anxiously). What’s he been doing these last two days?

ARIADNE (simply). Waiting for you, Horace.

HORACE (nervously). How do you mean, waiting for me?

ARIADNE. Just waiting for you. I think he wants to speak to you.

HORACE (hopefully). Ah, yes, yes. Perhaps that’s it. There is a little matter of business between us⁠——

ARIADNE. This wasn’t business, Horace. He talked as though it would be a pleasure. He’s been looking for you everywhere.

HORACE. What do you think he’s going to say?

ARIADNE. He didn’t tell me. All he said was that he was going to break your neck for you.

HORACE (in alarm). But—but—but—but—but⁠——

ARIADNE. But I suppose he’ll say, “Ah, Meldrum, here you are,” first.

HORACE. But—but—but I’ve just fixed things up with old Ingleby. Little Miss Janet and I—well, but that shows how ridiculous the whole thing is. I’m marrying Miss Ingleby.

[Pg 148]

ARIADNE (reproachfully). Not with a broken neck!

HORACE (anxiously). But look here, my dear lady, you must explain. Tell him the whole thing was a horrible mistake.

ARIADNE. Oh, I shall. In fact I’m sure he’ll feel it for himself. He’ll look down at the body and say, “Yes, it was a mistake. I oughtn’t to have done it.” And I shall say, “I told you so, John. You see, we’ve got nowhere to put it.” And he’ll say, “What about the cellar?” and I shall say, “It’s much too big for the cellar,” and he will say⁠——(But the sight of HORACE’S face is too much for her. Weakly she adds) And he will say⁠——(and then breaks down altogether, and laughs hysterically).

HORACE (anxiously). There, there, my dear lady! (He tries to pat her back. She waves him away, and goes on laughing.) There! there!... There! there!... Try holding the breath ... there, there!

ARIADNE (shaking her head at him). Oh, Mr. Meldrum! (She laughs again.)

HORACE (with sudden relief). You were joking? Of course! That’s it! You were just joking about John and the letter you left for him! You haven’t told him anything. Of course you haven’t.

ARIADNE (still rather weak). Oh, Mr. Meldrum!

HORACE (anxious again). What? Wasn’t it⁠——

ARIADNE. And the poor man actually thought I was attracted by him!

HORACE (indignantly). What?

ARIADNE. He thought I wanted to share a first-class carriage with him!

HORACE. Who?

ARIADNE. Have a little bit of lunch with him—a little bit of dinner with him—in pink muslin!

HORACE (utterly undone). Well, I’m damned!

[Pg 149]

ARIADNE. Catch the last train with him! Good gracious, the man even thought I wanted to miss the last train with him! With him! (She points to him, and goes off into laughter again.)

HORACE. Well, upon my word⁠——

ARIADNE. Oh, Mr. Meldrum, you funny, funny man!

HORACE (hardly able to believe it). You mean to tell me that you were pulling my leg from the word “Go”?

ARIADNE (weakly). Yes. At least, from the word “nesting.”

HORACE. You’ve just been making a fool of me?

ARIADNE. No, no. Looking on while you made a fool of yourself.

HORACE. Well, upon my soul! (He stares at her in wonderment.)

ARIADNE. You really mustn’t make love to married women, you know. You haven’t got the figure for it. I’m not sure that you ought to make love to anybody.

HORACE. Fooled me! Fooled poor old Horace Meldrum!

ARIADNE. From the word muslin.

HORACE (gazing at her in admiration). You are a little devil!

ARIADNE. But then you like them to show a bit of spirit, don’t you?

HORACE. By gad, I do! To think that a bit of a woman like you⁠——

ARIADNE. Oh, I’m rather more than that. I’m almost all of it.

HORACE (beginning to laugh reminiscently). Right from the beginning! Poor old Horace bringing round his flowers ... poor old Horace arranging his little bit of dinner.... Why, I’d actually telephoned for a table—what do you think of that? At least my clerk had.... Well, well, well—and you were fooling me all the [Pg 150]time! Fooling poor old Horace Meldrum! What the boys would say if they knew! Ha, ha, ha! (He goes off into happy laughter.)

ARIADNE. It is funny, isn’t it? (She laughs too.)

HORACE (rolling with laughter). The way you kept it up!

ARIADNE. If you could have seen your face!

HORACE. Fooled by a woman! Ha, ha, ha!

JOHN (outside). Is that Meldrum?

HORACE (still laughing weakly—his back to the door). And of course he’s in the joke too! Ha, ha, ha!

(JOHN comes down the stairs two at a time, and bursts in, in his shirt sleeves, his coat in his hand.)

JOHN (fiercely). Ah, Meldrum, here you are!

HORACE (weakly). That’s how you said he’d begin! Ha, ha, ha.... Yes, John, old boy, here I am ... oh dear, oh dear! (He mops at his eyes, still shaking with laughter.)

JOHN. Stand up!

HORACE (chuckling to ARIADNE). He’s going through with it. (Meekly as he stands up) Yes, John.

JOHN. Don’t call me John.

ARIADNE. No, John. (To ARIADNE) And he’s taken his coat off and all!

ARIADNE (going to JOHN). Shall I help you on, dear?

JOHN (to ARIADNE). I think you had better leave us.

HORACE. That’s good! “I think you had better leave us.” That’s damned good. (He chuckles.)

ARIADNE (helping him on). Why, dear?

HORACE. He’s going to break my neck, Mrs. Winter. You can’t do that in the presence of ladies. It isn’t polite.

JOHN (stiffly). I wish to have a few words in private with Mr. Meldrum.

HORACE. A few words in private. Capital!

[Pg 151]

ARIADNE. As this concerns me, I feel that I ought to be present.

HORACE. Of course she ought. Come, come, John, you can’t spoil the fun by sending her away.

JOHN (grimly). Fun!

HORACE (chuckling). As pretty a little bit of fun as ever I saw. And I like a joke. Nobody can say I don’t like a joke. I like a joke with any man. (He sinks into the sofa again.)

JOHN. Stand up!

ARIADNE. John, he’s tired.

HORACE (getting up). No, no, I’ll play the game. You don’t catch Horace Meldrum spoiling a bit of fun.... Do I hold my hands up? (He winks at ARIADNE.)

JOHN. You ran away with my wife.

HORACE. Yes, that’s right. Spain.

JOHN. What?

HORACE. Spain. We were going to Spain. (To ARIADNE) It was Spain, wasn’t it?

ARIADNE (nodding). Ronda.

HORACE. That’s right. What she said. In Spain.

JOHN. Oh, so it was to be Spain, was it? And, but for the accident of missing your train, you would be in Spain together now?

HORACE (murmuring to himself). But for the accident of missing the train, Mrs. Winter and I would have been in Spain. That’s good. I thought there was a bit of poetry there. (Putting it to music) But for the accident⁠——

JOHN (terrifyingly). Answer! Is it so?

HORACE. Well, I don’t know what the trains—(hastily) that is to say, I did look them up, of course—(looking at his watch)—yes, we should just about have been there now—where she said.

JOHN. And what the devil do you mean by it?

[Pg 152]

HORACE (playing up nobly). I can only say, as one gentleman to another, I’m sorry. (To ARIADNE) That’s pretty good for an amateur.

JOHN. What are you saying to my wife?

HORACE. That was what they call an “aside,” old boy.

JOHN. How dare you address my wife at all! Kindly confine your remarks to me in future.

HORACE (chuckling). Oh, damn good, damn good, on my soul.

JOHN (suddenly). What’s the matter with you? Have you been drinking?

HORACE (earnestly). Not a drop, my dear fellow, not a drop since tea—well, just after tea.

JOHN. You can understand what I’m saying?

HORACE. Perfectly. And believe me, my dear boy, I appreciate it. I didn’t know you had it in you.

JOHN (a trifle bewildered). Then if you can understand, listen to me.

HORACE (weakly). Yes, John. Don’t make it too difficult for me.

JOHN (very impressively). First: If I ever catch you in my house again, I’ll thrash you within an inch of your life. Secondly: Your deeds and papers will be sent back to you to-morrow, and after that I won’t soil my fingers by touching any of your dirty business again.

ARIADNE (to herself, meaning it). Oh, well done, John!

HORACE (meaning something else). Isn’t he good?

JOHN. And thirdly: If you so much as put a foot into my office again, I’ll tell one of my clerks to kick you out.

HORACE (in sheer admiration). Marvellous, my dear fellow, marvellous. (He chuckles to himself.) Wonderful touch that about soiling your fingers—with my business!

JOHN (to ARIADNE). Is he mad? What’s the matter with him?

[Pg 153]

ARIADNE. I think he thinks you’re joking, dear. I think he thinks you’ve been joking all the time.

JOHN (staggered). Joking?

ARIADNE. Yes, I think that’s what he thinks. I don’t think he’s taking you quite seriously.

JOHN (grimly). Oh!... So you think I’m joking, eh?

HORACE (comfortably). My dear man, I know you’re joking.

JOHN. And how do you know that?

HORACE. Good Lord, I’m not a fool. You wouldn’t be talking about business like that if you weren’t joking.

ARIADNE. Ah, John, you see!

JOHN (nettled). I’ll soon show you if I’m joking or not.

HORACE. You did it so damn well that just for a moment you almost took me in. But when you talk about throwing away good business—all the nice little jobs I’ve given you, and all the nice little jobs I’m going to give you—(chuckling) why then, bless you, I know you’re trying to pull my leg. That’s over-acting, my boy.

JOHN. So you think I’m joking when I say that I won’t do any more business for a man who tries to run away with my wife?

HORACE. Course I do.

JOHN. Damn you, I mean it.

HORACE (waving him down). No, no, dear boy.

JOHN (appealingly). Ariadne, tell him I mean it. Tell him I’m serious.

ARIADNE. But it sounds so silly, John.

JOHN (to HORACE). I mean it, do you hear?

HORACE (chuckling comfortably). No, no, dear boy. You’ve put up a very good performance, but now you’re getting carried away. It’s going to your head. As long as you talk about breaking my neck, and thrashing [Pg 154]me within an inch of my life, that’s all right, I say nothing against that. That’s all in the character. But for a man to talk of throwing away good business, just because his wife and his best client⁠——

JOHN (grimly). Now I’m going to kill you.

HORACE (chuckling). Ah, stick to that and you can’t go wrong. That’s expected of a husband. That’s in the character. All I say⁠——

JOHN (advancing threateningly). I shouldn’t waste your breath talking. Put your hands up!

HORACE (in an ecstasy of admiring laughter). Oh, John, John, you’ll be the death of me. You ought to have gone on the stage.

JOHN. Put them up!

HORACE (retreating behind ARIADNE). Keep him off, Mrs. Winter. Stop him! Oh Lord, oh Lord, I haven’t laughed like this⁠——

JOHN. Out of the way, Ariadne.

ARIADNE. What are you going to do, John?

HORACE (between laughs). He’s going to kill me.

ARIADNE. You mustn’t do that.

HORACE. He’s doing it, Mrs. Winter, he’s doing it. I shall never get over this.

ARIADNE. I think you had better go, Mr. Meldrum.

HORACE. Yes, yes, I’ll go. Oh Lord, oh Lord! (As he goes to the door, JOHN makes a move after him.)

ARIADNE. John! (JOHN stops.) Stay here, please. I want to talk to you. (JOHN hesitates.) You’d better sit down. (JOHN sits down.) Thank you, dear. (Coldly) Good-bye, Mr. Meldrum.

HORACE (at the door, still rather weak). Good-bye, dear lady, good⁠——(Suddenly recovering himself) Why, bless my soul, I’d almost forgotten what I came about. Our little joke put it clean out of my head. (Very businesslike) John, I want to see you to-morrow about my [Pg 155]marriage settlement—Janet and I have fixed things up—I arranged with old Ingleby to meet him at your office. Eleven o’clock suit you? Right. I’ll tell him. So long. (He nods to JOHN, and then slowly begins to chuckle to himself again.) You wag!

[He goes out.

JOHN (rather bewildered—after a pause). What was that he said? Marriage settlement?

ARIADNE. Yes, dear.

JOHN. Getting married? To Janet?

ARIADNE. He thinks so.

JOHN. Then how⁠——But in that case he couldn’t⁠——

ARIADNE. Exactly.

JOHN (after a pause, still puzzling it out). He said he thought it was all a joke my being angry. Why did he think it was all a joke?

ARIADNE. Because of what you said about giving up good business.

JOHN. Ridiculous nonsense!

ARIADNE. That was what he thought.

JOHN. Why shouldn’t I have given it up? Of course, to a man like Meldrum business would seem the only thing that mattered. But to any decent man⁠——(He stops.)

ARIADNE. To any decent man⁠——?

JOHN (still thinking). But that wasn’t it. Directly I came in he treated the whole thing as a joke. Why?

ARIADNE. Perhaps because I told him that the whole thing was a joke.

JOHN. You told him? (He stares at her.) Good Lord, then, you mean it wasn’t true that you were going off with him?

ARIADNE (reproachfully). True!

JOHN. Your letter⁠——(He feels in his pocket for it.)

ARIADNE. John, did you really think I could possibly⁠——

[Pg 156]

JOHN. But that telegram. You had made some sort of an arrangement with him.

ARIADNE. I might have had lunch with him if he’d caught his train. I don’t know. Would you mind that? Your favourite client.

JOHN (having found the letter). But if it was just lunch, why do you say this about going into the unknown together.

ARIADNE. We were lunching at Frascati’s.

JOHN. And that was all? Did he only suggest lunch? (She says nothing.) Did he?

ARIADNE (smiling to herself). Well, I led him on a little. Just to see how far he would go.

JOHN. Why? Oh, I see, to teach him a lesson.

ARIADNE. Mr. Meldrum? You can’t teach him anything.

JOHN. Then why?

ARIADNE. Well, perhaps to teach somebody else a lesson.

JOHN (blustering). I can’t make women out. How you could ever have thought of lunching with a man like that. But women are all the same, they never know a bounder when they see one.

ARIADNE. I suppose they don’t.

JOHN. Meldrum! And Janet Ingleby is going to marry him! There you are again. Just what I say.

ARIADNE. Women are funny, of course.

JOHN (still with the letter). Oh, then there’s this: “We are poles asunder, as Hector—We are poles asunder on the most vitally important thing in life.” What does that mean? What is the most vitally important thing in life?

ARIADNE (quietly). The order in which you put things. What comes first?

[Pg 157]

JOHN (uncomfortably). I don’t know what you mean. (Pathetically) God, I have had a rotten week-end.

ARIADNE (sympathetically). Have you, darling?

JOHN. I’ve been perfectly miserable. (Awkwardly) I told Meldrum off all right, didn’t I?

ARIADNE. You did, dear.

JOHN. I suppose he did go pretty far?

ARIADNE. Pretty far.

JOHN. That’s what I thought. That’s why I said I wouldn’t have any of his business in my office again. You heard me say that?

ARIADNE. Didn’t you hear me clapping?

JOHN (eagerly). Did you?

ARIADNE. Didn’t you see the pride of me?

JOHN (after a pause). I suppose I shall just have to do this marriage settlement for him. I can hardly get out of that very well. I mean—old Ingleby⁠——

ARIADNE. You needn’t be afraid. I fancy you’ll find that he has been rather hopeful about that.

JOHN. You mean she won’t marry him after all?

ARIADNE. Not she.

JOHN. Oh!... (Thoughtfully) What a pity! That might have led to something with old Ingleby. Well then (bravely, but a little reluctantly), I wash my hands of Meldrum’s business altogether. That’s settled.

ARIADNE. I don’t think you need go quite as far as that, John.

JOHN (relieved). Oh!... (Very firmly) Well, anyhow, he never comes into this house again.

ARIADNE. You know, I don’t think it would matter if he did. I think we understand each other now, and he rather amuses me.

JOHN (relieved) Oh! ... well—well, anyhow⁠——

(But there he stops. There seems to be no other heroic gesture available.)

[Pg 158]

ARIADNE. Well, I must be dressing. You’re ready. (She gets up.)

JOHN. I’ll come up. I’ve got one or two things to do. (He looks at his watch and mechanically goes to the clock to put it right. While he is doing this, his back to her, he says shyly) Ariadne!

ARIADNE. Yes?

JOHN (very shyly, very humbly). Thank you for not going away from me. (He holds out a hand behind him.)

ARIADNE (taking it). Oh, John!

(Hand in hand they walk to the door. He opens it for her.)

JOHN (with a little smile). Ariadne first!

ARIADNE (smiling too). Just for a little longer.

[She goes out.

(He waits to turn off the switch. The lamps by the fire are still alight—good money thrown away. Firmly, without hurrying, he begins to walk across the room⁠——)

ARIADNE (from outside). Come along, darling!

(He stops; looks at the light. After all, what is twopence? ARIADNE first! Magnificently he switches all the lights on, and goes after her.)

[Pg 160]

A room in the King’s Palace—once upon a time

[Pg 161]

OTHO. There! As pretty a shave as ever your Majesty has had.