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TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"

A Comedietta in Four Acts

By Arthur W. Pinero

1899

This Play was produced at the Court Theatre, London, on Thursday,
January 29th, 1898.

[_The Original Cast at the Lyceum Theatre, New York_]


[Ill 0000]

THEATRICAL FOLK

Tom Wrench Ferdinand Gadd

James Telfer of the

Augustus Colpoys Bagnigge-Wells

Rose Trelawny Theatre

Avonia Bunn

Mrs. Telfer, ( Miss Violet)

Imogen Parrott, of the Royal Olympic Theatre O' Dwyer, prompter at the
Pantheon Theatre

Edward J. Morgan Wm. Courtleigh Geo. C. Boniface Charles W. Butler Mary
Mannering Elizabeth Tyree Mrs. Chas. Walcot Hilda Spong Grant Stewart

Mr. Denzil Mr. Mortimer Mr. Hunston Miss Brewster of the Pantheon
Theatre

Thos. Whiffen Louis Albion Mace Greenleaf Adelaide Keim

Hallkeeper at the Pantheon

Edward H. Wilkinson

NON-THEATRICAL FOLK

Vice-Chancellor Sir William Gower, Kt.

Arthur Gower 4

Clara de Foenix &

Charles Walcot

Henry Woodruff Helma Nelson

Miss Trafalgar Gower, Sir William's sister Ethel Hornick

Captain de Foenix, Clara's husband H. S. Taber

Mrs. Mossop, a landlady Mrs. Thos. Whiffen

Mr. Ablett, a grocer John Findlay

Charles, a butler W. B. Royston

Sarah, a maid Blanche Kelleher



THE FIRST ACT at Mr. and Mrs. Telfer's Lodgings in No. 2 Brydon
Crescent, Clerkenwell. May

THE SECOND ACT at Sir William Gower's, in Cavendish Square. June.

THE THIRD ACT again in Brydon Crescent. December.

THE FOURTH ACT on the stage of the Pantheon Theatre. A few days later.

PERIOD somewhere in the early Sixties. (1860s)

NOTE:--Bagnlgge (locally pronounced Bagnidge) Wells, formerly a popular
mineral spring in Islington, London, situated not far from the better
remembered Sadler's-Wells. The gardens of Bagnlgge-Wells were at one
time much resorted to; but, as a matter of fact, Bagnigge-Wells, unlike
Sadler's-Wells, has never possessed a playhouse. Sadler's-Wells Theatre,
however, always familiarly known as the "Wells," still exists. It was
rebuilt in 1876-77.

The costumes and scenic decoration of this little play-should follow, to
the closest detail, the mode of the early Sixties, the period, in dress,
of crinoline and the peg-top trouser; in furniture, of horsehair and
mahogany, and the abominable "walnut -and -rep." No attempt should
be made to modify such fashions in illustration, to render them less
strange, even less grotesque, to the modern eye. On the contrary, there
should be an endeavor to reproduce, perhaps to accentuate, any feature
which may now seem particularly quaint and bizarre. Thus, lovely youth
should be shown decked uncompromisingly as it was at the time indicated,
at the risk (which the author believes to be a slight one) of pointing
the chastening moral that, while beauty fades assuredly in its own time,
it may appear to succeeding generations not to have been beauty at all.




TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS."




THE FIRST ACT.

The scene represents a sitting room on the first floor of a respectable
lodging house. On the right are two sash-windows, having Venetian blinds
and giving a view of houses on the other side of the street. The grate
of the fireplace is hidden by an ornament composed of shavings and paper
roses. Over the fireplace is a mirror: on each side there is a sideboard
cupboard. On the left is a door, and a landing is seen outside. Between
the windows stand a cottage piano and a piano stool. Above the sofa, on
the left, stands a large black trunk, the lid bulging with its contents
and displaying some soiled theatrical finery. On the front of the trunk,
in faded lettering, appear the words "Miss Violet Sylvester, Theatre
Royal, Drury Lane." Under the sofa there are two or three pairs
of ladies' satin shoes, much the worse for wear, and on the sofa a
white-satin bodice, yellow with age, a heap of dog-eared playbooks, and
some other litter of a like character. On the top of the piano there is
a wig-block, with a man's wig upon it, and in the corners of the room
there stand some walking sticks and a few theatrical swords. In the
center of the stage is a large circular table. There is a clean cover
upon it, and on the top of the sideboard cupboards are knives and
forks, plate, glass, cruet-stands, and some gaudy flowers in vases--all
suggesting preparations for festivity. The woodwork of the room is
grained, the ceiling plainly whitewashed, and the wall paper is of
a neutral tint and much faded. The pictures are engravings in maple
frames, and a portrait or two, in oil, framed in gilt. The furniture,
curtains, and carpet are worn, but everything is clean and well-kept.

The light is that of afternoon in early summer.

Mrs. Mossop--a portly, middle-aged Jewish lady, elaborately attired--is
laying the tablecloth. Ablett enters hastily, divesting himself of his
coat as he does so. He is dressed in rusty black for "waiting."


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_In a fluster._] Oh, here you are, Mr. Ablett----!


_Ablett._

Good-day, Mrs. Mossop.


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Bringing the cruet-stands._] I declare I thought you'd forgotten me.


_Ablett._

[_Hanging his coat upon a curtain-knob, and turning up his shirt
sleeves._] I'd begun to fear I should never escape from the shop, ma'am.
Jest as I was preparin' to clean myself, the 'ole universe seemed to cry
aloud for pertaters. [_Relieving Mrs. Mossop of the cruet-stands, and
satisfying himself as to the contents of the various bottles._] Now you
take a seat, Mrs. Mossop. You 'ave but to say "Mr. Ablett, lay for so
many," and the exact number shall be laid for.


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Sinking into the armchair._] I hope the affliction of short breath may
be spared you, Ablett. Ten is the number.


_Ablett._

[_Whipping up the mustard energetically._] Short-breathed you may be,
ma'am, but not short-sighted. That gal of yours is no ordinary gal, but
to 'ave set 'er to wait on ten persons would 'ave been to 'ave caught
disaster. [_Bringing knives and forks, glass, etc., and glancing round
the room as he does so._] I am in Mr. and Mrs. Telfer's setting-room, I
believe, ma'am?


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Surveying the apartment complacently._] And what a handsomely
proportioned room it is, to be sure!


_Ablett._

May I h'ask if I am to 'ave the honor of includin' my triflin' fee for
this job in their weekly book?


_Mrs. Mossop._

No, Ablett--a separate bill, please. The Telfers kindly give the use of
their apartment, to save the cost of holding the ceremony at the "Clown"
Tavern; but share and share alike over the expenses is to be the order
of the day.


_Ablett._

I thank you, ma'am. [_Rubbing up the knives with a napkin._] You let
fall the word "ceremony," ma'am-----


_Mrs. Mossop._

Ah, Ablett, and a sad one--a farewell cold collation to Miss Trelawny.


_Ablett._

Lor' bless me! I 'eard a rumor----


_Mrs. Mossop._

A true rumor. She's taking her leave of us, the dear.

Ablett.

This will be a blow to the "Wells," ma'am.


_Mrs. Mossop._

The best juvenile lady the "Wells" has known since Mr. Phillips's
management.


_Ablett._

Report 'as it, a love affair, ma'am.


_Mrs. Mossop._

A love affair, indeed. And a poem into the bargain, Ablett, if poet was
at hand to write it.


_Ablett._

Reelly, Mrs. Mossop! [_Polishing a tumbler._] Is the beer to be bottled
or draught, ma'am, on this occasion?


_Mrs. Mossop._

Draught for Miss Trelawny, invariably.


_Ablett._

Then draught it must be all round, out of compliment. Jest fancy!
nevermore to 'ear customers speak of Trelawny of the "Wells," except as
a pleasin' memory! A non-professional gentleman they give out, ma'am.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Yes.


_Ablett._

Name of Glover.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Gower. Grandson of Vice Chancellor Sir William Gower, Mr. Ablett.


_Ablett._

You don't say, ma'am!


_Mrs. Mossop._

No father nor mother, and lives in Cavendish Square with the old judge
and a great aunt.


_Ablett._

Then Miss Trelawny quits the Profession, ma'am, for good and all, I
presoom?


_Mrs. Mossop._

Yes, Ablett, she's at the theaytre at this moment, distributing some of
her little ornaments and fallals among the ballet. She played last night
for the last time--the last time on any stage. [_Rising and going to
the sideboard-cupboard._] And without so much as a line in the bill to
announce it. What a benefit she might have taken!


_Ablett._

I know one who was good for two box tickets, Mrs. Mossop.


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Bringing the flowers to the table and arranging them, while Ablett
sets out the knives and forks._] But no. "No fuss," said the Gower
family, "no publicity. Withdraw quietly--" that was the Gower family's
injunctions--"withdraw quietly, and have done with it."


_Ablett._

And when is the weddin' to be, ma'am?


_Mrs. Mossop._

It's not yet decided, Mr. Ablett. In point of fact, before the Gower
family positively say Yes to the union, Miss Trelawny is to make her
home in Cavendish Square for a short term--"short term" is the Gower
family's own expression--in order to habituate herself to the West End.
They're sending their carriage for her at two o'clock this afternoon,
Mr. Ablett--their carriage and pair of bay horses.


_Ablett._

Well, I dessay a West End life has sooperior advantages over the
Profession in some respecks, Mrs. Mossop.


_Mrs. Mossop._

When accompanied by wealth, Mr. Ablett. Here's Miss Trelawny but
nineteen, and in a month-or-two's time she'll be ordering about her own
powdered footman, and playing on her grand piano. How many actresses do
that, I should like to know!

[_Tom Wrench's voice is heard._]


_Tom._

[_Outside the door._] Rebecca! Rebecca, my loved one!


_Mrs. Mossop._

Oh, go along with you, Mr. Wrench!

[_Tom enters, with a pair of scissors in his hand. He is a
shabbily-dressed ungraceful man of about thirty, with a clean-shaven
face, curly hair, and eyes full of good-humor._]


_Tom._

My own, especial Rebecca!


_Mrs. Mossop._

Don't be a fool, Mr. Wrench! Now, I've no time to waste. I know you want
something--


_Tom._

Everything, adorable. But most desperately do I stand in need of a
little skillful trimming at your fair hands.


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Taking the scissors from him and clipping the frayed edges of his
shirt-cuffs and collar._] First it's patching a coat, and then it's
binding an Inverness! Sometimes I wish that top room of mine was empty.


_Tom._

And sometimes I wish my heart was empty, cruel Rebecca.


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Giving him a thump._] Now, I really will tell Mossop of you, when he
comes home! I've often threatened it---


_Tom._

[_To Ablett._] Whom do I see! No--it can't be--but yes--I believe I
have the privilege of addressing Mr. Ablett, the eminent greengrocer, of
Rosoman Street?


_Ablett._

[_Sulkily._] Well, Mr. Wrench, and wot of it?


_Tom._

You possess a cart, good Ablett, which may be hired by persons of
character and responsibility. "By the hour or job"--so runs the legend.
I will charter it, one of these Sundays, for a drive to Epping.


_Ablett._

I dunno so much about that, Mr. Wrench.


_Tom._

Look to the springs, good Ablett, for this comely lady will be my
companion.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Dooce take your impudence! Give me your other hand. Haven't you been to
rehearsal this morning with the rest of 'em?


_Tom._

I have, and have left my companions still toiling. My share in the
interpretation of Sheridan Knowles's immortal work did not necessitate
my remaining after the first act.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Another poor part, I suppose, Mr. Wrench?


_Tom._

Another, and to-morrow yet another, and on Saturday two others--all
equally, damnably rotten.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Ah, well, well! somebody must play the bad parts in this world, on and
off the stage. There [_returning the scissors_], there's no more edge
left to fray; we've come to the soft. [_He points the scissors at his
breast._] Ah! don't do that!

[Illustration: 0025]


_Tom._

You are right, sweet Mossop, I won't perish on an empty stomach.
[_Taking her aside._] But tell me, shall I disgrace the feast, eh? Is my
appearance too scandalously seedy?


_Mrs. Mossop._

Not _it_, my dear.


_Tom._

Miss Trelawny--do you think she'll regard me as a blot on the banquet?
[_wistfully_] do you, Beccy?


_Mrs. Mossop._

She! la! don't distress yourself. She'll be too excited to notice you.


_Tom._

H'm, yes! now I recollect, she has always been that. Thanks, Beccy.

[_A knock, at the front-door, is heard. Mrs. Mossop hurries to the
window down the stage._]


_Mrs. Mossop._

Who's that? [_Opening the window and looking out._] It's Miss Parrott!
Miss Parrott's arrived!


_Tom._

Jenny Parrott? Has Jenny condescended------?


_Mrs. Mossop._

Jenny! Where are your manners, Mr. Wrench? Tom.

[_Grandiloquently._] Miss Imogen Parrott, of the Olympic Theatre.


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_At the door, to Ablett._] Put your coat on, Ablett. We are not selling
cabbages. [_She disappears and is heard speaking in the distance._] Step
up, Miss Parrott! Tell Miss Parrott to mind that mat, Sarah--!

Be quick, Ablett, be quick! The élite is below! More dispatch, good
Ablett!


_Ablett._

[_To Tom, spitefully, while struggling into his coat._] Miss Trelawny's
leavin' will make all the difference to the old "Wells." The season'll
terminate abrupt, and then the comp'ny 'll be h'out, Mr. Wrench--h'out,
sir!


_Tom._

[_Adjusting his necktie, at the mirror over the piano._] Which will
lighten the demand for the spongy turnip and the watery marrow, my poor
Ablett.


_Ablett._

[_Under his breath. _] Presumpshus! [_He produces a pair of white cotton
gloves, and having put one on makes a horrifying discovery._] Two lefts!
That's Mrs. Ablett all over!

[_During the rest of the act, he is continually in difficulties, through
his efforts to wear one of the gloves upon his right hand. Mrs. Mossop
now re-enters, with Imogen Parrott. Imogen is a pretty, lighthearted
young woman, of about seven-and-twenty, daintily dressed._]


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_To Imogen._] There, it might be only yesterday you lodged in my house,
to see you gliding up those stairs! And this the very room you shared
with poor Miss Brooker!


_Imogen._

[_Advancing to Tom. _] Well, Wrench, and how are you?


_Tom._

[_Bringing her a chair, demonstratively dusting the seat of it with his
pocket-handkerchief_]. Thank you, much the same as when you used to call
me Tom.


_Imogen._

Oh, but I have turned over a new leaf, you know, since I have been at
the Olympic.


_Mrs. Mossop._

I am sure my chairs don't require dusting, Mr. Wrench.


_Tom._

[_Placing the chair below the table, and blowing his nose with his
handkerchief, with a flourish._] My way of showing homage, Mossop.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Miss Parrott has sat on them often enough, when she was an honored
member of the "Wells"--haven't you, Miss Parrott.


_Imogen._

[_Sitting, with playful dignity. _] I suppose I must have done so. Don't
remind me of it. I sit on nothing nowadays but down pillows covered with
cloth of gold.

[_Mrs. Mossop and Ablett prepare to withdraw._]


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_At the door, to Imogen._] Ha, ha! ha! I could fancy I'm looking at
Undine again--Undine, the Spirit of the Waters. She's not the least
changed since she appeared as Undine--is she, Mr. Ablett?


_Ablett._

[_Joining Mrs. Mossop._] No--or as Prince Cammyralzyman in the
pantomine. I never 'ope to see a pair o' prettier limbs----


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Sharply._] Now then!

[_She pushes him out; they disappear._]


_Imogen._

[_After a shiver at Ablett's remark._] In my present exalted station
I don't hear much of what goes on at the "Wells," Wrench. Are your
abilities still--still----


_Tom._

Still unrecognized, still confined within the almost boundless and yet
repressive limits of Utility--General Utility? [_Nodding._] H'm, still.


_Imogen._

Dear me! a thousand pities! I positively mean it. Tom.

Thanks.


_Imogen._

What do you think! You were mixed up in a funny dream I dreamt one night
lately.


_Tom._

[_Bowing._] Highly complimented.


_Imogen._

It was after a supper which rather--well, I'd had some strawberries sent
me from Hertfordshire.


_Tom._

Indigestion levels all ranks.


_Imogen._

It was a nightmare. I found myself on the stage of the Olympic in that
wig you--oh, gracious! You used to play your very serious little parts
in it----


_Tom._

The wig with the ringlets?


_Imogen._

Ugh I yes.


_Tom._

I wear it to-night, for the second time this week, in a part which is
very serious--and very little.


_Imogen._

Heavens! it is in existence then!


_Tom._

And long will be, I hope. I've only three wigs, and this one
accommodates itself to so many periods.


_Imogen._

Oh, how it used to amuse the gallery-boys!


_Tom._

They still enjoy it. If you looked in this evening at
half-past-seven--I'm done at a quarter-to-eight--if you looked in at
half-past seven, you would hear the same glad, rapturous murmur in the
gallery when the presence of that wig is discovered. Not that they fail
to laugh at my other wigs, at every article of adornment I possess, in
fact! Good God, Jennny--!


_Imogen._

[_Wincing._] Ssssh!


_Tom._

Miss Parrott--if they gave up laughing at me now, I believe I--I believe
I should--_miss it_. I believe I couldn't spout my few lines now in
silence; my unaccompanied voice would sound so strange to me. Besides,
I often think those gallery-boys are really fond of me, at heart. You
can't laugh as they do--rock with laughter sometimes!--at what you
dislike.


_Imogen._

Of course not. _Of course_ they like you, Wrench. You cheer them, make
their lives happier----


_Tom._

And to-night, by the bye, I also assume that beast of a felt hat--the
gray hat with the broad brim, and the imitation wool feathers. You
remember it?


_Imogen._

Y-y-yes.


_Tom._

I see you do. Well, that hat still persists in falling off, when I most
wish it to stick on. It will tilt and tumble to-night--during one of
Telfer's pet speeches; I feel it will.


_Imogen._

Ha, ha, ha!


_Tom._

And those yellow boots; I wear _them_ to-night----


_Imogen._

No!


_Tom._

Yes!


_Imogen._

Ho, ho, ho, ho!


_Tom._

[_With forced hilarity._] Ho, ho! ha, ha! And the spurs--the spurs that
once tore your satin petticoat! You recollect------?


_Imogen._

[_Her mirth suddenly checked._] Recollect!


_Tom._

You would see those spurs to-night, too, if you patronized us--and the
red worsted tights. The worsted tights are a little thinner, a little
more faded and discolored, a little more darned--Oh, yes, thank you, I
am still, as you put it, still--still--still----

[_He walks away, going to the mantelpiece and turning his back upon
her._]


_Imogen._

[_After a brief pause._] I'm sure I didn't intend to hurt your feelings,
Wrench.


_Tom._

[_Turning, with some violence._] You! you hurt my feelings! Nobody can
hurt my feelings! I have no feelings---!

[_Ablett re-enters, carrying three chairs of odd patterns. Tom seizes
the chairs and places them about the table, noisily._]


_Ablett._

Look here, Mr. Wrench! If I'm to be 'ampered in performin' my dooties---


_Tom._

More chairs, Ablett! In my apartment, the chamber nearest heaven, you
will find one with a loose leg. We will seat Mrs. Telfer upon that. She
dislikes me, and she is, in every sense, a heavy woman.


_Ablett._

[_Moving toward the door--dropping his glove._] My opinion, you are
meanin' to 'arrass me, Mr. Wrench-----


_Tom._

[_Picking up the glove and throwing it to Ablett--singing._] "Take back
thy glove, thou faithless fair!" Your glove, Ablett.


_Ablett._

Thank you, sir; it _is_ my glove, and you are no gentleman. [_He
withdraws._]


_Tom._

True, Ablett--not even a Walking Gentleman.


_Imogen._

Don't go on so, Wrench. What about your plays? Aren't you trying to
write any plays just now?


_Tom._

Trying! I am doing more than trying to write plays. I am writing plays.
I have written plays.


_Imogen._

Well?


_Tom._

My cupboard upstairs is choked with 'em.


_Imogen._

Won't anyone take a fancy----?


_Tom._

Not a sufficiently violent fancy.


_Imogen._

You know, the speeches were so short and had such ordinary words in
them, in the plays you used to read to me--no big opportunity for the
leading lady, Wrench.


_Tom._

M' yes. I strive to make my people talk and behave like live people,
don't I-?


_Imogen._

I suppose you do.


_Tom._

To fashion heroes out of actual, dull, every-day men--the sort of men
you see smoking cheroots in the club windows in St. James's Street; and
heroines from simple maidens in muslin frocks. Naturally, the managers
won't stand that.


_Imogen._

Why, of course not.


_Tom._

If _they_ did, the public wouldn't.


_Imogen._

Is it likely? Is it likely?


_Tom._

I wonder!


_Imogen._

Wonder--what?


_Tom._

Whether they would.


_Imogen._

The public!


_Tom._

The public. Jenny, I wonder about it sometimes so hard that that little
bedroom of mine becomes a banqueting hall, and this lodging house a
castle.

[_There is a loud and prolonged knocking at the front door._]


_Imogen._

Here they are, I suppose.


_Tom._

[_Pulling himself together._] Good Lord! Have I become disheveled?


_Imogen._

Why, are you anxious to make an impression, even down to the last,
Wrench?


_Tom._

[_Angrily._] Stop that!


_Imogen._

It's no good your being sweet on her any longer, surely?


_Tom._

[_Glaring at her._] What cats you all are, you girls!


_Imogen._

[_Holding up her hands._] Oh! oh, dear! How vulgar--after the Olympic!

[_Ablett returns, carrying three more chairs._]


_Ablett._

[_Arranging these chairs on the left of the table._] They're all 'ome!
they're all 'ome! [_Tom places the four chairs belonging to the room at
the table. To Imogen._] She looks 'eavenly, Miss Trelawny does. I was
jest takin' in the ale when she floated down the Crescent on her lover's
arm. [_ Wagging his head at Imogen admiringly._] There, I don't know
which of you two is the----


_Imogen._

[_Haughtily._] Man, keep your place!


_Ablett._

[_Hurt._] H'as you please, miss--but you apperently forget I used to
serve you with vegetables.

[_He takes up a position at the door as Telfer and Gadd enter. Telfer is
a thick-set, elderly man, with a worn, clean-shaven face and iron-gray
hair "clubbed" in the theatrical fashion of the time. Sonorous, if
somewhat husky, in speech, and elaborately dignified in bearing, he
is at the same time a little uncertain about his H's. Gadd is a
flashily-dressed young man of seven-and-twenty, with brown hair arranged
à la Byron and mustache of a deeper tone._]


_Telfer._

[_Advancing to Imogen, and kissing her paternally._] Ha, my dear child!
I heard you were 'ere. Kind of you to visit us. Welcome! I'll just put
my 'at down----

[_He places his hat on the top of the piano, and proceeds to inspect the
table._]


_Gadd._

[_Coming to Imogen, in an elegant, languishing way._] Imogen, my
darling. [_Kissing her._] Kiss Ferdy!


_Imogen._

Well, Gadd, how goes it--I mean how are you?


_Gadd._

[_Earnestly._] I'm hitting them hard this season, my darling. To-night,
Sir Thomas Clifford. They're simply waiting for my Clifford.


_Imogen._

But who on earth is your Julia?


_Gadd._

Ha! Mrs. Telfer _goes on_ for it--a venerable stopgap. Absurd, of
course; but we daren't keep my Clifford from them any longer.


_Imogen._

You'll miss Rose Trelawny in business pretty badly, I expect, Gadd?


_Gadd._

[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] She was to have done Rosalind for
my benefit. Miss Fitzhugh joins on Monday; I must pull _her_ through it
somehow.

I would reconsider my bill, but they're waiting for my Orlando, waiting
for it--

[_Colpoys enters--an insignificant, wizen little fellow who is unable to
forget that he is a low-comedian. He stands L., squinting hideously at
Imogen and indulging in extravagant gestures of endearment, while she
continues her conversation with Gadd._]


_Colpoys._

[_Failing to attract her attention._] My love! my life!


_Imogen._

[_Nodding to him indifferently._] Good-afternoon, Augustus.


_Colpoys._

[_Ridiculously._] She speaks! she hears me!


_Ablett._

[_Holding his glove before his mouth, convulsed with laughter._] Ho, ho!
oh, Mr. Colpoys! oh, reelly, sir! ho, dear!


_Gadd._

[_To Imogen, darkly._] Colpoys is not nearly as funny as he was last
year. Everybody's saying so. We want a low-comedian badly.

[_He retires, deposits his hat on the wig-block, and joins Telfer and
Tom._]


_Colpoys._

[_Staggering to Imogen and throwing his arms about her neck._] Ah--h--h!
after all these years!


_Imogen._

[_Pushing him away._] Do be careful of my things, Colpoys!

[Illustration: 0043]


_Ablett._

[_Going out, blind with mirth._] Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho!

[_He collides with Mrs. Telfer, who is entering at this moment.
Mrs. Telfer is a tall, massive lady of middle age--a faded queen of
tragedy._]


_Ablett._

[_As he disappears._] I'm sure I beg your pardon, Mrs. Telfer, ma'am.


_Mrs. Telfer._

Violent fellow! [_Advancing to Imogen and kissing her solemnly._] How is
it with you, Jenny Parrott?


_Imogen._

Thank you, Mrs. Telfer, as well as can be. And you?


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Waving away the inquiry._] I am obliged to you for this response to
my invitation, It struck me as fitting that at such a time you should
return for a brief hour or two to the company of your old associates----
[_Becoming conscious of Colpoys, behind her, making grimaces at
Imogen._] Eh--h--h?

[_Turning to Colpoys and surprising him._] Oh--h--h! Yes, Augustus
Colpoys, you are extremely humorous off.


_Colpoys._

[_Stung._] Miss Sylvester--Mrs. Telfer!


_Mrs. Telfer._

On the stage, sir, you are enough to make a cat weep.


_Colpoys._

Madam! from one artist to another! well, I--! 'pon my soul! [_Retreating
and talking under his breath. _] Popular favorite! draw more money than
all the--old guys----


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Following him._] What do you say, sir! Do you mutter!

[_They explain mutually. Avonia Bunn enters--an untidy, tawdrily-dressed
young woman of about three-and-twenty, with the airs of a suburban
soubrette._]


_Avonia._

[_Embracing Imogen._] Dear old girl!


_Imogen._

Well, Avonia?


_Avonia._

This is jolly, seeing you again. My eye, what a rig-out! She'll be up
directly. [_With a gulp._]She's taking a last look-round at our room.


_Imogen._

You've been crying, 'Vonia.


_Avonia._

No, I haven't. [_Breaking down._] If I have I can't help it. Rose and
I have chummed together--all this season--and part of last--and--it's a
hateful profession! The moment you make a friend----------!

[_Looking toward the door._] There! isn't she a dream? I dressed her----

[_She moves away, as Rose Trelawny and Arthur Gower enter. Rose is
nineteen, wears washed muslin, and looks divine. She has much of the
extravagance of gesture, over-emphasis in speech, and freedom of manner
engendered by the theatre, but is graceful and charming nevertheless.
Arthur is a handsome, boyish young man--"all eyes" for Rose._]


_Rose._

[_Meeting Imogen._] Dear Imogen!


_Imogen._

[_Kissing her._] Rose, dear!


_Rose._

To think of your journeying from the West to see me make my exit from
Brydon Crescent! But you're a good sort; you always were. Do sit down
and tell me--oh--! let me introduce Mr. Gower. Mr. Arthur Gower--Miss
Imogen Parrott. _The_ Miss Parrott of the Olympic.


_Arthur._

[_Reverentially._] I know. I've seen Miss Parrott as Jupiter, and as--I
forget the name--in the new comedy-----[_Imogen and Rose sit below the
table._]


_Rose._

He forgets everything but the parts _I_ play, and the pieces _I_ play
in--poor child! don't you, Arthur?


_Arthur._

[_Standing by Rose, looking down upon her._] Yes--no. Well, of course I
do! How can I help it, Miss Parrott? Miss Parrott won't think the worse
of me for that--will you, Miss Parrott?


_Mrs. Telfer._

I am going to remove my bonnet. Imogen Parrott--!


_Imogen._

Thank you, I'll keep my hat on, Mrs. Telfer--take care!

[_Mrs. Telfer, in turning to go, encounters Ablett, who is entering with
two jugs of beer. Some of the beer is spilt._]


_Ablett._

I beg your pardon, ma'am.


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Examining her skirts._] Ruffian! [_She departs._]


_Rose._

[_To Arthur._] Go and talk to the boys. I haven't seen Miss Parrott for
ages.

[_In backing away from them, Arthur comes against Ablett._]


_Ablett._

I beg your pardon, sir.


_Arthur._

I beg yours.


_Ablett._

[_Grasping Arthur's hand._] Excuse the freedom, sir, if freedom you
regard it as----


_Arthur._

Eh-----?

-,


_Ablett._

You 'ave plucked the flower, sir; you 'ave stole our ch'icest blossom.


_Arthur._

[_Trying to get away._] Yes, yes, I know----


_Ablett._

Cherish it, Mr. Glover----!

[Illustration: 0049]


_Arthur._

I will, I will. Thank you----

[_Mrs. Mossop's voice is heard calling "Ablett!" Ablett releases Arthur
and goes out. Arthur joins Colpoys and Tom._]


_Rose._

[_To Imogen._] The carriage will be here in half an hour. I've so much
to say to you. Imogen, the brilliant hits you've made! how lucky you
have been!


_Imogen._

_My_ luck! what about _yours?_


_Rose._

Yes, isn't this a wonderful stroke of fortune for me! Fate, Jenny!
that's what it is--Fate! Fate ordains that I shall be a well-to-do
fashionable lady, instead of a popular but toiling actress. Mother often
used to stare into my face, when I was little, and whisper, "Rosie, I
wonder what is to be your--fate." Poor mother! I hope she sees.


_Imogen._

Your Arthur seems nice.


_Rose._

Oh, he's a dear. Very young, of course--not much more than a year older
than me--than I. But he'll grow manly in time, and have mustaches, and
whiskers out to here, he says.


_Imogen._

How did you----?


_Rose._

He saw me act Blanche in the _The Peddler of Marseilles,_ and fell in
love.


_Imogen._

Do you prefer Blanche----?


_Rose._

To Celestine? Oh, yes. You see, I got leave to introduce a song--where
Blanche is waiting for Raphael on the bridge. [_Singing, dramatically
but in low tones._] "Ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming----"


_Imogen._

I know--

[_They sing together._]


_Rose. and Imogen._

"Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer."


_Rose._

It was singing that song that sealed my destiny, Arthur declares. At
any rate, the next thing was he began sending bouquets and coming to the
stage-door. Of course, I never spoke to him, never glanced at him. Poor
mother brought me up in that way, not to speak to anybody, nor look.


_Imogen._

Quite right.


_Rose._

I do hope she sees.


_Imogen._

And then?


_Rose._

Then Arthur managed to get acquainted with the Telfers, and Mrs. Telfer
presented him to me. Mrs. Telfer has kept an eye on me all through. Not
that it was necessary, brought up as I was--but she's a kind old soul.


_Imogen._

And now you're going to live with his people for a time, aren't you?


_Rose._

Yes--on approval.


_Imogen._

Ha, ha, ha I you don't mean that!


_Rose._

Well, in a way--just to reassure them, as they put it. The Gowers have
such odd ideas about theatres, and actors and actresses.


_Imogen._

Do you think you'll like the arrangement?


_Rose._

It 'll only be for a little while. I fancy they're prepared to take to
me, especially Miss Trafalgar Gower----


_Imogen._

Trafalgar!


_Rose._

Sir William's sister; she was born Trafalgar year, and christened after
it--

[_Mrs. Mossop and Ablett enter, carrying trays on which are a pile of
plates and various dishes of Cold food--a joint, a chicken and a tongue,
a ham, a pigeon pie, etc. They proceed to set out the dishes upon the
table._]


_Imogen._

[_Cheerfully._] Well, God bless you, my dear. I'm afraid I couldn't give
up the stage though, not for all the Arthurs----


_Rose._

Ah, your mother wasn't an actress.


_Imogen._

No.


_Rose._

Mine was, and I remember her saying to me once, "Rose, if ever you have
the chance, get out of it."


_Imogen._

The Profession?


_Rose._

Yes. "Get out of it," mother said; "if ever a good man comes along, and
offers to marry you and to take you off the stage, seize the chance--get
out of it."


_Imogen._

Your mother was never popular, was she?


_Rose._

Yes, indeed she was, most popular--till she grew oldish and lost her
looks.


_Imogen._

Oh, _that's_ what she meant, then?


_Rose._

Yes, that's what she meant.


_Imogen._

[_Shivering._] Oh, lor', doesn't it make one feel depressed.

Poor mother!


_Rose._

Well, I hope she sees.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Now, ladies and gentlemen, everything is prepared, and I do trust to
your pleasure and satisfaction.


_Telfer._

Ladies and gentlemen, I beg you to be seated, [_There is a general
movement._] Miss Trelawny will sit 'ere, on my right. On my left, my
friend Mr. Glower will sit. Next to Miss Trelawny--who will sit beside
Miss Trelawny?


_Gadd. and Colpoys._

I will.


_Avonia._

No, do let me!

[_Gadd, Colpoys, and Avonia gather round Rose and wrangle for the vacant
place._]


_Rose._

[_Standing by her chair._] It must be a gentleman, 'Vonia. Now, if you
two boys quarrel---!


_Gadd._

Please don't push me, Colpoys!


_Colpoys._

'Pon my soul, Gadd----!


_Rose._

I know how to settle it. Tom Wrench------!


_Tom._

[_Coming to her._] Yes?

[_Colpoys and Gadd move away, arguing._]


_Imogen._

[_Seating herself._] Mr. Gadd and Mr. Colpoys shall sit by me, one on
each side.

[_Colpoys sits on Imogen's right, Gadd on her left, Avonia sits between
Tom and Gadd; Mrs. Mossop on the right of Colpoys. Amid much chatter,
the viands are carved by Mrs. Mossop, Telfer, and Tom. Some plates of
chicken, etc., are handed round by Ablett, while others are passed about
by those at the table._]


_Gadd._

[_Quietly to Imogen, during a pause in the hubbub._] Telfer takes the
chair, you observe. Why _he_--more than myself, for instance?


_Imogen._

[_To Gadd._] The Telfers have lent their room----


_Gadd._

Their stuffy room I that's no excuse. I repeat, Telfer has thrust
himself into this position.


_Imogen._

He's the oldest man present.


_Gadd._

True. And he begins to age in his acting too. His H's! scarce as pearls!


_Imogen._

Yes, that's shocking. Now, at the Olympic, slip an H and you're damned
for ever.


_Gadd._

And he's losing all his teeth. To act with him, it makes the house seem
half empty.

[_Ablett is now going about pouring out the ale. Occasionally he drops
his glove, misses it, and recovers it._]


_Telfer._

[_To Imogen._] Miss Parrott, my dear, follow the counsel of one who has
sat at many a "good man's feast"--have a little 'am.


_Imogen._

Thanks, Mr. Telfer. [_Mrs. Telfer returns._]


_Mrs. Telfer._

Sitting down to table in my absence! [_To Telfer._] How is this, James?


_Telfer._

We are pressed for time, Violet, my love.


_Rose._

Very sorry, Mrs. Telfer.


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Taking her place, between Arthur and Mrs. Mossop--gloomily._] A
strange proceeding.


_Rose._

Rehearsal was over so late. [_To Telfer._] You didn't get to the last
act till a quarter to one, did you?


_Avonia._

[_Taking off her hat and flinging it across the table to Colpoys._] Gus!
catch! Put it on the sofa, there's a dear boy. [_Colpoys perches the hat
upon his head, and behaves in a ridiculous, mincing way. Ablett is again
convulsed with laughter. Some of the others are amused also, but more
moderately._] Take that off, Gus! Mr. Colpoys, you just take my hat off!
[_Colpoys rises, imitating the manners of a woman, and deposits the hat
on the sofa._]


_Ablett._

Ho, ho, ho! oh, don't Mr. Colpoys! oh, don't, sir!

[_Colpoys returns to the table._]


_Gadd._

[_Quietly to Imogen._] It makes me sick to watch Colpoys in private
life. He'd stand on his head in the street, if he could get a ragged
infant to laugh at him. [_Picking the leg of a fowl furiously._] What I
say is this. Why can't an actor, in private life, be simply a gentleman?
[_Loudly and haughtily._] More tongue here!


_Ablett._

[_Hurrying to him._] Yessir, certainly, sir. [_Again discomposed by
some antic on the part of Colpoys._] Oh, don't, Mr. Colpoys! [_Going
to Telfer with Gadd's plate--speaking while Telfer carves a slice
of tongue._] I shan't easily forget this afternoon, Mr. Telfer.
[_Exhausted._] This 'll be something to tell Mrs. Ablett. Ho, ho! oh,
dear, oh, dear!

[_Ablett, averting his face from Colpoys, brings back Gadd's plate. By
an unfortunate chance, Ablett's glove has found its way to the plate and
is handed to Gadd by Ablett._]


_Gadd._

[_Picking up the glove in disgust._] Merciful powers! what's this!


_Ablett._

[_Taking the glove._] I beg your pardon, sir--my error, entirely.

[_A firm rat-tat-tat at the front door is heard. There is a general
exclamation. At the same moment Sarah, a diminutive servant in a
crinoline, appears in the doorway._]


_Sarah._

[_Breathlessly._] The kerridge has just drove up! [_Imogen, Gadd,
Colpoys, and Avonia go to the windows, open them, and look out. Mrs.
Mossop hurries away, pushing Sarah before her._]


_Telfer._

Dear me, dear me! before a single speech has been made.


_Avonia._

[_At the window._] Rose, do look!


_Imogen._

[_At the other window._] Come here, Rose!


_Rose._

[_Shaking her head._] Ha, ha! I'm in no hurry; I shall see it often
enough. [_Turning to Tom._] Well, the time has arrived. [_Laying down
her knife and fork._] Oh, I'm so sorry, now.


_Tom._

[_Brusquely._] Are you? I'm glad.


_Rose._

Glad! that is hateful of you, Tom Wrench!


_Arthur._

[_Looking at his watch._] The carriage is certainly two or three minutes
before its time, Mr. Telfer.


_Telfer._

Two or three-----! The speeches, my dear sir, the speeches! [_Mrs.
Mossop returns, panting._]


_Mrs. Mossop._

The footman, a nice-looking young man with hazel eyes, says the carriage
and pair can wait for a little bit. They must be back by three, to take
their lady into the Park----


_Telfer._

[_Rising._] Ahem! Resume your seats, I beg. Ladies and gentlemen-----


_Avonia._

Wait, waitl we're not ready!

[_Imogen, Gadd, Colpoys, and Avonia return to their places. Mrs. Mossop
also sits again. Ablett stands by the door._]


_Telfer._

[_Producing a paper from his breast-pocket._] Ladies and gentlemen, I
devoted some time this morning to the preparation of a list of toasts. I
now 'old that list in my hand. The first toast----

[_He pauses, to assume a pair of spectacles._]


_Gadd._

[_To Imogen._] He arranges the toast-list! he!


_Imogen._

[_To Gadd._] Hush!


_Telfer._

The first toast that figures 'ere is, naturally, that of The Queen.
[_Laying his hand on Arthur's shoulder._] With my young friend's chariot
at the door, his horses pawing restlessly and fretfully upon the stones,
I am prevented from enlarging, from expatiating, upon the merits of this
toast. Suffice it, both Mrs. Telfer and I have had the honor of acting
before Her Majesty upon no less than two occasions.


_Gadd._

[_To Imogen._] Tsch, tsch, tsch! an old story!


_Telfer._

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you--[_to Colpoys_]--the malt is with you,
Mr. Colpoys.


_Colpoys._

[_Handing the ale to Telfer._] Here you are, Telfer.


_Telfer._

[_Filling his glass. _] I give you The Queen, coupling with that toast
the name of Miss Violet Sylvester--Mrs. Telfer--formerly, as you
are aware, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Miss Sylvester has so
frequently and, if I may say so, so nobly impersonated the various
queens of tragedy that I cannot but feel she is a fitting person to
acknowledge our expression of loyalty. [_Raising his glass._] The Queen
I And Miss Violet Sylvester!

[_All rise, except Mrs. Telfer, and drink the toast. After drinking Mrs.
Mossop passes her tumbler to Ablett._]


_Ablett._

The Queen! Miss Vi'lent Sylvester!

[_He drinks and returns the glass to Mrs. Mossop. The company being
reseated, Mrs. Telfer rises. Her reception is a polite one._]


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Heavily._] Ladies and gentlemen, I have played fourteen or fifteen
queens in my time---


_Telfer._

Thirteen, my love, to be exact; I was calculating this morning.


_Mrs. Telfer._

Very well, I have played thirteen of 'em. And, as parts, they are not
worth a tinker's oath. I thank you for the favor with which you have
received me.

[_She sits; the applause is heartier. During the demonstration Sarah
appears in the doorway, with a kitchen chair._]


_Ablett._

[_To Sarah._] Wot's all this?


_Sarah._

[_To Ablett._] Is the speeches on?


_Ablett._

H'on! yes, and you be h'off!

[_She places the chair against the open door and sits, full of
determination. At intervals Ablett vainly represents to her the
impropriety of her proceeding._]


_Telfer._

[_Again rising._] Ladies and gentlemen. Bumpers, I charge ye! The toast
I 'ad next intended to propose was Our Immortal Bard, Shakspere, and I
had meant, myself, to 'ave offered a few remarks in response----


_Gadd._

[_To Imogen, bitterly._] Ha!


_Telfer._

But with our friend's horses champing their bits, I am compelled--nay,
forced--to postpone this toast to a later period of the day, and to give
you now what we may justly designate the toast of the afternoon.
Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to lose, to part with, one of our
companions, a young comrade who came amongst us many months ago, who in
fact joined the company of the "Wells" last February twelvemonth, after
a considerable experience in the provinces of this great country.


_Colpoys._

Hear, hear!


_Avonia._

[_Tearfully._] Hear, hear! [_With a sob._] I detested her at first.


_Colpoys._

Order!


_Imogen._

Be quiet, 'Vonia!


_Telfer._

Her late mother an actress, herself made familiar with the stage from
childhood if not from infancy, Miss Rose Trelawny--for I will no longer
conceal from you that it is to Miss Trelawny I refer----

[_Loud applause._] Miss Trelawny is the stuff of which great actresses
are made.


_All._

Hear, hear!


_Ablett._

[_Softly._] 'Ear, 'ear!


_Telfer._

So much for the actress. Now for the young lady--nay, the woman, the
gyirl. Rose is a good girl----

[_Loud applause, to which Ablett and Sarah contribute largely. Avonia
rises and impulsively embraces Rose. She is recalled to her seat by a
general remonstrance._] A good girl----


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Clutching a knife._] Yes, and I should like to hear anybody, man or
woman----!


_Telfer._

She is a good girl, and will be long remembered by us as much for her
private virtues as for the commanding authority of her genius. [_More
applause, during which there is a sharp altercation between Ablett and
Sarah._] And now, what has happened to "the expectancy and Rose of the
fair state"?


_Imogen._

Good, Telfer! good!'


_Gadd._

[_To Imogen._] Tsch, tsch! forced! forced!


_Telfer._

I will tell you--[_impressively_]--a man has crossed her path.


_Ablett._

[_In a low voice._] Shame!


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Turning to him._] Mr. Ablett!


_Telfer._

A man--ah, but also a gentle-man. [_Applause._] A gentleman of probity,
a gentleman of honor, and a gentleman of wealth and station. That
gentleman, with the modesty of youth,--for I may tell you at once that
'e is not an old man,--comes to us and asks us to give him this gyirl
to wife. And, friends, we have done so. A few preliminaries 'ave, I
believe, still to be concluded between Mr. Gower and his family, and
then the bond will be signed, the compact entered upon, the mutual trust
accepted. Riches this youthful pair will possess--but what is gold? May
they be rich in each other's society, in each other's love! May they--I
can wish them no greater joy--be as happy in their married life as
my--my--as Miss Sylvester and I 'ave been in ours! [_Raising his
glass._] Miss Rose Trelawny--Mr. Arthur Gower! [_The toast is drunk by
the company, upstanding. Three cheers are called for by Colpoys, and
given. Those who have risen then sit._] Miss Trelawny.


_Rose._

[_Weeping._] No, no, Mr. Telfer.


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_To Telfer, softly._] Let her be for a minute, James.


_Telfer._


_Mr. Gower._

[_Arthur rises and is well received._]


_Arthur._

Ladies and gentlemen, I--I would I were endowed with Mr. Telfer's flow
of--of--of splendid eloquence. But I am no orator, no speaker, and
therefore cannot tell you how highly--how deeply I appreciate the--the
compliment----


_Ablett._

You deserve it, Mr. Glover!


_Mrs. Mossop._

Hush!


_Arthur._

All I can say is that I regard Miss Trelawny in the light of a--a
solemn charge, and I--I trust that, if ever I have the pleasure
of--of meeting--any of you again, I shall be able to render a
good--a--a--satisfactory--satisfactory---


_Tom._

[_In an audible whisper._] Account.


_Arthur._

Account of the way--of the way--in which I--in which----- [_Loud
applause._] Before I bring these observations to a conclusion, let me
assure you that it has been a great privilege to me to meet--to have
been thrown with--a band of artists--whose talents--whose striking
talents--whose talents----


_Tom._

[_Kindly, behind his hand._] Sit down.


_Arthur._

[_Helplessly._] Whose talents not only interest and instruct the--the
more refined residents of this district, but whose talents-


_Imogen._

[_Quietly to Colpoys._] Get him to sit down.


_Arthur._

The fame of whose talents, I should say----


_Colpoys._

[_Quietly to Mrs. Mossop._] He's to sit down. Tell Mother Telfer.


_Arthur._

The fame of whose talents has spread to--to regions---


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Quietly to Mrs. Telfer._] They say he's to sit down.


_Arthur._

To--to quarters of the town--to quarters----


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_To Arthur._] Sit down!


_Arthur._

Eh?


_Mrs. Telfer._

You finished long ago. Sit down.


_Arthur._

Thank you. I'm exceedingly sorry. Great Heavens, how wretchedly I've
done it!

[_He sits, burying his head in his hands. More applause._]


_Telfer._

Rose. my child.

[_Rose starts to her feet. The rest rise with her, and cheer again, and
wave handkerchiefs. She goes from one to the other, round the table,
embracing and kissing and crying over them all excitedly. Sarah is
kissed, but upon Ablett is bestowed only a handshake, to his evident
dissatisfaction. Imogen runs to the piano and strikes up the air of
"Ever of Thee." When Rose gets back to the place she mounts her chair,
with the aid of Tom and Telfer, and faces them with flashing eyes. They
pull the flowers out of the vases and throw them at her._]


_Rose._

Mr. Telfer, Mrs. Telfer! My friends! Boys! Ladies and gentlemen! No,
don't stop, Jenny! go on! [_Singing, her arms stretched out to them._]
"Ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming, Thy gentle voice." You remember! the
song I sang in The Peddler of Marseilles--which made Arthur fall in love
with me! Well, I know I shall dream of you, of all of you, very often,
as the song says. Don't believe [_wiping away her tears_], oh, don't
believe that, because I shall have married a swell, you and the old
"Wells"--the dear old "Wells"!----

[_Cheers._]


_Rose._

You and the old "Wells" will have become nothing to me! No, many and
many a night you will see me in the house, looking down at you from the
Circle--me and my husband----


_Arthur._

Yes, yes, certainly!


_Rose._

And if you send for me I'll come behind the curtain to you, and sit with
you and talk of bygone times, these times that end to-day. And shall
I tell you the moments which will be the happiest to me in my life,
however happy I may be with Arthur? Why, whenever I find that I am
recognized by people, and pointed out--people in the pit of a theatre,
in the street, no matter where; and when I can fancy they're saying
to each other, "Look! that was Miss Trelawny! you remember--Trelawny!
Trelawny of the 'Wells!'"----

[_They cry "Trelawny!" and "Trelawny of the 'Wells!'" and again
"Trelawny!" wildly. Then there is the sound of a sharp rat-tat at the
front door. Imogen leaves the piano and looks out of the window._]


_Imogen._

[_To somebody below._] What is it?


_A Voice._

Miss Trelawny, ma'am. We can't wait.


_Rose._

[_Weakly._] Oh, help me down----

[_They assist her, and gather round her._]


END OF THE FIRST ACT.





THE SECOND ACT.

_The scene represents a spacious drawing-room in a house in Cavendish
Square. The walls are somber in tone, the ceiling dingy, the hangings,
though rich, are faded, and altogether the appearance of the room is
solemn, formal, and depressing. On the right are folding-doors admitting
to a further drawing-room. Beyond these is a single door. The wall on
the left is mainly occupied by three sash-windows. The wall facing the
spectators is divided by two pilasters into three panels. On the center
panel is a large mirror, reflecting the fireplace; on the right hangs a
large oil painting--a portrait of Sir William Gower in his judicial wig
and robes. On the left hangs a companion picture--a portrait of Miss
Gower. In the corners of the room there are marble columns supporting
classical busts, and between the doors stands another marble column,
upon which is an oil lamp. Against the lower window there are two chairs
and a card-table. Behind a further table supporting a lamp stands a
threefold screen. The lamps are lighted, but the curtains are not drawn,
and outside the windows it is twilight._

[_Sir William Gower is seated, near a table, asleep, with a newspaper
over his head, concealing his face. Miss Trafalgar Gower is sitting at
the further end of a couch, also asleep, and with a newspaper over her
head. At the lower end of this couch sits Mrs. de Foenix--Clara--a young
lady of nineteen, with a "married" air. She is engaged upon some crochet
work. On the other side of the room, near a table, Rose is seated,
wearing the look of a boredom which has reached the stony stage.
On another couch Arthur sits, gazing at his boots, his hands in his
pockets. On the right of this couch stands Captain de Foenix, leaning
against the wall, his mouth open, his head thrown back, and his eyes
closed. De Foenix is a young man of seven-and-twenty--an example of the
heavily-whiskered "swell" of the period. Everybody is in dinner-dress.
After a moment or two Arthur rises and tiptoes down to Rose. Clara
raises a warning finger and says "Hush!" He nods to her, in assent._]


_Arthur._

[_On Rose's left--in a whisper._] Quiet, isn't it?


_Rose._

[_To him, in a whisper._] Quiet! Arthur---! [_Clutching his arm._] Oh,
this dreadful half-hour after dinner, every, every evening!


_Arthur._

[_Creeping across to the right of the table and sitting there._]
Grandfather and Aunt Trafalgar must wake up soon. They're longer than
usual to-night.


_Rose._

[_To him, across the table._] Your sister Clara, over there, and Captain
de Foenix--when they were courting, did they have to go through this?


_Arthur._

Yes.


_Rose._

And now that they are married, they still endure it!


_Arthur._

Yes.


_Rose._

And we, when we are married, Arthur, shall _we_---?


_Arthur._

Yes. I suppose so.


_Rose._

[_Passing her hand across her brow._] Phe--ew! [_De Foenix, fast
asleep, is now swaying, and in danger of toppling over. Clara grasps the
situation and rises._]


_Clara._

[_In a guttural whisper._] Ah, Frederick! no, no, no!


_Rose. and Arthur._

[_Turning in their chairs._] Eh--what-----? ah--h--h--h!

[_As Clara, reaches her husband, he lurches forward into her arms._]


_De Foenix._

[_His eyes bolting._] Oh! who------<


_Clara._

Frederick dear, wake!


_De Foenix._

[_Dazed._] How did this occur?


_Clara._

You were tottering, and I caught you.


_De Foenix._

[_Collecting his senses._] I wemember. I placed myself in an upwight
position, dearwest, to prewent myself dozing.


_Clara._

[_Sinking on to the couch._] How you alarmed me! [_Seeing that Rose is
laughing, De Foenix comes down to her._]


_De Foenix._

[_In a low voice._] Might have been a very serwious accident, Miss
Trelawny.


_Rose._

[_Seating herself on the footstool._] Never mind! [_Pointing to the
chair she has vacated._] Sit down and talk. [_He glances at the old
people and shakes his head._] Oh, do, do, do! do sit down, and let us
all have a jolly whisper. [_He sits._] Thank your Captain Fred. Go on!
tell me something--anything; something about the military----


_De Foenix._

[_Again looking at the old people, then wagging his finger at Rose._]
I know; you want to get me into a wow. [_Settling himself into his
chair._] Howwid girl!


_Rose._

[_Despairingly._] Oh--h--h!

[_There is a brief pause, and then the sound of a street-organ, playing
in the distance, is heard. The air is "Ever of Thee."_]


_Rose._

Hark! [_Excitedly._] Hark!


_Clara._ Arthur, and De Foenix.

Hush!


_Rose._

[_Heedlessly._] The song I sang in The Peddler--The Peddler of
Marseilles! the song that used to make you cry, Arthur! [_They attempt
vainly to hush her down, but she continues dramatically, in hoarse
whispers._] And then Raphael enters--comes on to the bridge. The music
continues, softly. "Raphael, why have you kept me waiting? Man, do you
wish to break my heart--[_thumping her breast_] a woman's hear--r--rt,
Raphael?"

[_Sir William and Miss Gower suddenly whip off their newspapers and
sit erect. Sir William is a grim, bullet-headed old gentleman of about
seventy; Miss Gower a spare, prim lady, of gentle manners, verging upon
sixty. They stare at each other for a moment, silently._]


_Sir William._

What a hideous riot, Trafalgar!


_Miss Gower._


_Rose._ dear, I hope I have been mistaken--but through my sleep I
fancied I could hear you shrieking at the top of your voice.

[_Sir William gets on to his feet; all rise, except Rose, who remains
seated sullenly._]

[Illustration: 0081]


_Sir William._

Trafalgar, it is becoming impossible for you and me to obtain repose.
[_Turning his head sharply._] Ha! is not that a street-organ? [_To Miss
Gower._] An organ?


_Miss Gower._

Undoubtedly. An organ in the Square, at this hour of the
evening--singularly out of place!


_Sir William._

[_Looking round._] Well, well, well, does no one stir?


_Rose._

[_Under her breath._] Oh, don't stop it!

[_Clara goes out quickly. With a great show of activity Arthur and De
Foenix hurry across the room and, when there, do nothing._]


_Sir William._

[_Coming upon Rose and peering down at her._] What are ye upon the
floor for, my dear? Have we no cheers? [_To Miss Gower--producing his
snuff-box._] Do we lack cheers here, Trafalgar?


_Miss Gower._

[_Going to Rose._] My dear Rose! [_Raising her._] Come, come, come, this
is quite out of place! Young ladies do not crouch and huddle upon the
ground--do they, William?


_Sir William._

[_Taking snuff._] A moment ago I should have hazarded the opinion that
they do not. [_Chuckling unpleasantly._] He, he, he!

[_Clara returns. The organ music ceases abruptly._]


_Clara._

[_Coming to Sir William._] Charles was just running out to stop the
organ when I reached the hall, grandpa.


_Sir William._

Ye'd surely no intention, Clara, of venturing, yourself, into the public
street--the open Square----?


_Clara._

[_Faintly._] I meant only to wave at the man from the door----


_Miss Gower._

Oh, Clara, that would hardly have been in place!


_Sir William._

[_Raising his hands._] In mercy's name, Trafalgar, what is befalling my
household?


_Miss Gower._

[_Bursting into tears._] Oh, William----!

[_Rose and Clara creep away and join the others. Miss Gower totters to
Sir William and drops her head upon his breast._]


_Sir William._

Tut, tut, tut, tut!


_Miss Gower._

[_Between her sobs._] I--I--I--I know what is in your mind.


_Sir William._

[_Drawing a long breath._] Ah--h--h--h!


_Miss Gower._

Oh, my dear brother, be patient!


_Sir William._

Patient!


_Miss Gower._

Forgive me; I should have said hopeful. Be hopeful that I shall yet
succeed in ameliorating the disturbing conditions which are affecting us
so cruelly.

Sm William.

Ye never will, Trafalgar; _I've_ tried.


_Miss Gower._

Oh, do not despond already! I feel sure there are good ingredients in
Rose's character. [_Clinging to him._] In time, William, we shall shape
her to be a fitting wife for our rash and unfortunate Arthur----

[_He shakes his head._] In time, William, in time!


_Sir William._

[_Soothing her._] Well, well, well! there, there, there! At least, my
dear sister, I am perfectly aweer that I possess in you the woman above
all others whose example should compel such a transformation.


_Miss Gower._

[_Throwing her arms about his neck._] Oh, brother, what a
compliment----!


_Sir William._

Tut, tut, tut! And now, before Charles sets the card-table, don't you
think we had better--eh, Trafalgar?


_Miss Gower._

Yes, yes--our disagreeable duty; let us discharge it. [_Sir William
takes snuff._] Rose, dear, be seated. [_To everybody._] The Vice
Chancellor has something to say to us. Let us all be seated.

[_There is consternation among the young people. All sit._]


_Sir William._

[_Peering about him._] Are ye seated?


_Everybody._

Yes.


_Sir William._

What I desire to say is this. When Miss Trelawny took up her residence
here, it was thought proper, in the peculiar circumstances of the case,
that you, Arthur--[_pointing a finger at Arthur_] you----


_Arthur._

Yes, sir.


_Sir William._

That you should remove yourself to the establishment of your sister
Clara and her husband in Holies Street, round the corner--


_Arthur._

Yes, sir.


_Clara._

Yes, grandpa.


_De Foenix._

Certainly, Sir William.


_Sir William._

Taking your food in this house, and spending other certain hours here,
under the surveillance of your great-aunt Trafalgar.

Miss Gower.

Yes, William.


_Sir William._

This was considered to be a decorous, and, toward Miss Trelawny, a
highly respectful, course to pursue.


_Arthur._

Yes, sir.


_Miss Gower._

Any other course would have been out of place.


_Sir William._

And yet--[_again extending a finger at Arthur_] what is this that is
reported to me?


_Arthur._

I don't know, sir.


_Sir William._

I hear that ye have on several occasions, at night, after having quitted
this house with Captain and Mrs. De Foenix, been seen on the other side
of the way, your back against the railings, gazing up at Miss Trelawny's
window; and that you have remained in that position for a considerable
space of time. Is this true, sir?


_Rose._

[_Boldly._] Yes, Sir William.


_Sir William._

I venture to put a question to my grandson, Miss Trelawny.


_Arthur._

Yes, sir, it is quite true.


_Sir William._

Then, sir, let me acqueent you that these are not the manners, nor the
practices, of a gentleman.


_Arthur._

No, sir?


_Sir William._

No, sir, they are the manners, and the practices, of a Troubadour.


_Miss Gower._

A troubadour in Cavendish Square! quite out of place!


_Arthur._

I--I'm very sorry, sir; I--I never looked at it in that light.


_Sir William._

[_Snuffing._] Ah--h--h--h! ho! pi--i--i--sh!


_Arthur._

But at the same time, sir, I dare say--of course I don't speak from
precise knowledge--but I dare say there were a good many--a good
many-----


_Sir William._

Good many--what sir?


_Arthur._

A good many very respectable troubadours, sir----


_Rose._

[_Starting to her feet, heroically and defiantly. _] And what I wish to
say, Sir William, is this. I wish to avow, to declare before the world,
that Arthur and I have had many lengthy interviews while he has been
stationed against those railings over there; I murmuring to him softly
from my bedroom window, he responding in tremulous whispers----


_Sir William._

[_Struggling to his feet_]. You--you tell me such things---! [_All
rise._]


_Miss Gower._

The Square, in which we have resided for years----! Our neighbors----!


_Sir William._

[_Shaking a trembling hand at Arthur. _] The--the character of my
house---!


_Arthur._

Again I am extremely sorry, sir--but these are the only confidential
conversations Rose and I now enjoy.


_Sir William._

[_Turning upon Clara and De Foenix._] And you, Captain de Foenix--an
officer and a gentleman! and you, Clara! this could scarcely have been
without your cognizance, without, perhaps, your approval----!

[_Charles, in plush and powder and wearing luxuriant whiskers, enters,
carrying two branch candlesticks with lighted candles._]


_Charles._

The cawd-table, Sir William?


_Miss Gower._

[_Agitatedly._] Yes, yes, by all means, Charles; the card-table, as
usual. [_To Sir William._] A rubber will comfort you, soothe you----

[_Charles carries the candlesticks to the card-table, Sir William and
Miss Gower seat themselves upon a couch, she with her arm through his
affectionately. Clara and De Foenix get behind the screen; their scared
faces are seen occasionally over the top of it. Charles brings the
card-table, opens it and arranges it, placing four chairs, which he
collects from different parts of the room, round the table. Rose and
Arthur talk in rapid undertones._]


_Rose._

Infamous! infamous!


_Arthur._

Be calm, Rose, dear, be calm!


_Rose._

Tyrannical! diabolical! I cannot endure it.

[_She throws herself into a chair. He stands behind her, apprehensively,
endeavoring to calm her._]


_Arthur._

[_Over her shoulder._] They mean well, dearest----


_Rose._

[_Hysterically._] Well! ha, ha, ha!


_Arthur._

But they are rather old-fashioned people---


_Rose._

Old-fashioned! they belong to the time when men and women were put to
the torture. I am being tortured--mentally tortured----


_Arthur._

They have not many more years in this world-----


_Rose._

Nor I, at this rate, many more months. They are killing me--like Agnes
in _The Specter of St. Ives._ She expires, in the fourth act, as I shall
die in Cavendish Square, painfully, of no recognized disorder--


_Arthur._

And anything we can do to make them happy----


_Rose._

To make the Vice Chancellor happy! I won't try! I will not! he's a
fiend, a vampire-!


_Arthur._

Oh, hush!


_Rose._

[_Snatching up Sir William's snuff-box, which he has left upon the
table._] His snuff-box! I wish I could poison his snuff, as Lucrezia
Borgia would have done. She would have removed him within two hours of
my arrival--I mean, her arrival. [_Opening the snuff-box and mimicing
Sir William._] And here he sits and lectures me, and dictates to me!
to Miss Trelawny! "I venture to put a question to my grandson, Miss
Trelawny!" Ha, ha! [_Talcing a pinch of snuffy thoughtlessly but
vigorously._] "Yah--h--h--h! pish! Have we no cheers? do we lack cheers
here, Trafalgar?" [_Suddenly._] Oh!


_Arthur._

What have you done?


_Rose._

[_In suspense, replacing the snuff-box._] The snuff---!


_Arthur._


_Rose._ dear!


_Rose._

[_Putting her handkerchief to her nose, and rising._] Ah-----!

[_Charles, having prepared the card-table, and arranged the candlesticks
upon it, has withdrawn. Miss Gower and Sir William now rise._]


_Miss Gower._

The table is prepared, William. Arthur, I assume you would prefer to sit
and contemplate Rose----?


_Arthur._

Thank you, aunt.

[_Rose sneezes violently, and is led away, helplessly, by Arthur._]


_Miss Gower._

[_To Rose._] Oh, my dear child! [_Looking round._] Where are Frederick
and Clara?

[_Appearing from behind the screen, shamefacedly._] Here.

[_The intending players cut the pack and seat themselves. Sir William
sits facing Captain de Foenix, Miss Gower on the right of the table, and
Clara on the left._]


_Arthur._

[_While this is going on, to Rose._] Are you in pain, dearest? Rose!


_Rose._

Agony!


_Arthur._

Pinch your upper lip---

[_She sneezes twice, loudly, and sinks back upon the couch._]


_Sir William._

[_Testily._] Sssh! sssh! sssh! this is to be whist, I hope.


_Miss Gower._

Rose! Rose! young ladies do not sneeze quite so continuously. [_De
Foenix is dealing._]


_Sir William._

[_With gusto._] I will thank you, Captain de Foenix, to exercise your
intelligence this evening to its furthest limit.


_De Foenix._

I'll twy, sir.


_Sir William._

[_Laughing unpleasantly._] He, he, he! last night, sir----


_Clara._

Poor Frederick had toothache last night, grandpa.


_Sir William._

[_Tartly._] Whist is whist, Clara, and toothache is toothache. We will
endeavor to keep the two things distinct, if you please. He, he!


_Miss Gower._

Your interruption was hardly in place, Clara, dear,--ah!


_De Foenix._

Hey! what?


_Miss Gower._

A misdeal.


_Clara._

[_Faintly._] Oh, Frederick!


_Sir William._

[_Partly rising._] Captain de Foenix!


_De Foenix._

I--I'm fwightfully gwieved, sir----

[_The cards are re-dealt by Miss Gower. Rose now gives way to a violent
paroxysm of sneezing. Sir William rises._]


_Miss Gower._

William-----! [_The players rise._]


_Sir William._

[_To the players._] Is this whist, may I ask?

[_They sit._]


_Sir William._

[_Standing._] Miss Trelawny--

[Illustration: 0097]


_Rose._

[_Weakly._] I--I think I had better--what d'ye call it?--withdraw for a
few moments.


_Sir William._

[_Sitting again._] Do so.

[_Rose disappears. Arthur is leaving the room with her._]


_Miss Gower._

[_Sharply._] Arthur! where are you going?


_Arthur._

[_Returning promptly._] I beg your pardon, aunt.


_Miss Gower._

Really, Arthur---!


_Sir William._

[_Rapping upon the table._] Tsch, tsch, tsch!


_Miss Gower._

Forgive me, William. [_They play._]


_Sir William._

[_Intent upon his cards._] My snuff-box, Arthur; be so obleeging as to
search for it.


_Arthur._

[_Brightly._] I'll bring it to you, sir. It is on the----


_Sir William._

Keep your voice down, sir. We are playing--[_emphatically throwing down
a card, as fourth player_] whist. Mine.


_Miss Gower._

[_Picking up the trick._] No, William.


_Sir William._

[_Glaring._] No!


_Miss Gower._


_Clara._played a trump.

De Foenix.

Yes, sir, Clara played a trump--the seven----


_Sir William._

I will not trouble you, Captain de Foenix, to echo Miss Gower's
information.


_De Foenix._

Vevy sowwy, sir.


_Miss Gower._

[_Gently._] It was a little out of place, Frederick.


_Sir William._

Sssh! whist. [_Arthur is now on Sir William's right, with the
snuff-box._] Eh? what? [_Taking the snuff-box from Arthur._] Oh, thank
ye. Much obleeged, much obleeged.

[_Arthur walks away and picks up a book. Sir William turns in his chair,
watching Arthur._]


_Miss Gower._

You to play, William. [_A pause._] William, dear----?

[_She also turns, following the direction of his gaze. Laying down his
cards, Sir William leaves the card-table and goes over to Arthur slowly.
Those at the card-table look on apprehensively._]

_Sir William._

[_In a queer voice._] Arthur.


_Arthur._

[_Shutting his book._] Excuse me, grandfather.


_Sir William._

Ye--ye're a troublesome young man, Arthur.


_Arthur._

I--I don't mean to be one, sir.


_Sir William._

As your poor father was, before ye. And if you are fool enough to marry,
and to beget children, doubtless your son will follow the same course.
[_Taking snuff._] Y--y--yes, but I shall be dead 'n' gone by that time,
it's likely. Ah--h--h--h! pi--i--i--sh! I shall be sitting in the Court
Above by that time--- [_From the adjoining room comes the sound of
Rose's voice singing "Ever of Thee" to the piano. There is great
consternation at the card-table. Arthur is moving towards the
folding-doors, Sir William detains him._] No, no, let her go on, I beg.
Let her continue. [_Returning to the card-table, with deadly calmness._]
We will suspend our game while this young lady performs her operas.


_Miss Gower._

[_Rising and taking his arm._] William----!


_Sir William._

[_In the same tone._] I fear this is no' longer a comfortable home for
ye, Trafalgar; no longer the home for a gentlewoman. I apprehend that
in these days my house approaches somewhat closely to a Pandemonium.
[_Suddenly taking up the cards, in a fury, and flinging them across the
room._] And this is whist--whist----!

[_Clara and De Foenix rise and stand together. Arthur pushes open the
upper part of the folding-doors._]


_Arthur._


_Rose._ stop! Rose!

[_The song ceases and Rose appears._]


_Rose._

[_At the folding-doors._] Did anyone call?


_Arthur._

You have upset my grandfather!


_Miss Gower._

Miss Trelawny, how--how dare you do anything so--so out of place?


_Rose._

There's a piano in there, Miss Gower.


_Miss Gower._

You are acquainted with the rule of this household--no music when the
Vice Chancellor is within doors.


_Rose._

But there are so many rules. One of them is that you may not sneeze.


_Miss Gower._

Ha! you must never answer---


_Rose._

No, that's another rule.


_Miss Gower._

Oh, for shame!


_Arthur._

You see, aunt, Rose is young, and--and--you make no allowance for her,
give her no chance----


_Miss Gower._

Great Heaven! what is this you are charging me with?


_Arthur._

I don't think the "rules" of this house are fair to Rose I oh, I must
say it--they are horribly unfair!


_Miss Gower._

[_Clinging to Sir William._] Brother!


_Sir William._

Trafalgar! [_Putting her aside and advancing to Arthur._] Oh, indeed,
sir! and so you deliberately accuse your great-aunt of acting toward ye
and Miss Trelawny _mala fide_----


_Arthur._

Grandfather, what I intended to----


_Sir William._

I will afford ye the opportunity of explaining what ye intended to
convey, downstairs, at once, in the library. [_A general shudder._]
Obleege me by following me, sir. [_To Clara and De Foenix._] Captain de
Foenix, I see no prospect of any further social relaxation this
evening. You and Clara will do me the favor of attending in the hall, in
readiness to take this young man back to Holies Street. [_Giving his arm
to Miss Gower._] My dear sister---- [_To Arthur._] Now, sir.

[_Sir William and Miss Gower go out Arthur comes to Rose and kisses
her._]


_Arthur._

Good-night, dearest: Oh, good-night! Oh, Rose!


_Sir William._

[_Outside the door._] Mr. Arthur Gower!


_Arthur._

I am coming, sir--- [_He goes out quickly._]


_De Foenix._

[_Approaching Rose and taking her hand sympathetically._] Haw-----!
I--weally--haw!----


_Rose._

Yes, I know what you would say. Thank you, Captain Fred.


_Clara._

[_Embracing Rose._] Never mind! we will continue to let Arthur out
at night as usual. I am a married woman! [_joining De Foenix_], and a
married woman will turn, if you tread upon her often enough-----!

[_De Foenix and Clara depart._]


_Rose._

[_Pacing the room, shaking her hands in the air desperately._] Oh--h--h!
ah--h--h!

[_The upper part of the folding-doors opens, and Charles appears._]


_Charles._

[_Mysteriously._] Miss Rose---


_Rose._

What--


_Charles._

[_Advancing._] I see Sir William h'and the rest descend the stairs. I
'ave been awaitin' the chawnce of 'andin' you this, Miss Rose.

[_He produces a dirty scrap of paper, wet and limp, with writing upon
it, and gives it to her._]


_Rose._

[_Handling it daintly._] Oh, it's damp!--


_Charles._

Yes, miss; a little gentle shower 'ave been takin' place h'outside--'eat
spots, cook says.


_Rose._

[_Reading._] Ah! from some of my friends. Charles.

[_Behind his hand._] Perfesshunnal, Miss Rose?


_Rose._

[_Intent upon the note._] Yes--yes---


_Charles._

I was reprimandin' the organ, miss, when I observed them lollin' against
the square railin's examinin' h'our premises, and they wentured for to
beckon me. An egstremely h'affable party, miss. [_Hiding his face._] Ho!
one of them caused me to laff!


_Rose._

[_Excitedly._] They want to speak to me--[_referring to the note_] to
impart something to me of an important nature. Oh, Charles, I know not
what to do!


_Charles._

[_Languishingly._] Whatever friends may loll against them railin's
h'opposite, Miss Rose, you 'ave one true friend in this 'ouse--Chawles
Gibbons----


_Rose._

Thank you, Charles. Mr. Briggs, the butler, is sleeping out to-night,
isn't he?


_Charles._

Yes, miss, he 'ave leave to sleep at his sister's. I 'appen to know he
'ave gone to Cremorne.


_Rose._

Then, when Sir William and Miss Gower have retired, do you think you
could let me go forth; and wait at the front door while I run across and
grant my friends a hurried interview?


_Charles._

Suttingly, miss.


_Rose._

If it reached the ears of Sir William, or Miss Gower, you would lose
your place, Charles!


_Charles._

[_Haughtily._] I'm aweer, miss; but Sir William was egstremely rood to
me dooring dinner, over that mis'ap to the ontray----- [_A bell rings
violently._] S'william!

[_He goes out. The rain is heard pattering against the window panes.
Rose goes from one window to another, looking out. It is now almost
black outside the windows._]


_Rose._

[_Discovering her friends._] Ah! yes, yes! ah--h--h--h! [_She snatches
an antimacassar from a chair and jumping onto the couch, waves it
frantically to those outside._] The dears! the darlings! the faithful
creatures----! [_Listening._] Oh------!

[_She descends, in a hurry, and flings the antimacassar under the couch,
as Miss Gower enters. At the same moment there is a vivid flash of
lightning._]


_Miss Gower._

[_Startled._] Oh, how dreadful! [_To Rose, frigidly._] The Vice
Chancellor has felt the few words he has addressed to Arthur, and has
retired for the night. [_There is a roll of thunder. Rose alarmed, Miss
Gower clings to a chair._] Mercy on us! Go to bed, child, directly. We
will all go to our beds, hoping to awake to-morrow in a meeker and more
submissive spirit. [_Kissing Rose upon the brow._] Good-night. [_Another
flash of lightning._] Oh----! Don't omit to say your prayers, Rose--and
in a simple manner. I always fear that, from your peculiar training, you
may declaim them. That is so out of place--oh!

[_Another roll of thunder. Rose goes across the room, meeting Charles,
who enters carrying a lantern. They exchange significant glances, and
she disappears._]


_Charles._

[_Coming to Miss Gower._] I am now at liberty to accompany you round the
'ouse, ma'am----[_A flash of lightning._]


_Miss Gower._

Ah-----! [_Her hand to her heart._] Thank you,

Charles--but to-night I must ask you to see that everything is secure,
alone. This storm--so very seasonable; but, from girlhood, I could
never---

[_A roll of thunder._] Oh, good-night!

[_She flutters away. The rain beats still more violently upon the window
panes._]


_Charles._

[_Glancing at the window._] Ph--e--e--w! Great 'evans!

[_He is dropping the curtains at the window when Rose appears at the
folding-doors._]


_Rose._

[_In a whisper._] Charles!


_Charles._

Miss?


_Rose._

[_Coming into the room, distractedly._] Miss Gower has gone to bed.


_Charles._

Yes, miss--oh----! [_A flash of lightning._]


_Rose._

Oh! my friends! my poor friends!


_Charles._

H'and Mr. Briggs at Cremorne! Reelly, I should 'ardly advise you to
wenture h'out, miss----


_Rose._

Out! no! Oh, but get them in!


_Charles._

In, Miss Rose! indoors!


_Rose._

Under cover---- [_A roll of thunder._] Oh!

[_Wringing her hands._] They are my friends! is it a rule that I am
never to see a friend, that I mayn't even give a friend shelter in a
violent storm? [_To Charles._] Are you the only one up?


_Charles._

I b'lieve so, miss. Any'ow the wimming-servants is quite h'under my
control.


_Rose._

Then tell my friends to be deathly quiet, and to creep--to tip-toe--
[_The rain strikes the window again. She picks up the lantern which
Charles has deposited upon the floor, and gives it to him._]

Make haste! I'll draw the curtains--[_He hurries out. She goes from
window to window, dropping the curtains, talking to herself excitedly as
she does so._] My friends! my own friends! ah! I'm not to sneeze in
this house! nor to sing! or breathe, next! wretches! oh, my! wretches!
[_Blowing out the candles and removing the candlesticks to the
table, singing, under her breath, wildly._] "Ever of thee I'm fondly
dreaming----" [_Mimicking Sir William again._] "What are ye upon
the floor for, my dear? Have we no cheers? do we lack cheers here,
Trafalgar----?" [_Charles returns._]


_Charles._

[_To those who follow him._] Hush! [_To Rose._] I

discovered 'em clustered in the doorway----

[_There is a final peal of thunder as Avonia, Gadd, Colpoys, and Tom
Wrench enter, somewhat diffidently. They are apparently soaked to their
skins, and are altogether in a deplorable condition. Avonia alone has
an umbrella, which she allows to drip upon the carpet, but her dress and
petticoats are bedraggled, her finery limp, her hair lank and loose._]


_Rose._

'Vonia!

[Illustration: 0113]


_Avonia._

[_Coming to her, and embracing her fervently._] Oh, ducky, ducky, ducky!
oh, but what a storm!


_Rose._

Hush! how wet you are! [_Shaking hands with Gadd_] Ferdinand--[_crossing
to Colpoys and shaking hands with him_] Augustus--[_shaking hands with
Tom_] Tom-Wrench--


_Avonia._

[_To Charles._] Be so kind as to put my umbrella on the landing, will
you? Oh, thank you very much, I'm sure.

[_Charles withdraws with the umbrella. Gadd and Colpoys shake the rain
from their hats on to the carpet and furniture._]


_Tom._

[_Quietly, to Rose._] It's a shame to come down on you in this way. But
they would do it, and I thought I'd better stick to 'em.

Gadd.

[_Who is a little flushed and unsteady._] Ha! I shall remember this
accursed evening.


_Avonia._

Oh, Ferdy----!


_Rose._

Hush! you must be quiet. Everybody has gone to bed, and I--I'm not sure
I'm allowed to receive visitors----


_Avonia._

Oh!


_Gadd._

Then we are intruders?


_Rose._

I mean, such late visitors.

[_Colpoys has taken off his coat, and is shaking it vigorously._]


_Avonia._

Stop it, Augustus! ain't I wet enough? [_To Rose._] Yes, it is latish,
but I so wanted to inform you--here--[_bringing Gadd forward_] allow me
to introduce --my husband.


_Rose._

Oh! no!


_Avonia._

[_Laughing merrily._] Yes, ha, ha, ha!


_Rose._

Sssh, sssh, sssh!


_Avonia._

I forgot. [_To Gadd._] Oh, darling Ferdy, you're positively soaked! [_To
Rose._] Do let him take his coat off, like Gussy----


_Gadd._

[_Jealously._] 'Vonia, not so much of the Gussy!


_Avonia._

There you are, flying out again I as if Mr. Colpoys wasn't an old
friend!


_Gadd._

Old friend or no old friend----


_Rose._

[_Diplomatically._] Certainly, take your coat off, Ferdinand.

[_Gadd joins Colpoys; they spread out their coats upon the couch._]


_Rose._

[_Feeling Tom's coat sleeve._] And you?


_Tom._

[_After glancing at the others--quietly._] No, thank you.


_Avonia._.

[_Sitting._] Yes, dearie, Ferdy and I were married yesterday.


_Rose._

[_Sitting. _] Yesterday!


_Avonia._.

Yesterday morning. We're on our honeymoon now. You know, the "Wells"
shut a fortnight after you left us, and neither Ferdy nor me could
fix anything, just for the present, elsewhere; and as we hadn't put
by during the season--you know it never struck us to put by during the
season--we thought we'd get married.


_Rose._

Oh, yes.


_Avonia._.

You see, a man and his wife can live almost on what keeps one, rent
_and_ ceterer; and so, being deeply attached, as I tell you, we went off
to church and did the deed. Oh, it will be such a save. [_Looking up at
Gadd coyly._] Oh, Ferdy------!


_Gadd._

[_Laying his hand upon her head, dreamily._] Yes, child, I confess I
love you--.

Colpoys

[_Behind Rose, imitating Gadd._] Child, I confess I adore you.


_Tom._

[_Taking Colpoys by the arm and swinging him away from Rose._] Enough of
that, Colpoys!


_Colpoys._

What!


_Rose._

[_Rising._] Hush!


_Tom._

[_Under his breath._] If you've never learnt how to behave----


_Colpoys._

Don't you teach behavior, sir, to a gentleman who plays a superior line
of business to yourself! [_Muttering. _] 'Pon my soul! rum start!


_Avonia._

[_Going to Rose._] Of course I ought to have written to you, dear,
properly, but you remember the weeks it takes me to write a letter---
[_Gadd sits in the chair Avonia has just quitted; she returns and seats
herself upon his knee._]And so I said to Ferdy, over tea, "Ferdy, let's
spend a bit of our honeymoon' in doing the West End thoroughly, and
going and seeing where Rose Trelawny lives." And we thought it only nice
and polite to invite Tom Wrench and Gussy----


_Gadd._

'Vonia, much less of the Gussy!


_Avonia._

[_Kissing Gadd._] Jealous boy! [_Beaming._] Oh, and we have done the
West End thoroughly. There, I've never done the West End so thoroughly
in my life! And when we got outside your house I couldn't resist. [_Her
hand on Gadd's shirt sleeve._] Oh, gracious! I'm sure you'll catch your
death, my darling---!


_Rose._

I think I can get him some wine. [_To Gadd._] Will you take some wine,
Ferdinand?

[_Gadd rises, nearly upsetting Avonia._]


_Avonia._

Ferdy!


_Gadd._

I thank you. [_ With a wave of the hand._] Anything, anything----


_Avonia._

[_To Rose._] Anything that goes with stout, dear.


_Rose._

[_At the door, turning to them._] 'Vonia--boys--be very still.


_Avonia._

Trust us!

[_Rose tiptoes out. Colpoys is now at the card-table, cutting a pack of
cards which remains there._]


_Colpoys._

[_To Gadd._] Gadd, I'll see you for pennies.


_Gadd._

[_Loftily._] Done, sir, with you!

[_They seat themselves at the table, and cut for coppers. Tom is walking
about, surveying the room._]


_Avonia._

[_Taking off her hat and wiping it with her handkerchief._] Well,
Thomas, what do you think of it?


_Tom._

This is the kind of chamber I want for the first act of my comedy-----


_Avonia._

Oh, lor', your head's continually running on your comedy. Half this
blessed evening----


_Tom._

I tell you, I won't have doors stuck here, there, and everywhere; no,
nor windows in all sorts of impossible places!


_Avonia._

Oh, really! Well, when you do get your play accepted, mind you see that
Mr. Manager gives you exactly what you ask for--won't you?


_Tom._

You needn't be satirical, if you _are_ wet. Yes, I will I [_Pointing to
the left._] Windows on the one side [_pointing to the right_], doors on
the other--just where they should be, architecturally. And locks on the
doors, _real locks_, to work; and handles--to turn! [_Rubbing his hands
together gleefully._] Ha, ha! you wait! wait--!

[_Rose re-enters, with a plate of biscuits in her hand, followed by
Charles, who carries a decanter of sherry and some wine-glasses._]


_Rose._

Here, Charles-----

[_Charles places the decanter and the glasses on the table._]


_Gadd._

[_Whose luck has been against him, throwing himself, sulkily, onto the
couch._] Bah! I'll risk no further stake.


_Colpoys._

Just because you lose sevenpence in coppers you go on like this!

[_Charles, turning from the table, faces Colpoys._]



======== below this needs correction ===


_Colpoys._

[_Tearing his hair, and glaring at Charles wildly._] Ah--h--h, I am
ruined! I have lost my all! my children are beggars----!


_Charles._

Ho, ho, ho! he, he, he!


_Rose._

Hush, hush! [_Charles goes out laughing. To everybody;_]Sherry?


_Gadd._

[_Rising._] Sherry!

[_Avonia, Colpoys; and Gadd gather round the table, and help themselves
to sherry and biscuits._]


_Rose._

[_To Tom._] Tom, won't you-----?


_Tom._

[_Watching Gadd anxiously._] No, thank you. The fact is, we--we have
already partaken of refreshments, once or twice during the evening----

[_Colpoys and Avonia, each carrying a glass of wine and munching a
biscuit, go to the couch, where they sit._]


_Gadd._

[_Pouring out sherry--singing._] "And let me the canakin clink,
clink---"


_Rose._

[_Coming to him._] Be quiet, Gadd!


_Colpoys._

[_Raising his glass._] The Bride!


_Rose._

[_Turning, kissing her hand to Avonia._] Yes, yes [_Gadd hands Rose his
glass; she puts her lips to it._] The Bride!

[_She returns the glass to Gadd._]


_Gadd._

[_Sitting._] My bride!

[_Tom, from behind the table, unperceived, takes the decanter and hides
it under the table, then sits. Gadd, missing the decanter, contents
himself with the biscuits._]


_Avonia._

Well, Rose, my darling, we've been talking about nothing but ourselves.
How are you getting along here?


_Rose._

Getting along? oh, I--I don't fancy I'm getting along very well, thank
you!


_Colpoys. and Avonia._

Not----!


_Gadd._

[_His mouth full of biscuit._] Not----!


_Rose._

[_Sitting by the card-table._] No, boys; no 'Vonia. The truth is,
it isn't as nice as you'd think it. I suppose the Profession had its
drawbacks--mother used to say so--but [_raising her arms_] one could
fly. Yes, in Brydon Crescent one was a dirty little London sparrow,
perhaps; but here, in this grand square----! Oh, it's the story of the
caged bird, over again.


_Avonia._

A love-bird, though.


_Rose._

Poor Arthur? yes, he's a dear. [_Rising._] But the Gowers--the old
Gowers! the Gowers! the Gowers I [_She paces the room, beating her
hands together. In her excitement, she ceases to whisper, and gradually
becomes loud and voluble. The others, following her leady chatter
noisily--excepting Tom, who sits thoughtfully, looking before him._]


_Rose._

The ancient Gowers! the venerable Gowers!


_Avonia._

You mean, the grandfather-----?


_Rose._

And the aunt--the great-aunt--the great bore of a great-aunt! The very
mention of 'em makes something go "tap, tap, tap, tap" at the top of my
head.


_Avonia._

Oh, I am sorry to hear this. Well, upon my word----!


_Rose._

Would you believe it? 'Vonia--boys--you'll never believe it! I mayn't
walk out with Arthur alone, nor see him here alone. I mayn't sing; no,
nor sneeze even----


_Avonia._

[_Shrilly._]Not sing or sneeze!


_Colpoys._

[_Indignantly. _] Not sneeze!


_Rose._

No, nor sit on the floor--the floor!


_Avonia._

Why, when we shared rooms together, you were always on the floor!


_Gadd._

[_Producing a pipe, and knocking out the ashes on the heel of his
boot._] In Heaven's name, what kind of house can this be!


_Avonia._

I wouldn't stand it, would you, Ferdinand?


_Gadd._

[_Loading his pipe._] Gad, no!


_Avonia._

[_To Colpoys._] Would you, Gus, dear?


_Gadd._

[_Under his breath._] Here! not so much of the Gus dear----


_Avonia._

[_To Colpoys._] Would you?


_Colpoys._

No, I'm blessed if I would, my darling.


_Gadd._

[_His pipe in his mouth._] Mr. Colpoys! less of the darling!


_Avonia._

[_Rising._] Rose, don't you put up with it! [_Striking the top of the
card-table vigorously._] I say, don't you stand it! [_Embracing Rose._]
You're an independent girl, dear; they came to you, these people; not
you to them, remember.


_Rose._

[_Sitting on the couch._] Oh, what can I do? I can't do anything.


_Avonia._

Can't you! [_Coming to Gadd._] Ferdinand, advise her. You tell her how
to----


_Gadd._

[_Who has risen._] Miss Bunn--Mrs. Gadd, you have been all over Mr.
Colpoys this evening, ever since we----


_Avonia._

[_Angrily, pushing him back into his chair._] Oh, don't be a silly!


_Gadd._

Madam!


_Avonia._

[_Returning to Colpoys._] Gus, Ferdinand's foolish. Come and talk to
Rose, and advise her, there's a dear boy----

[_Colpoys rises; she takes his arm, to lead him to Rose. At that moment
Gadd advances to Colpoys and slaps his face violently._]


_Colpoys._

Hey----!


_Gadd._

Miserable viper!

[_The two men close. Tom runs to separate them. Rose rises with a cry
of terror. There is a struggle and general uproar. The card-table is
overturned, with a crash, and Avonia utters a long and piercing shriek.
Then the house-bells are heard ringing violently._]


_Rose._

Oh----! [_The combatants part; all look scared. At the door,
listening._] They are moving--coming! Turn out the----!

[_She turns out the light at the table. The room is in half-light as
Sir William enters, cautiously, closely followed by Miss Gower. They are
both in dressing-gowns and slippers; Sir William carries a thick stick
and his bedroom candle. Rose is standing by a chair; Gadd, Avonia,
Colpoys, and Tom are together._]


_Sir William._

Miss Trelawny----!


_Miss Gower._


_Rose._----! [_Running behind the screen._] Men!


_Sir William._

Who are these people?

_Rose._

[_Advancing a step or two._] Some friends of mine who used to be at the
"Wells" have called upon me, to inquire how I am getting on.

[_Arthur enters, quickly._]


_Arthur._

[_Looking round._] Oh! Rose----!


_Sir William._

[_Turning upon him._] Ah--h--h--h! How come you here?


_Arthur._

I was outside the house. Charles let me in, knowing something was wrong.


_Sir William._

[_Peering into his face._] Troubadouring-?


_Arthur._

Troubadouring; yes, sir. [_To Rose._] Rose, what is this?


_Sir William._

[_Fiercely._] No, sir, this is my affair. [_Placing his candlestick on
the table._] Stand aside! [_Raising his stick furiously._] Stand aside!

[_Arthur moves to the right._]


_Miss Gower._

[_Over the screen._] William----


_Sir William._

Hey?


_Miss Gower._

Your ankles---


_Sir William._

[_Adjusting his dressing-gown._] I beg your pardon. [_To Arthur._] Yes,
I can answer your question. [_Painting his stick, first at Rose, then
at the group._] Some friends of that young woman's connected with--the
playhouse, have favored us with a visit, for the purpose of ascertaining
how she is--getting on. [_Touching Gadd's pipe, which is lying at his
feet, with the end of his stick._] A filthy tobacco-pipe. To whom does
it belong? whose is it?

[_Rose picks it up and passes it to Gadd, bravely._]


_Rose._

It belongs to one of my friends.


_Sir William._

[_Taking Gadd's empty wine-glass and holding it to his nose._] Phu,
yes! In brief, a drunken debauch. [_To the group._] So ye see,
gentlemen--[_to Avonia_] and you, madam; [_to Arthur_] and you, sir; you
see, all of ye, [_sinking into a chair, and coughing from exhaustion_]
exactly how Miss Trelawny is getting on.


_Miss Gower._

[_Over the screen._] William----


_Sir William._

What is it?


_Miss Gower._

Your ankles---


_Sir William._

[_Leaping to his feet, in a frenzy._] Bah!


_Miss Gower._

Oh, they seem so out of place!


_Sir William._

[_Flourishing his stick--to the group down L. _] Begone! a set of
garish, dissolute gypsies! begone!

[_Gadd, Avonia, Colpoys, and Wrench gather, the men hastily putting on
their coats, etc._]


_Avonia._

Where's my umbrella?


_Gadd._

A hand with my coat here!


_Colpoys._

'Pon my soul! London artists----!


_Avonia._

We don't want to remain where we're not heartily welcome, I can assure
everybody.


_Sir William._

Open windows! let in the air!


_Avonia._

[_To Rose, who is standing above the wreck of the card-table._]
Good-bye, my dear----


_Rose._

No, no, 'Vonia. Oh, don't leave me behind you!


_Arthur._

Rose.


_Rose._

Oh, I'm very sorry, Arthur. [_To Sir William._] Indeed, I am very sorry,
Sir William. But you are right--gypsies--gypsies! [_To Arthur._] Yes,
Arthur, if you were a gypsy, as I am, as these friends o' mine are, we
might be happy together. But I've seen enough of your life, my dear boy,
to know that I'm no wife for you. I should only be wretched, and would
make you wretched; and the end, when it arrived, as it very soon would,
would be much as it is to-night-!


_Arthur._

[_Distractedly._] You'll let me see you, talk to you, to-morrow, Rose?


_Rose._

No, never!


_Sir William._

[_Sharply._] You mean that?


_Rose._

[_Facing him._] Oh, don't be afraid. I give you my word.


_Sir William._

[_Gripping her hand._] Thank ye. Thank ye.


_Tom._

[_Quietly to Arthur._] Mr. Gower, come and see me to morrow----- [_He
moves away to the door._]


_Rose._

[_Turning to Avonia, Gadd, and Colpoys._] I'm ready----


_Miss Gower._

[_Coming from behind the screen to the back of the couch._] Not
to-night, child! not to-night! where will you go?


_Avonia._

[_Holding Rose._] To her old quarters in Brydon Crescent. Send her
things after her, if you please.


_Miss Gower._

And then----?


_Rose._

Then back to the "Wells" again, Miss Gower! back to the "Wells"----!


END OF THE SECOND ACT.




THE THIRD ACT.

_The scene represents an apartment on the second floor of Mrs. Mossop's
house. The room is of a humbler character than that shown in the first
act; but, though shabby, it is neat. On the right is a door, outside
which is supposed to be the landing. In the wall at the back is another
door, presumably admitting to a further chamber. Down L. there is a
fireplace, with a fire burning, and over the mantelpiece a mirror. In
the left-hand corner of the room is a small bedstead with a tidily-made
bed, which can be hidden by a pair of curtains of some common and faded
material, hanging from a cord slung from wall to wall. At the foot of
the bedstead stands a large theatrical dress-basket. On the wall, by the
head of the bed, are some pegs upon which hang a skirt or two and other
articles of attire. On the right, against the back wall, there is a
chest of drawers, the top of which is used as a washstand. In front
of this is a small screen, and close by there are some more pegs with
things hanging upon them. On the right wall, above the sofa, is a
hanging bookcase with a few books. A small circular table, with a
somewhat shabby cover upon it, stands on the left. The walls are
papered, the doors painted stone-color. An old felt carpet is on the
floor. The light is that of morning. A fire is burning in the grate._

[_Mrs. Mossop, now dressed in a workaday gown, has just finished making
the bed. There is a knock at the center door._]


_Avonia._

[_From the adjoining room._] Rose!


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Giving a final touch to the quilt._] Eh?


_Avonia._

Is Miss Trelawny in her room?


_Mrs. Mossop._

No, Mrs. Gadd; she's at rehearsal.


_Avonia._

Oh----

[_Mrs. Mossop draws the curtains, hiding the bed from view. Avonia
enters by the door on the right in a morning wrapper which has seen
its best days. She carries a pair of curling-tongs, and her hair is
evidently in process of being dressed in ringlets._]


_Avonia._

Of course she is; I forgot. There's a call for _The Peddler of
Marseilles_. Thank Gawd, _I'm_ not in it. [_Singing._] "I'm a great
guerrilla chief, I'm a robber and a thief, I can either kill a foe or
prig a pocket-handkerchief----"


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Dusting the ornaments on the mantelpiece._] Bless your heart, you're
very gay this morning!


_Avonia._

It's the pantomime. I'm always stark mad as the pantomime approaches. I
don't grudge letting the rest of the company have their fling at other
times--but with the panto comes _my_ turn. [_Throwing herself full
length upon the sofa gleefully._]Ha, ha, ha! the turn of Avonia Bunn!
[__With a change of tone.__] I hope Miss Trelawny won't take a walk up
to Highbury, or anywhere, after rehearsal. I want to borrow her gilt
belt. My dress has arrived.


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Much interested._] No! has it?


_Avonia._

Yes, Mrs. Burroughs is coming down from the theatre at twelve-thirty to
see me in it. [_Singing. "Any kind of villainy cometh natural to me. So
it endeth with a combat and a one, two, three----!"_] *


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Surveying the room._] Well, that's as cheerful as I can make things
look, poor dear!

* These snatches of song are from "The Miller and His Men," a burlesque
mealy-drama, by Francis Talfourd and Henry J. Byron, produced at the
Strand Theatre, April 9, 1860.


_Avonia._

[_Taking a look round, seriously._] It's pretty bright--if it wasn't for
the idea of Rose Trelawny having to economize!


_Mrs. Mossop._

Ah--h I


_Avonia._

[_Rising._] That's what I can't swallow. [_Sticking her irons in the
fire angrily._] One room! and on the second floor! [_Turning to Mrs.
Mossop._] Of course, Gadd and me are one-room people too--and on the
same floor; but then Gadd is so popular _out_ of the theatre, Mrs.
Mossop--he's obliged to spend such a load of money at the "Clown"----


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Who has been dusting the bookcase, coming to the table._] Mrs. Gadd,
dearie, I'm sure I'm not in the least inquisitive; no one could accuse
me of it--but I should like to know just one thing.


_Avonia._

[_Testing her irons upon a sheet of paper which she takes from the
table._] What's that?


_Mrs. Mossop._

Why _have_ they been and cut down Miss Trelawny's salary at the "Wells"?


_Avonia._

[_Hesitatingly._] H'm, everybody's chattering about it; you could get to
hear easily enough----


_Mrs. Mossop._

Oh, I dare say.


_Avonia._

So I don't mind--poor Rose! they tell her she can't act now, Mrs.
Mossop.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Can't act!


_Avonia._

No, dear old girl, she's lost it; it's gone from her--the trick of
it----

[_Tom enters by the door on the right, carrying a table-cover of a
bright pattern._]


_Tom._

[_Coming upon Mrs. Mossop, disconcerted._] Oh----!


_Mrs. Mossop._

My first-floor table-cover!


_Tom._

Y--y--yes. [_Exchanging the table-covers._] I thought, as the Telfers
have departed, and as their late sitting room is at present vacant, that
Miss Trelawny might enjoy the benefit--hey?


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Snatching up the old table-cover._] Well, I never---! [_She goes
out._]


_Avonia._

[_Curling her hair, at the mirror over the mantelpiece._] I say, Tom, I
wonder if I've done wrong----


_Tom._

It all depends upon whether you've had the chance.


_Avonia._

I've told Mrs. Mossop the reason they've reduced Rose's salary.


_Tom._

You needn't.


_Avonia._

She had only to ask any other member of the company-----


_Tom._

To have found one who could have kept silent!


_Avonia._

[_Remorsefully._] Oh, I could burn myself!


_Tom._

Besides, it isn't true.


_Avonia._

What?


_Tom._

That Rose Trelawny is no longer up to her work.


_Avonia._

[_Sadly._] Oh, Tom!


_Tom._

It isn't the fact, I say!


_Avonia._

Isn't it the fact that ever since Rose returned from Cavendish
Square----?


_Tom._

She has been reserved, subdued, ladylike----


_Avonia._

[_Shrilly._]She was always ladylike!


_Tom._

I'm aware of that!


_Avonia._

Well, then, what do you mean by--?


_Tom._

[_In a rage, turning away._] Oh----!


_Avonia._

[_Heating her irons again._] The idea!


_Tom._

[_Cooling down._] She was always a ladylike actress, on the stage and
off it, but now she has developed into a--[_at a loss_] into a----


_Avonia._

[_Scornfully._] Ha!


_Tom._

Into a ladylike human being. These fools at the "Wells"! Can't act,
can't she! No, she can no longer _spout_, she can no longer _ladle_, the
vapid trash, the--the--the turgid rodomontade----


_Avonia._

[_Doubtfully._] You'd better be careful of your language, Wrench.


_Tom._

[_With a twinkle in his eye--mopping his brow._] You're a married woman,
'Vonia----


_Avonia._

[_Holding her irons to her cheek, modestly._] I know, but still----


_Tom._

Yes, deep down in the well of that girl's nature there has been lying
a little, bright, clear pool of genuine refinement, girlish simplicity.
And now the bucket has been lowered by love; experience has turned the
handle; and up comes the crystal to the top, pure and sparkling. Why,
her broken engagement to poor young Gower has really been the making
of her! It has transformed her! Can't act, can't she! [__Drawing a long
breath.__] How she would play Dora in my comedy!


_Avonia._

Ho, that comedy!


_Tom._

How she would murmur those love-scenes!


_Avonia._

Murder----!


_Tom._

[_Testily._] Murmur. [_Partly to himself._] Do you know, 'Vonia, I had
Rose in my mind when I imagined Dora----?


_Avonia._

Ha, ha! you astonish me.


_Tom._

[_Sitting._] And Arthur Gower when I wrote the character of
Gerald, Dora's lover. [_In a low voice._] Gerald and Dora--Rose and
Arthur--Gerald and Dora. [_Suddenly._] 'Vonia----!


_Avonia._

[_Singeing her hair._] Ah--! oh, lor'! what now?


_Tom._

I wish you could keep a secret.


_Avonia._

Why, can't I?----


_Tom._

Haven't you just been gossiping with Mother Mossop?


_Avonia._

[_Behind his chair, breathlessly, her eyes bolting._]

A secret, Tom?


_Tom._

[_Nodding._] I should like to share it with you, because--you are fond
of her too----


_Avonia._

Ah----!


_Tom._

And because the possession of it is worrying me. But there, I can't
trust you.


_Avonia._

Mr. Wrench!


_Tom._

No, you're a warm-hearted woman, 'Vonia, but you're a sieve.


_Avonia._

[_Going down upon her knees beside him._] I swear! By all my hopes, Tom
Wrench, of hitting 'em as Prince Charming in the coming pantomime, I
swear I will not divulge, leave alone tell a living soul, any secret you
may intrust to me, or let me know of, concerning Rose Trelawny of the
"Wells." Amen!


_Tom._

[_In her ear._] 'Vonia, I know where Arthur Gower is.


_Avonia._

Is! isn't he still in London?


_Tom._

[_Producing a letter mysteriously._] No. When Rose stuck to her refusal
to see him--listen--mind, not a word----!


_Avonia._

By all my hopes-----!


_Tom._

[_Checking her_]. All right, all right! [_Reading._] "Theatre Royal,
Bristol. Friday---------"


_Avonia._

Theatre Royal, Br----!


_Tom._

Be quiet! [_Reading._] "My dear Mr. Wrench. A whole week, and not a
line from you to tell me how Miss Trelawny is. When you are silent I am
sleepless at night and a haggard wretch during the day. Young Mr. Kirby,
our Walking Gentleman, has been unwell, and the management has given me
temporarily some of his business to play------"


_Avonia._


_Arthur._Gower------!


_Tom._

Will you? [_Reading._] "Last night I was allowed to appear as Careless
in _The School for Scandal_. Miss Mason, the Lady Teazle, complimented
me, but the men said I lacked vigor,"--the old cry!--"and so this
morning I am greatly depressed. But I will still persevere, as long as
you can assure me that no presuming fellow is paying attention to Miss
Trelawny. Oh, how badly she treated me----!"


_Avonia._

[_Following the reading of the letter._] "How badly she treated me----!"


_Tom._

"I will never forgive her--only love her----"


_Avonia._

"Only love her----"


_Tom._

"Only love her, and hope I may some day become a great actor, and, like
herself, a gypsy. Yours very gratefully, Arthur Gordon."


_Avonia._

In the Profession!


_Tom._

Bolted from Cavendish Square--went down to Bristol----


_Avonia._

How did he manage it all? [_Tom taps his breast proudly._] But isn't
Rose to be told? why shouldn't she be told?


_Tom._

She has hurt the boy, stung him to the quick, and he's proud.


_Avonia._

But she loves him now that she believes he has forgotten her. She only
half loved him before. She loves him!


_Tom._

Serve her right.


_Avonia._

Oh, Tom, is she never to know?


_Tom._

[_Folding the letter carefully._] Some day, when he begins to make
strides.


_Avonia._

Strides! he's nothing but General Utility at present?


_Tom._

[_Putting the letter in his pocket._] No.


_Avonia._

And how long have you been that?


_Tom._

Ten years.


_Avonia._

[_With a little screech._] Ah--h--h! she ought to be told!


_Tom._

[_Seizing her wrist._] Woman, you won't----!


_Avonia._

[_Raising her disengaged hand._] By all my hopes of hitting 'em----!


_Tom._

All right, I believe you. [_Listening._] Sssh!

[_They rise and separate, he moving to the fire, she to the right,
as Rose enters. Rose is now a grave, dignified, somewhat dreamy young
woman._]


_Rose._

[_Looking from Tom to Avonia._] Ah----?


_Tom. and Avonia._

Good-morning.


_Rose._

[_Kissing Avonia._] Visitors!


_Avonia._.

My fire's so black [_showing her irons_]; I thought you wouldn't
mind----


_Rose._

[_Removing her gloves._] Of course not. [_Seeing the table-cover._]
Oh----!


_Tom._

Mrs. Mossop. asked me to bring that upstairs. It was in the Telfers'
room, you know, and she fancied-----


_Rose._

How good of her! thanks, Tom. [_Taking off her hat and mantle._] Poor
Mr. and Mrs. Telfer! they still wander mournfully about the "Wells";
they can get nothing to do.

[_Carrying her hat and umbrella, she disappears through the curtains._]


_Tom._

[_To Avonia, in a whisper, across the room._] The Telfers----!


_Avonia._

Eh?


_Tom._

She's been giving 'em money.


_Avonia._

Yes.


_Tom._

Damn!


_Rose._

[_Reappearing._] What are yous saying about me.


_Avonia._

I was wondering whether you'd lend me that belt you bought for Ophelia;
to wear during the first two or three weeks of the pantomime---


_Rose._

Certainly, 'Vonia, to wear throughout----


_Avonia._

[_Embracing her._] No, it's too good; I'd rather fake one for the rest
of the time. [_Looking into her face._] What's the matter?


_Rose._

I will make you a present of the belt, 'Vonia, if you will accept it. I
bought it when I came back to the "Wells," thinking everything would go
on as before. But--it's of no use; they tell me I cannot act effectively
any longer----


_Tom._

[_Indignantly. _] Effectively----!


_Rose._

First, as you know, they reduce my salary-----


_Tom. and Avonia._

[_With clenched hands._] Yes!


_Rose._

And now, this morning--[_sitting_] you can guess----


_Avonia._

[_Hoarsely._] Got your notice?


_Rose._

Yes.


_Tom. and Avonia._

Oh--h--h!


_Rose._

[_After a litle pause._] Poor mother! I hope she doesn't see.
[_Overwhelmed, Avonia and Tom sit._] I was running through Blanche, my
old part in _The Peddler of Marseilles_, when Mr. Burroughs spoke to me.
It is true I was doing it tamely, but--it is such nonsense.


_Tom._

Hear, hear!


_Rose._

And then, that poor little song I used to sing on the bridge---


_Avonia._

[_Singing softly._] "Ever of thee I'm fondly-dreaming-----"


_Tom. and Avonia._

[_Singing._] "Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer."


_Rose._

I told Mr. Burroughs I should cut it out. So ridiculously inappropriate!


_Tom._

And that--did it?


_Rose._

[_Smiling at him._] That did it.


_Avonia._

[_Kneeling beside her, and embracing her tearfully._] My ducky! oh, but
there are other theatres besides the "Wells"-----


_Rose._

For me? only where the same trash is acted.


_Avonia._

[_With a sob._] But a few months ago you l--l--liked your work.


_Rose._

Yes [_dreamily_], and then I went to Cavendish
Square, engaged to Arthur----[_Tom rises and leans upon the
mantelpiece, looking into the fire._] How badly I behaved in Cavendish
Square! how unlike a young lady! What if the old folks were overbearing
and tyrannical, Arthur could be gentle with them. "They have not many
more years in this world," he said--dear boy!--"and anything we can do
to make them happy----" And what _did_ I do? _There_ was a chance for
me--to be patient, and womanly; and I proved to them that I was nothing
but--an actress.


_Avonia._

[_Rising, hurt but still tearful._] It doesn't follow, because one is
a---


_Rose._

[_Rising._] Yes, 'Vonia, it does! We are only dolls, partly human,
with mechanical limbs that _will_ fall into stagey postures, and heads
stuffed with sayings out of rubbishy plays. It isn't the world we live
in, merely _a_ world--such a queer little one! I was less than a month
in Cavendish Square, and very few people came there; but they were
_real_ people--_real!_ For a month I lost the smell of gas and oranges,
and the hurry and noise, and the dirt and the slang, and the clownish
joking, at the "Wells." I didn't realize at the time the change that
was going on in me; I didn't realize it till I came back. And then, by
degrees, I discovered what had happened----

[_Tom is now near her. She takes his hand and drops her head upon
Avonia's shoulder. Wearily._]

Oh, Tom! oh, 'Vonia------[_From the next room comes the sound of the
throwing about of heavy objects, and of Gadd's voice uttering loud
imprecations. Alarmed._] Oh----!


_Avonia._

[_Listening attentively._] Sounds like Ferdy. [_She goes to the center
door. At the keyhole._] Ferdy! aint you well, darling?


_Gadd._

[_On the other side of the door._]Avonia!


_Avonia._

I'm in Miss Trelawny's room.


_Gadd._

Ah!


_Avonia._

[_To Rose and Tom._] Now, what's put Ferdy out? [_Gadd enters with a
wild look._] Ferdinand!


_Tom._

Anything wrong, Gadd?


_Gadd._

Wrong! wrong! [_Sitting._] What d'ye think?


_Avonia._

Tell us!


_Gadd._

I have been asked to appear in the pantomime.


_Avonia._

[_Shocked._] Oh, Ferdy! you!


_Gadd._

I, a serious actor, if ever there was one; a poetic actor----!


_Avonia._

What part, Ferdy?


_Gadd._

The insult, the bitter insult! the gross indignity!


_Avonia._

What part, Ferdy?


_Gadd._

I have not been seen in pantomime for years, not since I shook the dust
of the T. R. Stockton from my feet.


_Avonia._

Ferdy, what part?


_Gadd._

I simply looked at Burroughs, when he preferred his request, and swept
from the theatre.


_Avonia._

What part, Ferdy?


_Gadd._

A part, too, which is seen for a moment at the opening of the pantomime,
and not again till its close.


_Avonia._

Ferdy.


_Gadd._

Eh?


_Avonia._.

What part?


_Gadd._

A character called the Demon of Discontent.

[_Rose turns away to the fireplace; Tom curls himself up on the sofa and
is seen to shake with laughter._]


_Avonia._.

[_Walking about indignantly._]Oh! [_Returning to Gadd._] Oh, it's a
rotten part! Rose, dear, I assure you, as artist to artist, that part is
absolutely rotten. [_To Gadd._] You won't play it, darling?


_Gadd._

[_Rising._] Play it! I would see the "Wells" in ashes first.


_Avonia._.

We shall lose our engagements, Ferdy. I know Burroughs; we shall be out,
both of us.


_Gadd._

Of course we shall. D'ye think I have not counted the cost?


_Avonia._

[_Putting her hand in his._] I don't mind, dear--for the sake of your
position--[_struck by a sudden thought_] oh!


_Gadd._

What-----?


_Avonia._

There now--we haven't put by!

[_There is a knock at the door._]


_Rose._

Who is that?


_Colpoys._

[_Outside the door._] Is Gadd here, Miss Trelawny?


_Rose._

Yes.


_Colpoys._

I want to see him.


_Gadd._

Wrench, I'll trouble you. Ask Mr. Colpoys whether he approaches me as
a friend, an acquaintance, or in his capacity of stage manager at the
"Wells"--the tool of Burroughs.

[_Tom opens the door slightly. Gadd and Avonia join Bose at the
fireplace._]


_Tom._

[_At the door, solemnly._]Colpoys, are you here as Gadd's bosom friend,
or as a mere tool of Burroughs?

[_An inaudible colloquy follows between Tom and Colpoys. Tom's head is
outside the door; his legs are seen to move convulsively, and the sound
of suppressed laughter is heard._]


_Gadd._

[_Turning._] Well, well?


_Tom._

[_Closing the door sharply, and facing Gadd with great seriousness._] He
is here as the tool of Burroughs.


_Gadd._

I will receive him.

[_Tom admits Colpoys, who carries a mean-looking "part," and a letter._]

[_After formally bowing to the ladies._] Oh, Gadd, Mr. Burroughs
instructs me to offer you this part in the pantomime. [_Handing the part
to Gadd._] Demon of Discontent.

[_Gadd takes the part and flings it to the ground; Avonia picks it up
and reads it._]


_Colpoys._

You refuse it?


_Gadd._

I do. [_With dignity._] Acquaint Mr. Burroughs with my decision, and
add that I hope his pantomime will prove an utterly mirthless one. May
Boxing-night, to those unfortunate enough to find themselves in the
theatre, long remain a dismal memory; and may succeeding audiences,
scanty and dissatisfied----! [_Colpoys presents Gadd with the letter.
Gadd opens it and reads._] I leave. [_Sitting._] The Romeo, the Orlando,
the Clifford--leaves!


_Avonia._

[_Coming to Gadd, indicating some lines in the part._] Ferdy, this aint
so bad. [_Reading._]=

```"I'm Discontent! from Orkney's isle to Dover

```To make men's bile bile-over I endover-"=


_Gadd._

'Vonia! [_Taking the part from Avonia, with mingled surprise and
pleasure._] Ho, ho! no, that's not bad. [_Reading._]=

```Tempers, though sweet, I whip up to a lather,

```Make wives hate husbands, sons wish fathers farther."=

'Vonia, there's is something to lay hold of here! I'll think this over.
[_Rising, addressing Colpoys._] Gus, I have thought this over. I play
it.

[_They all gather round him, and congratulate him. Avonia embraces and
kisses him._]


_Tom. and Colpoys._

That's right!


_Rose._

I'm very pleased, Ferdinand.


_Avonia._

[_Tearfully._] Oh, Ferdy!


_Gadd._

[_In high spirits._] Egad, I play it! Gus, I'll stroll back with you to
the "Wells." [_Shaking hands with Rose._] Miss Trelawny-------! [_Avonia
accompanies Colpoys and Gadd to the door, clinging to Gadd, who is
flourishing the part._] 'Vonia, I see myself in this! [_Kissing her._]
Steak for dinner!

[_Gadd and Colpoys go out. Tom shrieks with laughter._]


_Avonia._

[_Turning upon him, angrily and volubly._]Yes, I heard you with Colpoys
outside that door, if Gadd didn't. It's a pity, Mr. Wrench, you can't
find something better to do----!


_Rose._

[_Pacifically._] Hush, hush, 'Vonia! Tom, assist me with my basket; I'll
give 'Vonia her belt----

[_Tom and Rose go behind the curtains and presently emerge, carrying the
dress-basket, which they deposit._]


_Avonia._

[_Flouncing across the room._] Making fun of Gadd! an artist to the
roots of his hair! There's more talent in Gadd's little finger----!


_Rose._

[_Rummaging among the contents of the basket_] 'Vonia, 'Vonia!


_Avonia._

And if Gadd is to play a demon in the pantomime, what do _you_ figure
as, Tom Wrench, among the half a dozen other things? Why, as part of a
dragon! Yes, and _which end_---?


_Rose._

[_Quietly to Tom._] Apologize to 'Vonia at once, Tom.


_Tom._

[_Meekly._] Mrs. Gadd, I beg your pardon.


_Avonia._

[_Coming to him and kissing him._] Granted, Tom; but you should be a
little more considerate----


_Rose._

[_Holding up the belt._] Here----!


_Avonia._

[_Taking the belt, ecstatically._] Oh, isn't it lovely! Rose, you dear!
you sweet thing! [_Singing a few bars of the Jewel song from Faust, then
rushing at Rose and embracing her._] I'm going to try my dress on, to
show Mrs. Burroughs. Come and help me into it. I'll unlock my door on my
side----

[_Tom politely opens the door for her to pass out._] Thank you,
Tom--[_kissing him again_] only you should be more considerate toward
Gadd----

[_She disappears._]


_Tom._

[_Calling after her._] I will be; I will--[_Shutting the door._] Ha, ha,
ha!


_Rose._

[_Smiling._] Hush! poor 'Vonia! [_Mending the fire._] Excuse me,
Tom--have you a fire upstairs, in your room, to-day?


_Tom._

Er--n--not to-day--it's Saturday. I never have a fire on a Saturday.


_Rose._

[_Coming to him._] Why not?


_Tom._

[_Looking away from her._] Don't know--creatures of habit---


_Rose._

[_Gently touching his coat-sleeve._] Because if you would like to smoke
your pipe by my fire while I'm with 'Vonia----

[_The key is heard to turn in the lock of the center door._]


_Avonia._

[_From the next room._] It's unlocked.


_Rose._

I'm coming.

[_She unbolts the door on her side, and goes into Avonia's room,
shutting the door behind her. The lid of the dress-basket is open,
showing the contents; a pair of little satin shoes lie at the top. Tom
takes up one of the shoes and presses it to his lips. There is a knock
at the door. He returns the shoe to the basket, closes the lid, and
walks away._]


_Tom._

Yes?

[_The door opens slightly and Imogen is heard._]


_Imogen._

[_Outside._] Is that you, Wrench?


_Tom._

Hullo!

[_Imogen, in out-of-door costume, enters breathlessly._]


_Imogen._

[_Closing the door--speaking rapidly and excitedly._] Mossop said you
were in Rose's room----


_Tom._

[_Shaking hands with her._] She'll be here in a few minutes.


_Imogen._

It's you I want. Let me sit down.


_Tom._

[_Going to the armchair._] Here----


_Imogen._

[_Sitting on the right of the table, panting._] Not near the fire----


_Tom._

What's up?


_Imogen._

Oh, Wrench! p'r'aps my fortune's made!


_Tom._

[_Quite calmly._] Congratulate you, Jenny.


_Imogen._

Do be quiet; don't make such a racket. You see, things haven't been
going at all satisfactorily at the Olympic lately. There's Miss
Puddifant----


_Tom._

I know--no lady.


_Imogen._

_How_ do you know?


_Tom._

Guessed.


_Imogen._

Quite right; and a thousand other annoyances. And at last I took it into
my head to consult Mr. Clandon, who married an aunt of mine and lives at
Streatham, and he'll lend me five hundred pounds.


_Tom._

What for?


_Imogen._

Towards taking a theatre.


_Tom._

[_Dubiously._] Five hundred----


_Imogen._

It's all he's good for, and he won't advance that unless I can get a
further five, or eight, hundred from some other quarter.


_Tom._

What theatre!


_Imogen._

The Pantheon happens to be empty.


_Tom._

Yes; it's been that for the last twenty years.


_Imogen._

Don't throw wet blankets--I mean--[_referring to her tablets, which she
carries in her muff_] I've got it all worked out in black and white.
There's a deposit required on account of rent--two hundred pounds.
Cleaning the theatre--[_looking at Tom_] what do you say?


_Tom._

Cleaning that theatre?


_Imogen._

I say, another two hundred.


_Tom._

That would remove the top-layer-----


_Imogen._

Cost of producing the opening play, five hundred pounds. Balance
for emergencies, three hundred. You generally have a balance for
emergencies.


_Tom._

You generally have the emergencies, if not the balance?


_Imogen._

Now, the question is, will five hundred produce the play?


_Tom._

What play?


_Imogen._

Your play.


_Tom._

[_Quietly._] My----.


_Imogen._

Your comedy.


_Tom._

[_Turning to the fire--in a low voice._] Rubbish!


_Imogen._

Well, Mr. Clandon thinks it _isn't._ [_He faces her sharply._] I gave it
to him to read, and he--well, he's quite taken with it.


_Tom._

[_Walking about, his hands in his pockets, his head down,
agitatedly._]Clandon--Landon--what's his name-----?


_Imogen._

Tony Clandon--Anthony Clandon----


_Tom._

[_Choking._] He's a--he's a---


_Imogen._

He's a hop-merchant.


_Tom._

No, he's not--[_sitting on the sofa, leaning his head on his hands_]
he's a stunner.


_Imogen._

[_Rising_] So you grasp the position. Theatre--manageress--author--play,
found; and eight hundred pounds _wanted!_


_Tom._

[_Rising._] Oh Lord!


_Imogen._

Who's got it?


_Tom._

[_Wildly._] The Queen's got it! Miss Burdett-Coutts has got it!


_Imogen._

Don't be a fool, Wrench. Do you remember old Mr. Morfew, of Duncan
Terrace? He used to take great interest in us all at the "Wells." He has
money.


_Tom._

He has gout; we don't see him now.


_Imogen._

Gout! How lucky! That means he's at home. Will you run round to Duncan
Terrace----?


_Tom._

[_Looking down at his clothes._] I!


_Imogen._

Nonsense, Wrench; we're not asking him to advance money on your clothes.


_Tom._

The clothes are the man, Jenny.


_Imogen._

And the woman------?


_Tom._

The face is the woman; there's the real inequality of the sexes.


_Imogen._

I'll go! Is my face good enough?


_Tom._

[_Enthusiastically._] I should say so!


_Imogen._

[_Taking his hands._] Ha, ha! It has been in my possession longer than
you have had your oldest coat, Tom!


_Tom._

Make haste, Jenny!


_Imogen._

[_Running up to the door._] Oh, it will last till I get to Duncan
Terrace. [_Turning._] Tom, you may have to read your play to Mr. Morfew.
Have you another copy? Uncle Clandon has mine.


_Tom._

[_Holding his head._] I think I have---I don't know-----


_Imogen._

Look for it! Find it! If Morfew wants to hear it, we must strike while
the iron's hot.


_Tom._

While the gold's hot!


_Imogen. and Tom._

Ha, ha, ha!

[_Mrs. Mossop enters, showing some signs of excitement._]


_Imogen._

[_Pushing her aside._] Oh, get out of the way, Mrs. Mossop--- [_Imogen
departs._]


_Mrs. Mossop._

Upon my----! [_To Tom._] A visitor for Miss Trelawny! Where's Miss
Trelawny?


_Tom._

With Mrs. Gadd. Mossop!


_Mrs. Mossop._

Don't bother me now-----


_Tom._

Mossop! The apartments vacated by the Tefferl's. Dare to let 'em without
giving me the preference.


_Mrs. Mossop._

You!


_Tom._

[_Seizing her hands and swinging her round._] I may be wealthy, sweet
Rebecca![_Embracing her._] I may be rich and honored!


_Mrs. Mossop._

Oh, have done! [_Releasing herself._] My lodgers do take such
liberties----


_Tom._

[_At the door, grandly._] Beccy, half a scuttle of coal, to start with.

[_He goes out, leaving the door slightly open._]


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Knocking at the center door._] Miss Trelawny, my dear! Miss Trelawny!

[_The door opens, a few inches._]


_Rose._

[_Looking out._] Why, what a clatter you and Mr. Wrench have been
making-------!


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Beckoning her mysteriously._] Come here, dear.


_Rose._

[_Closing the center door, and entering the room wonderingly._] Eh?


_Mrs. Mossop._ [_In awe._] Sir William Gower!


_Rose._

Sir William.


_Mrs. Mossop._

Don't be vexed with me. "I'll see if she's at home," I said. "Oh, yes,
woman, Miss Trelawny's at home," said he, and hobbled straight in. I've
shut him in the Telfers' room----

[_There are three distinct raps, with a stick, at the right-hand door._]


_Rose. and Mrs. Mossop._

Oh-h!


_Rose._

[_Faintly._] Open it.

[_Mrs. Mossop opens the door, and Sir William enters. He is feebler,
more decrepit, than when last seen. He wears a plaid about his shoulders
and walks with the aid of a stick._]


_Mrs. Mossop._

[_At the door._] Ah, and a sweet thing Miss Trelawny is----!


_Sir William._

[_Turning to her._] Are you a relative?


_Mrs. Mossop._

No, I am _not_ a relative----!


_Sir William._

Go. [_She departs; he closes the door with the end of his stick. Facing
Rose._] My mind is not commonly a wavering one, Miss Trelawny, but it
has taken me some time--months--to decide upon calling on ye.


_Rose._

Won't you sit down?


_Sir William._

[_After a pause of hesitation, sitting upon the dress-basket._] Ugh!


_Rose._

[_With quiet dignity._] Have we no chairs? Do we lack chairs here, Sir
William?

[_He gives her a quick, keen look, then rises and walks to the fire._]


_Sir William._

[_Suddenly, bringing his stick down upon the table with violence._] My
grandson! my grandson! where is he?


_Rose._

Arthur!


_Sir William._

I had but one.


_Rose._

Isn't he--in Cavendish Square--?


_Sir William._

Isn't he in Cavendish Square! no, he is not in Cavendish Square, as you
know well.


_Rose._

Oh, I don't know----


_Sir William._

Tsch!


_Rose._

When did he leave you?


_Sir William._

Tsch!


_Rose._

When?


_Sir William._

He made his escape during the night, 22d of August last--[_pointing his
finger at her_] as you know well.


_Rose._

Sir William. I assure you---


_Sir William._

Tsch! [_Talcing off his gloves._] How often does he write to ye?


_Rose._

He does not write to me. He did write day after day, two or three times
a day, for about a week. That was in June, when I came back here. [_With
drooping head._] He never writes now.


_Sir William._

Visits ye----?


_Rose._

No.


_Sir William._

Comes troubadouring-----?


_Rose._

No, no, no. I have not seen him since that night.

I refused to see him------[_With a catch in her breath._] Why, he may
be----!


_Sir William._

[_Fumbling in his pocket._] Ah, but he's not. He's alive [_producing a
small packet of letters_]. Arthur's alive, [_advancing to her_] and full
of his tricks still. His great-aunt Trafalgar receives a letter from him
once a fortnight, posted in London----


_Rose._

[_Holding out her hand for the letters._] Oh!


_Sir William._

[_Putting them behind his back._] Hey!


_Rose._

[_Faintly._] I thought you wished me to read them. [_He yields them to
her grudgingly, she taking his hand and bending over it._] Ah, thank
you.


_Sir William._

[_Withdrawing his hand with a look of disrelish._] What are ye doing,
madam? what are ye doing?

[_He sits, producing his snuff-box; she sits, upon the basket, facing
him, and opens the packet of letters._]


_Rose._

[_Reading a letter._] "To reassure you as to my well-being, I cause this
to be posted in London by a friend----"


_Sir William._

[_Pointing a finger at her again, accusingly._] A friend!


_Rose._

[_Looking up, with simple pride._] He would never call me that.
[_Reading._] "I am in good bodily health, and as contented as a man can
be who has lost the woman he loves, and will love till his dying day--"
Ah----!


_Sir William._

Read no more! Return them to me! give them to me, ma'am! [_Rising, she
restores the letters, meekly. He peers up into her face._] What's come
to ye? You are not so much of a vixen as you were.


_Rose._

[_Shaking her head._] No.


_Sir William._

[_Suspiciously. _] Less of the devil--?


_Rose._


_Sir William._ I am sorry for having been a vixen, and for all my
unruly conduct, in Cavendish Square. I humbly beg your, and Miss
Gower's, forgiveness.


_Sir William._

[_Taking snuff, uncomfortably._]Pi--i--i--sh! extraordinary change.


_Rose._

Aren't you changed, Sir William, now that you have lost him?


_Sir William._

I!


_Rose._

Don't you love him now, the more? [_His head droops a little, and his
hands wander to the brooch which secures his plaid._] Let me take your
shawl from you. You would catch cold when you go out----

[_He allows her to remove the plaid, protesting during the process._]


_Sir William._

I'll not trouble ye, ma'am. Much obleeged to ye, but I'll not trouble
ye. [_Rising._] I'll not trouble ye---

[_He walks away to the fireplace, and up the room. She folds the plaid
and lays it upon the sofa. He looks round--speaking in an altered
tone._] My dear, gypsying doesn't seem to be such a good trade with ye,
as it used to be by all accounts----

[_The center door opens and Avonia enters boldly, in the dress of a
burlesque prince--cotton-velvet shirt, edged with bullion trimming, a
cap, white tights, ankle boots, etc._]


_Avonia._

[_Unconsciously._] How's this, Rose------?

[Illustration: 0183]


_Sir William._

Ah--h-h--h!


_Rose._

Oh, go away, 'Vonia!


_Avonia._

Sir Gower! [_To Sir William._] Good-morning.

[_She withdraws._]


_Sir William._

[_Pacing the room--again very violent._] Yes! and these are the
associates you would have tempted my boy--my grandson--to herd with!
[_Flourishing his stick._] Ah--h--h--h!


_Rose._

[_Sitting upon the basket--weakly._] That young lady doesn't live in
that attire. She is preparing for the pantomime------


_Sir William._

[_Standing over her._] And now he's gone; lured away, I suspect, by one
of ye--[_pointing to the center door_] by one of these harridans!----

[_Avonia reappears defiantly._]


_Avonia._

Look here, Sir Gower------


_Rose._

[_Rising._] Go, 'Vonia!


_Avonia._.

[_To Sir William._] We've met before, if you remember, in Cavendish
Square----


_Rose._

[_Sitting again, helplessly._] Oh, Mrs. Gadd----!


_Sir William._

Mistress! a married lady!


_Avonia._

Yes, I spent some of my honeymoon at your house----


_Sir William._

What!


_Avonia._

Excuse my dress; it's all in the way of my business. Just one word about
Rose.


_Rose._

Please, 'Vonia----!


_Avonia._

[_To Sir William, who is glaring at her in horror._] Now, there's
nothing to stare at, Sir Gower. If you must look anywhere in particular,
look at that poor thing. A nice predicament you've brought her to!


_Sir William._

Sir----! [_Correcting himself._]. Madam!


_Avonia._.

You've brought her to beggary, amongst you. You've broken her heart;
and, what's worse, you've made her genteel. She can't act, since she
left your mansion; she can only mope about the stage with her eyes fixed
like a person in a dream--dreaming of him, I suppose, and of what it is
to be a lady. And first she's put upon half-salary; and then, to-day,
she gets the sack--the entire sack, Sir Gower! So there's nothing left
for her but to starve, or to make artificial flowers. Miss Trelawny
I'm speaking of! [_Going to Rose, and embracing her._] Our Rose! our
Trelawny! [_To Rose, breaking down._] Excuse me for interfering, ducky.
[_Retiring, in tears._] Good-day, Sir Gower. [_She goes out._]


_Sir William._

[_After a pause, to Rose._] Is this--the case?


_Rose._

[_Standing, and speaking in a low voice._] Yes. As you have noticed,
fortune has turned against me, rather.


_Sir William._.

[_Penitently._] I--I'm sorry, ma'am. I--I believe ye've kept your word
to us concerning Arthur. I-I----


_Rose._

[_Not heeding him, looking before her, dreamily.'_] My mother knew how
fickle fortune could be to us gypsies. One of the greatest actors that
ever lived warned her of that---


_Sir William._

Miss Gower will also feel extremely--extremely----


_Rose._

Kean once warned mother of that.


_Sir William._

[_In an altered tone._] Kean? which Kean?


_Rose._

Edmund Kean. My mother acted with Edmund Kean when she was a girl.


_Sir William._

[_Approaching her slowly, speaking in a queer voice._] With Kean? with
Kean!


_Rose._

Yes.


_Sir William._

[_At her side, in a whisper._] My dear, I--I've seen Edmund Kean.


_Rose._

Yes?


_Sir William._

A young man then, I was; quite different, from the man I am
now--impulsive, excitable. Kean! [_Drawing a deep breath._] Ah, he was a
_splendid gypsy!_


_Rose._

[_Looking down at the dress-basket._] I've a little fillet in there that
my mother wore as Cordelia to Kean's Lear----


_Sir William._

I may have seen your mother also. I was somewhat different in those
days----


_Rose._

[_Kneeling at the basket and opening it._] And the Order and chain, and
the sword, he wore in Richard. He gave them to my father; I've always
prized them. [_She drags to the surface a chain with an Order attached
to it, and a sword-belt and sword--all very theatrical and tawdry--and a
little gold fillet. She hands him the chain._] That's the Order.


_Sir William._

[_Handling it tenderly._] Kean! God bless me!


_Rose._

[_Holding up the fillet._] My poor mother's fillet.


_Sir William._

[_Looking at it_] I may have seen her. [_Thoughtfully._] I was a young
man then. [_Looking at Rose steadily._]Put it on, my dear.

[_She goes to the mirror and puts on the fillet._]


_Sir William._

[_Examining the Order._] Lord bless us! how he stirred me! how he----!

[_He puts the chain over his shoulders. Rose turns to him._]


_Rose._

[_Advancing to him._] There!


_Sir William._

[_Looking at her._] Cordelia! Cordelia--with Kean!


_Rose._

[_Adjusting the chain upon him._] This should hang so. [_Returning to
the basket and taking up the sword-belt and sword._] Look!


_Sir William._

[_Handling them._] Kean! [_To her, in a whisper._] I'll tell ye! I'll
tell ye! when I saw him as Richard--I was young and a fool--I'll tell
ye--he almost fired me with an ambition to--to----[_Fumbling with the
belt._] How did he carry this?


_Rose._

[_Fastening the belt, with the sword, round him._] In this way--


_Sir William._

Ah! [_He paces the stage, growling and muttering, and walking with a
limp and one shoulder hunched. She watches him, seriously._] Ah! he was
a little man too! I remember him! as if it were last night!

I remember----- [_Pausing and looking at her fixedly._] My dear, your
prospects in life have been injured by your unhappy acquaintanceship
with my grandson.


_Rose._

[_Gazing into the fire._] Poor Arthur's prospects in life--what of them?


_Sir William._

[_Testily._] Tsch, tsch, tsch!


_Rose._

If I knew where he is----!


_Sir William._

Miss Trelawny, if you cannot act, you cannot earn your living.


_Rose._

How is he earning _his_ living?


_Sir William._

And if you cannot earn your living, you must be provided for.


_Rose._

[_Turning to him._] Provided for?


_Sir William._

Miss Gower was kind enough to bring me here in a cab. She and I will
discuss plans for making provision for ye while driving home.


_Rose._

[_Advancing to him._] Oh, I beg you will do no such thing, Sir William.


_Sir William._

Hey!


_Rose._

I could not accept any help from you or Miss Gower.


_Sir William._

You must! you shall!


_Rose._

I will not.


_Sir William._

[_Touching the Order and the sword._] Ah!--yes, I--I'll buy these of ye,
my dear----


_Rose._

Oh, no, no! not for hundreds of pounds! please take them off!

[_There is a hurried knocking at the door._]


_Sir William._

[_Startled._] Who's that? [_Struggling with the chain and belt._] Remove
these------!

[_The handle is heard to rattle. Sir William disappears behind the
curtains. Imogen opens the door and looks in._]


_Imogen._

[_Seeing only Rose, and coming to her and embracing her._] Rose darling,
where is Tom Wrench?


_Rose._

He was here not long since----


_Imogen._

[_Going to the door and calling, desperately._] Tom! Tom Wrench! Mr.
Wrench!


_Rose._

Is anything amiss?


_Imogen._

[_Shrilly._] Tom!


_Rose._

Imogen!


_Imogen._

[_Returning to Rose._] Oh, my dear, forgive my agitation---!

[_Tom enters, buoyantly, flourishing the manuscript of his play._]


_Tom._

I've found it! at the bottom of a box--"deeper than did ever plummet
sound----"! [_To Imogen._]

Eh? what's the matter?


_Imogen._

Oh, Tom, old Mr. Morfew-----!


_Tom._

[_Blankly._] Isn't he willing---?


_Imogen._

[_With a gesture of despair._] I don't know. He's dead.


_Tom._

No!


_Imogen._

Three weeks ago. Oh, what a chance he has missed!

[_Tom bangs his manuscript down upon the table savagely._]


_Rose._

What is it, Tom? Imogen, what is it?


_Imogen._

[_Pacing the room._] I can think of no one else----


_Tom._

Done again!


_Imogen._

We shall lose it, of course--


_Rose._

Lose what?


_Tom._

The opportunity--her opportunity, _my_ opportunity, _your_ opportunity,
Rose.


_Rose._

[_Coming to him._] _My_ opportunity, Tom?


_Tom._

[_Pointing to the manuscript._] My play--my comedy--my youngest born!
Jenny has a theatre--could have one--has five hundred towards it, put
down by a man who believes in my comedy, God bless him!--the only fellow
who has ever believed----?


_Rose._

Oh, Tom! [_turning to Imogen_] oh, Imogen!


_Imogen._

My dear, five hundred! we want another five, at least.


_Rose._

Another five!


_Imogen._

Or eight.


_Tom._

And you are to play the part of Dora. Isn't she, Jenny--I mean, wasn't
she?


_Imogen._

Certainly. Just the sort of simple little Miss you _could_ play
now, Rose. And we thought that old Mr. Morfew would help us in the
speculation. Speculation! it's a dead certainty!


_Tom._

_Dead_ certainty? poor Morfew!


_Imogen._

And here we are, stuck fast----!


_Tom._

[_Sitting upon the dress-basket dejectedly._] And they'll expect me to
rehearse that dragon to-morrow with enthusiasm.


_Rose._

[_Putting her arm around his shoulder._] Never mind, Tom.


_Tom._

No, I won't----[_Taking her hand._] Oh,


_Rose._

[_Looking up at her._]Oh, Dora----!

[_Sir William, divested of his theatrical trappings, comes from behind
the curtain._]


_Imogen._

Oh! Tom. [_Rising._] Eh?


_Rose._

[_Retreating_]. Sir William Gower, Tom----


_Sir William._

[_To Tom._] I had no wish to be disturbed, sir, and I withdrew [_bowing
to Imogen_] when that lady entered the room. I have been a party, it
appears, to a consultation upon a matter of business. [_To Tom._] Do I
understand, sir, that you have been defeated in some project which would
have served the interests of Miss Trelawny.


_Tom._

Y--y--yes, sir.


_Sir William._

Mr. Wicks


_Tom._

Wrench----


_Sir William._

Tsch! Sir, it would give me pleasure--it would give my grandson, Mr.
Arthur Gower, pleasure--to be able to aid Miss Trelawny at the present
moment.


_Tom._

S--s--sir William, w--w--would you like to hear my play----?


_Sir William._

[_Sharply._] Hey! [_Looking round._] Ho, ho!


_Tom._

My comedy?


_Sir William._

[_Cunningly._] So ye think I might be induced to fill the office ye
designed for the late Mr.-- Mr. --------


_Imogen._

Morfew.


_Sir William._

Morfew, eh?


_Tom._

N--n--no, sir.


_Sir William._

No! no!


_Imogen._

[_Shrilly._] Yes!


_Sir William._

[_After a short pause, quietly._] Read your play, sir. [_Pointing to a
chair at the table._] Sit down. [_To Rose and Imogen._] Sit down.

[_Tom goes to the chair indicated. Miss Gower's voice is heard outside
the door._]


_Miss Gower._

[_Outside._] William! [_Rose opens the door; Miss Gower enters._] Oh,
William, what has become of you? has anything dreadful happened?


_Sir William._

Sit down, Trafalgar. This gentleman is about to read a comedy. A cheer!
[_Testily._] Are there no cheers here! [_Rose brings a chair and places
it for Miss Gower beside Sir William's chair._] Sit down.


_Miss Gower._

[_Sitting, bewildered._] William, is all this--quite----?


_Sir William._

[_Sitting._] Yes, Trafalgar, quite in place--quite in place----

[_Imogen sits. Rose pulls the dress-basket round, as Colpoys and Gadd
swagger in at the door, Colpoys smoking a pipe, Gadd a large cigar._]


_Sir William._

[_To Tom, referring to Gadd and Colpoys._] Friends of yours?


_Tom._

Yes, Sir William.


_Sir William._

[_To Gadd and Colpoys._] Sit down. [_Imperatively._] Sit down and be
silent.

[_Gadd and Colpoys seat themselves upon the sofa, like men in a dream.
Rose sits on the dress-basket._]


_Avonia._.

[_Opening the center door slightly--in an anxious voice._] Rose----!


_Sir William._

Come in, ma'am, come in! [_Avonia enters, coming to Rose. A cloak is now
attached to the shoulders of Avonia's dress._] Sit down, ma'am, and be
silent!

[_Avonia sits beside Rose, next to Miss Gower._]


_Miss Gower._

[_In horror._] Oh--h--h--h!


_Sir William._

[_Restraining her._] Quite in place, Trafalgar; quite in place. [_To
Tom._] Now, sir!


_Tom._

[_Opening his manuscript and reading._] "Life, a comedy, by Thomas
Wrench----"


END OF THE THIRD ACT.





THE FOURTH ACT.

_The scene represents the stage of a theatre with the proscenium arch,
and the dark and empty auditorium in the distance. The curtain is
raised. The stage extends a few feet beyond the line of the proscenium,
and is terminated by a row of old-fashioned footlights with metal
reflectors. On the left, from the proscenium arch runs a wall, in which
is an open doorway supposed to admit to the Green-room. Right and
left of the stage are the "P." and "O. P." and the first and second
entrances, with wings running in grooves, according to the old fashion.
Against the wall are some "flats." Just below the footlights is a
T-light, burning gas, and below this the prompt-table. On the right of
the prompt-table is a chair, and on the left another. Against the edge
of the proscenium arch is another chair; and nearer, on the right,
stands a large throne-chair, with a gilt frame and red velvet seat, now
much dilapidated. In the "second entrance" there are a "property" stool,
a table, and a chair, all of a similar style to the throne-chair and in
like condition, and on the center, as if placed therefor the purpose of
rehearsal, are a small circular table and a chair. On this table is a
work-basket containing a ball of wool and a pair of knitting-needles;
and on the prompt-table there is a book. A faded and ragged green baize
covers the floor of the stage. The wings, and the flats and borders,
suggest by their appearance a theatre fallen somewhat into decay.
The light is a dismal one, but it is relieved by a shaft of' sunlight
entering through a window in the flies on the right._

[_Mrs. Telfer is seated upon the throne-chair, in an attitude of
dejection. Telfer enters from the Green-room._]


_Telfer._

[_Coming to her._] Is that you, Violet?


_Mrs. Telfer._

Is the reading over?


_Telfer._

Almost. My part is confined to the latter 'alf of the second act; so
being close to the Green-room door [_with a sigh_], I stole away.


_Mrs. Telfer._

It affords you no opportunity, James?


_Telfer._

[_Shaking his head._] A mere fragment.


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Rising._]Well, but a few good speeches to a man of your stamp----


_Telfer._

Yes, but this is so line-y, Violet; so very line-y. And what d'ye think
the character is described as?


_Mrs. Telfer._

What?


_Telfer._

"An old, stagey, out-of-date actor."

[_They stand looking at each other for a moment, silently._]


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Falteringly._] Will you--be able--to get near it, James?


_Telfer._

[_Looking away from her._] I dare say-----


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Laying a hand upon his shoulder._] That's all right, then.


_Telfer._

And you--what have they called you for, if you're not in the play? They
'ave not dared to suggest understudy?


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Playing with her fingers._]They don't ask me to act at all, James.


_Telfer._

Don't ask you---!


_Mrs. Telfer._

Miss Parrott offers me the position of Wardrobe-mistress.


_Telfer._

Violet!


_Mrs. Telfer._

Hush!


_Telfer._

Let us both go home.


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Restraining him._] No, let us remain. We've been idle six months, and
I can't bear to see you without your watch and all your comforts about
you.


_Telfer._

[_Pointing toward the Green-room._] And so this new-fangled stuff, and
these dandified people, are to push us, and such as us, from our stools!


_Mrs. Telfer._

Yes, James, just as some other new fashion will, in course of time, push
_them_ from their stools.

[_From the Green-room comes the sound of a slight clapping of hands,
followed by a murmur of voices. The Telfers move away. Imogen,
elaborately dressed, enters from the Green-room and goes leisurely to
the prompt-table. She is followed by Tom, manuscript in hand, smarter
than usual in appearance; and he by O'Dwyer,--an excitable Irishman
of about forty, with an extravagant head of hair,--who carries a small
bundle of "parts" in brown-paper covers. Tom and O'Dwyer join Imogen._]


_O'Dwyer._

[_To Tom._] Mr. Wrench, I congratulate ye; I have that honor, sir. Your
piece will do, sir; it will take the town, mark me.


_Tom._

Thank you, O'Dwyer.


_Imogen._

Look at the sunshine! there's a good omen, at any rate.


_O'Dwyer._

Oh, sunshine's nothing. [_To Tom._] But did ye observe the gloom on
their faces whilst ye were read in'?


_Imogen._

[_Anxiously._] Yes, they did look glum.


_O'Dwyer._

Glum! it might have been a funeral! There's a healthy prognostication
for ye, if ye loike! it's infallible.

[_A keen-faced gentleman and a lady enter, from the Green-room, and
stroll across the stage to the right, where they lean against the wings
and talk. Then two young gentlemen enter, and Rose follows._]

Note.--The actors and the actress appearing for the first time in this
act, as members of the Pantheon Company, are outwardly greatly superior
to the Gadds, the Telfers, and Colpoys.


_Rose._

[_Shaking hands with Telfer._] Why didn't you sit near me, Mr. Telfer?
[_Going to Mrs. Telfer._] Fancy our being together again, and at the
West End! [_To Telfer._] Do you like the play?


_Telfer._

Like it! there's not a speech in it, my dear--not a real speech; nothing
to dig your teeth into---


_O'Dwyer._

[_Allotting the parts, under the direction of Tom and Imogen._] Mr.
Mortimer! [_One of the young gentlemen advances and receives his part
from O'Dwyer, and retires, reading it._] Mr. Denzil!

[_The keen-faced gentleman takes his part, then joins Imogen on her
left and talks to her. The lady now has something to say to the solitary
young gentleman._]


_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer, quietly, handing him a part._] Miss Brewster.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Beckoning to the lady, who does not observe him, her back being
towards him._] Come here, my love.


_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no, O'Dwyer--not your "love."


_O'Dwyer._

[_Perplexed._] Not?


_Tom._

No.


_O'Dwyer._

No?


_Tom._

Why, you are meeting her this morning for the first time.


_O'Dwyer._

That's true enough. [_Approaching the lady and handing her the part._]
Miss Brewster.


_The Lady._

Much obliged.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Quietly to her._] It 'll fit ye like a glove, darlin'. [_The lady
sits, conning her part. O'Dwyer returns to the table._]


_Telfer._

[_To Rose._] Your lover in the play? which of these young sparks plays
your lover--Harold or Gerald----?


_Rose._

Gerald. I don't know. There are some people not here to-day, I believe.


_O'Dwyer._

Mr. Hunston!

[_The second young gentleman advances, receives his part, and joins the
other young gentleman in the wings._]


_Rose._

Not that young man, I hope. Isn't he a little bandy?


_Telfer._

One of the finest Macduffs I ever fought with was bow-legged.


_O'Dwyer._

Mr. Teller.


_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no--Telfer.


_O'Dwyer._

Telfer!

[_Telfer draws himself erect, puts his hand in his breast, but otherwise
remains stationary._]


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Anxiously._] That's you, James.


_O'Dwyer._

Come on, Mr. Telfer! look alive, sir!


_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Sssh, sssh, sssh! don't, don't----!

[_Telfer advances to the prompt-table, slowly. He receives his part
from O'Dwyer. To Telfer, awkwardly._] I--I hope the little part of Poggs
appeals to you, Mr. Telfer. Only a sketch, of course; but there was
nothing else--quite--in your-------


_Telfer._

Nothing? to whose share does the Earl fall?


_Tom._

Oh; Mr. Denzil plays Lord Parracourt.


_Telfer._

Denzil? I've never 'eard of 'im. Will you get to me to-day?


_Tom._

We--we expect to do so.


_Telfer._

Very well. [_Stiffly._] Let me be called in the street. [_He stalks
away._]


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Relieved._] Thank Heaven! I was afraid James would break out.


_Rose._

[_To Mrs. Telfer._] But you, dear Mrs. Telfer--you weren't at the
reading--what are _you_ cast for?


_Mrs. Telfer._

I? [_Wiping away a tear._] I am the Wardrobe-mistress of this theatre.


_Rose._

You! [_Embracing her._] Oh! oh!


_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Composing herself._] Miss Trelawny--Rose--my child, if we are set to
scrub a floor--and we may come to that yet--let us make up our minds to
scrub it legitimately--with dignity----

[_She disappears and is seen no more._]


_O'Dwyer._

Miss Trelawny! come here, my de----


_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Hush!


_O'Dwyer._

Miss Trelawny!

[_Rose receives her part from O'Dwyer and, after a word or two with
Tom and Imogen, joins the two young gentlemen who are in the "second
entrance, L." The lady, who has been seated, now rises and crosses to
the left, where she meets the keen-faced gentleman, who has finished his
conversation with Imogen._]


_The Lady._

[_To the keen-faced gentleman._] I say, Mr. Denzil! who plays Gerald?


_The Gentlemen._

Gerald?


_The Lady._

The man I have my scene with in the third act--the hero---


_The Gentleman._

Oh, yes. Oh, a young gentleman from the country, I understand.


_The Lady._

From the country!


_The Gentleman._

He is coming up by train this morning, Miss Parrott tells me; from Bath
or somewhere---


_The Lady._

Well, whoever he is, if he can't play that scene with me decently, my
part's not worth rags.


_Tom._

[_To Imogen, who is sitting at the prompt-table._] Er--h'm--shall we
begin, Miss Parrott?


_Imogen._

Certainly, Mr. Wrench.


_Tom._

We'll begin, O'Dwyer.

[_The lady titters at some remark from the keen-faced gentleman._]


_O'Dwyer._

[_Coming down the stage, violently._] Clear the stage there! I'll not
have it! Upon my honor, this is the noisiest theatre I've ever set foot
in!

[_The icings are cleared, the characters disappearing into the
Green-room._]


_O'Dwyer._

I can't hear myself speak for all the riot and confusion!


_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] My dear O'Dwyer, there is no riot, there is no
confusion--


_Imogen._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Except the riot and confusion you are making.


_Tom._

You know, you're admirably earnest, O'Dwyer, but a little excitable.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Calming himself._] Oh, I beg your pardon, I'm sure. [_Emphatically._]
My system is, begin as you mean to go on.


_Imogen._

But we _don't_ mean to go on like that.


_Tom._

Of course not; of course not. Now, let me see--[_pointing to the right
center_] we shall want another chair here.


_O'Dwyer._

Another chair?


_Tom._

A garden chair.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Excitably._] Another chair! Now, then, another chair! Properties!
where are ye? do ye hear me callin'? must I raise my voice to ye-?

[_He rushes away._]


_Imogen._

[_To Tom._] Phew! where did you get _him_ from? Tom.

[_Wiping his brow._] Known Michael for years--most capable, invaluable
fellow----


_Imogen._

[_Simply._] I wish he was dead.


_Tom._

So do I.

[_O'Dwyer returns, carrying a light chair._]


_Tom._

Well, where's the property-man?


_O'Dwyer._

[_Pleasantly._] It's all right now. He's gone to dinner.


_Tom._

[_Placing the chair in position._] Ah, then he'll be back some time
during the afternoon. [_Looking about him._] That will do. [_Taking up
his manuscript._] Call--haven't you engaged a call-boy yet, O'Dwyer?


_O'Dwyer._

I have, sir, and the best in London.


_Imogen._

Where is he?


_O'Dwyer._

He has sint an apology for his non-attindance.


_Imogen._

Oh!


_O'Dwyer._

A sad case, ma'am; he's buryin' his wife.


_Tom._

Wife!


_Imogen._

The call-boy?


_Tom._

What's his age?


_O'Dwyer._

Ye see, he happens to be an elder brother of my own----


_Imogen. and Tom._

O Lord!


_Tom._

Nevermind! let's get on! Call Miss---- [_Looking toward the right._] Is
that the Hall-Keeper?

[_A man, suggesting by his appearance that he is the Hall-Keeper,
presents himself, with a card in his hand._]


_O'Dwyer._

[_Furiously._] Now then! are we to be continually interrupted in
this fashion? Have I, or have I not, given strict orders that nobody
whatever----?


_Tom._

Hush, hush! see whose card it is; give me the card----


_O'Dwyer._

[_Handing the card to Tom._] Ah, I'll make rules here. In a week's time
you'll not know this for the same theatre----

[_Tom has passed the card to Imogen without looking at it._]


_Imogen._

[_Staring at it blankly._] Oh----!


_Tom._

[_To her._] Eh?


_Imogen._

Sir William.


_Tom._

Sir William.!


_Imogen._

What can he want? what shall we do?


_Tom._

[_After referring to his watch--to the Hall-Keeper._] Bring this
gentleman on to the stage. [_The Hall-Keeper withdraws. To O'Dwyer._]
Make yourself scarce for a few moments, O'Dwyer. Some private
business-----


_O'Dwyer._

All right. I've plenty to occupy me. I'll begin to frame those
rules---[_He disappears._]


_Imogen._

[_To Tom._] Not here------


_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] The boy can't arrive for another twenty minutes. Besides,
we must, sooner or later, accept responsibility for our act.


_Imogen._

[_Leaning upon his arm._] Heavens! I foretold this!


_Tom._

[_Grimly._] I know--"said so all along."


_Imogen._

If he should withdraw his capital!


_Tom._

[_With clenched hands._] At least, that would enable me to write a
melodrama.


_Imogen._

Why?


_Tom._

I should then understand the motives and the springs of Crime!

[_The Hall-Keeper reappears, showing the way to Sir William Gower. Sir
William's hat is drawn down over his eyes, and the rest of his face is
almost entirely concealed by his plaid. The Hall-Keeper withdraws._]


_Tom._

[_Receiving Sir William._] How d'ye do, Sir William?


_Sir William._

[_Giving him two fingers--with a grunt._] Ugh!


_Tom._

These are odd surroundings for you to find yourself in--- [_Imogen comes
forward._] Miss Parrott----


_Sir William._

[_Advancing to her, giving her two fingers._] Good-morning, ma'am.


_Imogen._

This is perfectly delightful.


_Sir William._

What is?


_Imogen._

[_Faintly._] Your visit.


_Sir William._

Ugh! [_Weakly._] Give me a cheer. [_Looking about him._] Have ye no
cheers here?


_Tom._

Yes.

[_Tom places the throne-chair behind Sir William, who sinks into it._]


_Sir William._

Thank ye; much obleeged. [_To Imogen._] Sit. [_Imogen hurriedly fetches
the stool and seats herself beside the throne-chair. Sir William
produces his snuff-box._] You are astonished at seeing me here, I dare
say?


_Tom._

Not at all.


_Sir William._

[_Glancing at Tom._] Addressing the lady. [_To Imogen._] You are
surprised to see me?


_Imogen._

Very.


_Sir William._

[_To Tom._] Ah! [_Tom retreats, getting behind Sir William's chair
and looking down upon him._] The truth is, I am beginning to regret my
association with ye.


_Imogen._

[_Her hand to her heart._] Oh--h--h--h!


_Tom._

[_Under his breath._] Oh! [_Holding his fist over Sir William's head._]
Oh--h--h--h!


_Imogen._

[_Piteously_]. You--you don't propose to withdraw your capital, Sir
William?


_Sir William._

That would be a breach of faith, ma'am----


_Imogen._

Ah!


_Tom._

[_Walking about, jauntily._] Ha!


_Imogen._

[_Seizing Sir William's hand._] Friend!


_Sir William._

[_Withdrawing his hand sharply._] I'll thank ye not to repeat that
action, ma'am. But I--I have been slightly indisposed since I made your
acqueentance in Clerkenwell; I find myself unable to sleep at night.
[_To Tom._] That comedy of yours--it buzzes continually in my head, sir.


_Tom._

It was written with such an intention, Sir William--to buzz in people's
heads.


_Sir William._

Ah, I'll take care ye don't read me another, Mr. Wicks; at any rate,
another which contains a character resembling a member of my family--a
_late_ member of my family. I don't relish being reminded of late
members of my family in this way, and being kept awake at night,
thinking--turning over in my mind----


_Imogen._

[_Soothingly._] Of course not..


_Sir William._

[_Taking snuff._] Pa--a--a--h! pi--i--i--sh!

When I saw Kean, as Richard, he reminded me of no member of my family.
Shakespeare knew better than that, Mr. Wicks. [_To Imogen._] And
therefore, ma'am, upon receiving your letter last night, acqueenting me
with your intention to commence rehearsing your comedy--[_glancing at
Tom_] his comedy----


_Imogen._

[_Softly._] _Our_ comedy----


_Sir William._

Ugh--to-day at noon, I determined to present myself here and request to
be allowed to--to----


_Tom._

To watch the rehearsal?


_Sir William._

The rehearsal of those episodes in your comedy which remind me of a
member of my family--a late member.


_Imogen._

[_Constrainedly_]. Oh, certainly----


_Tom._

[_Firmly._] By all means.


_Sir William._

[_Rising, assisted by Tom._] I don't wish to be steered at by any of
your--what d'ye call 'em?--your gypsy crew----


_Tom._

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Company, we call 'em.


_Sir William._

[_Tartly._] I don't care what ye call 'em. [_Tom restores the
throne-chair to its former position._] Put me into a curtained box,
where I can hear, and see, and not be seen; and when I have heard and
seen enough, I'll return home--and--and--obtain a little sleep; and
to-morrow I shall be well enough to sit in Court again.


_Tom._

[_Calling._] Mr. O'Dwyer----

[_O'Dwyer appears; Tom speaks a word or two to him, and hands him the
manuscript of the play._]


_Imogen._

[_To Sir William, falteringly._] And if you are pleased with what you
see this morning, perhaps you will attend another----?


_Sir William._

[_Angrily._] Not I. After to-day I wash my hands of ye. What do plays
and players do, coming into my head, disturbing my repose! [_More
composedly, to Tom, who has returned to his side._] Your comedy has
merit, sir. You call it _Life_. There is a character in it--a young
man--not unlike life, not unlike a late member of my family. Obleege me
with your arm. [_To Imogen._] Madam, I have arrived at the conclusion
that Miss Trelawny belongs to a set of curious people who in other paths
might have been useful members of society. But after to-day I've done
with ye--done with ye----[_To Tom._]

My box, sir--my box----

[_Tom leads Sir William up the stage._]


_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Begin rehearsal. Begin rehearsal! Call Miss Trelawny!

[_Tom and Sir William disappear._]


_O'Dwyer._

Miss Trelawny! Miss Trelawny! [_Rushing to the left._] Miss Trelawny!
how long am I to stand here shoutin' myself hoarse--? [_Rose appears._]


_Rose._

[_Gently._] Am I called?


_O'Dwyer._

[_Instantly calm._] You are, darlin'. [_O'Dwyer takes his place at
the prompt-table, book in hand. Imogen and Rose stand together in the
center. The other members of the company come from the Greenroom and
stand in the wings, watching the rehearsal._] Now then! [_Reading
from the manuscript._] "At the opening of the play Peggy and Dora are
discovered----" Who's Peggy? [_Excitedly._]

Where's Peggy? Am I to----?


_Imogen._

Here I am! here I am! I am Peggy.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Calm._] Of course ye are, lovey--ma'am, I should say----


_Imogen._

Yes, you should.


_O'Dwyer._

"Peggy is seated upon the Right, Dora on the Left---" [_Rose and Imogen
seat themselves accordingly. In a difficulty._] No--Peggy on the Left,
Dora on the Right. [_Violently._] This is the worst written scrip I've
ever held in my hand[_Rose and Imogen change places._] So horribly
scrawled over, and interlined, and--no--I was quite correct. Peggy is
on the Right, and Dora is on the Left. [_Imogen and Rose again change
seats. O'Dwyer reads from the manuscript._] "Peggy is engaged in--in" I
can't decipher it. A scrip like this is a disgrace to any well-conducted
theatre. [_ To Imogen._] I don't know what you're doin'. "Dora
is--is----"

[_To Rose._] You are also doin' something or another. Now then! When
the curtain rises, you are discovered, both of ye, employed in the
way described----[_Tom returns._] Ah, here ye are! [_Resigning the
manuscript to Tom, and pointing out a passage._] I've got it smooth as
far as there.


_Tom._

Thank you.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Seating himself._] You're welcome.


_Tom._

[_To Rose and Imogen._] Ah, you're not in your right positions. Change
places, please.

[_Imogen and Rose change seats once more._]

O'Dwyer rises and goes away.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Out of sight, violently._] A scrip like that's a scandal! If there's
a livin' soul that can read bad handwriting, I am that man! But of all
the----!


_Tom._

Hush, hush! Mr. O'Dwyer!


_O'Dwyer._

[_Returning to his chair._] Here.


_Tom._

[_Taking the hook from the prompt-table and handing it to Imogen._] You
are reading.


_O'Dwyer._

[_ Sotto voce._] I thought so.


_Tom._

[_To Rose._] You are working.


_O'Dwyer._

Working.


_Tom._

[_Pointing to the basket on the table._] There are your needles and
wool. [_Rose takes the wool and the needles out of the basket. Tom takes
the ball of wool from her and places it in the center of the stage._]
You have allowed the ball of wool to roll from your lap on to the grass.
You will see the reason for that presently.


_Rose._

I remember it, Mr. Wrench.


_Tom._

The curtain rises. [_To Imogen._] Miss Parrott----

[Illustration: 0207]


_Imogen._

[_Referring to her part._] What do I say?


_Tom._

Nothing--you yawn.


_Imogen._

[_Yawning, in a perfunctory way._] Oh--h!


_Tom._

As if you meant it, of course.


_Imogen._

Well, of course.


_Tom._

Your yawn must tell the audience that you are a young lady who may be
driven by boredom to almost any extreme.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Jumping up._] This sort of thing. [_Yawning extravagantly._] He--oh!


_Tom._

[_Irritably._] Thank you, O'Dwyer; thank you.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Sitting again._] You're welcome.


_Tom._

[_To Rose._] You speak.


_Rose._

[_Reading from her part--retaining the needles and the end of the
wool._] "What are you reading, Miss Chaffinch?"


_Imogen._

[_Reading from her part. _] "A novel."


_Rose._

"And what is the name of it?"


_Imogen._

"The Seasons."


_Rose._

"Why is it called that?"


_Imogen._

"Because all the people in it do seasonable things."


_Rose._

"For instance----?"


_Imogen._

"In the Spring, fall in love."


_Rose._

"In the Summer?"


_Imogen._

"Become engaged. Delightful!"


_Rose._

"Autumn?"


_Imogen._

"Marry. Heavenly!"


_Rose._

"Winter?"


_Imogen._

"Quarrel. Ha, ha, ha!"


_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] Close the book--with a bang----


_O'Dwyer._

[_Bringing his hands together sharply by way of suggestion. _] Bang!


_Tom._

[_Irritably._] Yes, yes, O'Dwyer. [_To Imogen._] Now rise----


_O'Dwyer._

Up ye get!


_Tom._

And cross to Dora.


_Imogen._

[_Going to Rose._] "Miss Harrington, don't you wish occasionally that
you were engaged to be married?"


_Rose._

"No."


_Imogen._

"Not on wet afternoons?"


_Rose._

"I am perfectly satisfied with this busy little life of mine, as your
aunt's Companion."


_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] Walk about, discontentedly.


_Imogen._

[_Walking about._] "I've nothing to do; let's tell each other our ages."


_Rose._

"I am nineteen."


_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] In a loud whisper----


_Imogen._

"I am twenty-two."


_O'Dwyer._

[_Rising and going to Tom._] Now, hadn't ye better make that
six-and-twenty?


_Imogen._

[_Joining them, with asperity._] Why? why?


_Tom._

No, no, certainly not. Go on.


_Imogen._

[_Angrily._] Not till Mr. O'Dwyer retires into his corner.


_Tom._

O'Dwyer.----[_O'Dwyer takes his chair, and retires to the
"prompt-corner," out of sight, with the air of martyrdom. Tom addresses
Rose._] You speak.


_Rose._

"I shall think, and feel, the same when I am twenty-two, I am sure. I
shall never wish to marry."


_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] Sit on the stump of the tree.


_Imogen._

Where's that?


_Tom._

[_Pointing to the stool down the stage._] Where that stool is.


_Imogen._

[_Sitting on the stool._] "Miss Harrington, who is the Mr. Gerald Leigh
who is expected down to-day?"


_Rose._

"Lord Parracourt's secretary."


_Imogen._

"Old and poor!"


_Rose._

"Neither, I believe. He is the son of a college chum of Lord
Parracourt's--so I heard his lordship tell Lady McArchie--and is
destined for public life."


_Imogen._

"Then he's young!"


_Rose._

"Extremely, I understand."


_Imogen._

[_Jumping up, in obedience to a sign from Tom._] "Oh, how can you be so
spiteful!"

Rose.

"I!"


_Imogen._

"You mean he's too young!"


_Rose._

"Too young for what?"


_Imogen._

"Too young for--oh, bother!"


_Tom._

[_Looking towards the keen-faced gentleman._] Mr. Denzil.


_O'Dwyer._

[_Putting his head round the corner._] Mr. Denzil!

[_The keen-faced gentleman comes forward, reading his part, and meets
Imogen._]


_The Gentleman._

[_Speaking in the tones of an old man._] "Ah, Miss Peggy!"


_Tom._

[_To Rose._] Rise, Miss Trelawny.


_O'Dwyer._

[_His head again appearing._] Rise, darlin'!

[_Rose rises._]


_The Gentleman._

[_To Imogen._] "Your bravura has just arrived from London. Lady McArchie
wishes you to try it over; and if I may add my entreaties----"


_Imogen._

[_Taking his arm._] "Delighted, Lord Parracourt. [_To Rose._] Miss
Harrington, bring your work indoors and hear me squall. [_To the
Gentleman._] Why, you must have telegraphed to town!"


_The Gentleman._

[_As they cross the stage._] "Yes, but even telegraphy is too sluggish
in executing your smallest command."

[_Imogen and the keen-faced gentleman go off on the left. He remains in
the wings, she returns to the prompt-table._]


_Rose._

"Why do Miss Chaffinch and her girl-friends talk of nothing, think of
nothing apparently, but marriage? Ought a woman to make marriage the
great object of life? can there be no other? I wonder----"

[_She goes off, the wool trailing after her, and disappears into the
Green-room. The ball of wool remains in the center of the stage._]


_Tom._

[_Reading from his manuscript._] "The piano is heard; and Peggy's voice
singing. Gerald enters----"


_Imogen._

[_Clutching Tom's arm._] There----!


_Tom._

Ah, yes, here is Mr. Gordon.

[_Arthur appears, in a traveling coat. Tom and Imogen hasten to him and
shake hands with him vigorously._]


_Tom._

[_On Arthur's right._]How are you?


_Imogen._

[_On his left nervously._] How are you?


_Arthur._

[_Breathlessly._] Miss Parrott! Mr. Wrench! forgive me if I am late; my
cab-horse galloped from the station---


_Tom._

We have just reached your entrance. Have you read your part over?


_Arthur._

Read it! [_Taking it from his pocket._] I know every word of it! it has
made my journey from Bristol like a flight through the air! Why, Mr.
Wrench [_turning over the leaves of his part_], some of this is almost
me!


_Tom. and Imogen._

[_Nervously._] Ha, ha, ha!


_Tom._

Come! you enter! [_pointing to the right_] there! [_returning to the
prompt-table with Imogen_] you stroll on, looking about you! Now, Mr.
Gordon!


_Arthur._

[_Advancing to the center of the stage, occasionally glancing at his
part._] "A pretty place. I am glad I left the carriage at the lodge and
walked through the grounds."

[_There is an exclamation, proceeding from the auditorium, and the sound
of the overturning of a chair._]


_Imogen._

Oh!


_O'Dwyer._

[_Appearing, looking into the auditorium._] What's that? This is the
noisiest theatre I've ever set foot in----!


_Tom._

Don't heed it! [_To Arthur._] Go on, Mr. Gordon.


_Arthur._

"Somebody singing. A girl's voice. Lord Parracourt made no mention of
anybody but his hostess--the dry, Scotch widow. [_Picking up the ball of
wool._] This is Lady McArchie's, I'll be bound. The very color suggests
spectacles and iron-gray curls----"


_Tom._

Dora returns. [_Calling._] Dora!


_O'Dwyer._

Dora! where are ye?


_The Gentleman._

[_Going to the Green-room door._]Dora! Dora!

[_Rose appears in the wings._]


_Rose._

[_To Tom._] I'm sorry.


_Tom._

Go on, please!

[_There is another sound, nearer the stage, of the overturning of some
object._]


_O'Dwyer._

What---?


_Tom._

Don't heed it!


_Rose._

[_Coming face to face with Arthur._]

Oh----!


_Arthur._

Rose.!


_Tom._

Go on, Mr. Gordon!


_Arthur._

[_To Rose, holding out the ball of wool._] "I beg your pardon--are you
looking for this?"


_Rose._

"Yes, I--I--I----" [_Dropping her head upon his breast._] Oh, Arthur!

[_Sir William enters, and comes forward on Arthur's right._]


_Sir William._

Arthur.


_Arthur._

[_Turning to him._] Grandfather!


_O'Dwyer._

[_Indignantly._] Upon my soul-----!


_Tom._

Leave the stage, O'Dwyer!

[_O'Dwyer vanishes. Imogen goes to those who are in the wings and talks
to them; gradually they withdraw into the Greenroom. Rose sinks on to
the stool; Tom comes to her and stands beside her._]


_Sir William._

What's this? what is it----?


_Arthur._

[_Bewildered._] Sir, I--I--you--and--and Rose--are the last persons I
expected to meet here----


_Sir William._

Ah-h-h--h!


_Arthur._

Perhaps you have both already learned, from Mr. Wrench or Miss Parrott,
that I have--become--a gypsy, sir?


_Sir William._

Not I; [_pointing to Tom and Imogen_] these--these people have thought
it decent to allow me to make the discovery for myself.

[_He sinks into the throne-chair. Tom goes to Sir William. Arthur joins
Imogen; they talk together rapidly and earnestly._]


_Tom._

[_To Sir William._] Sir William, the secret of your grandson's choice of
a profession----


_Sir William._

[_Scornfully._] Profession!


_Tom._

Was one that I was pledged to keep as long as it was possible to do so.
And pray remember that your attendance here this morning is entirely
your own act. It was our intention----


_Sir William._

[_Struggling to his feet._] Where is the door? the way to the door?


_Tom._

And let me beg you to understand this, Sir William--that Miss Trelawny
was, till a moment ago, as ignorant as yourself of Mr. Arthur Gower's
doings, of his movements, of his whereabouts. She would never have
thrown herself in his way, in this manner. Whatever conspiracy----------


_Sir William._

Conspiracy! the right word--conspiracy!


_Tom._

Whatever conspiracy there has been is my own--to bring these two young
people together again, to make them happy----

[_Rose holds out her hand to Tom; he takes it._]

They are joined by Imogen.


_Sir William._

[_Looking about him._] The door! the door!


_Arthur._

[_Coming to Sir William._] Grandfather, may I, when rehearsal is over,
venture to call in Cavendish Square----?


_Sir William._

Call----!


_Arthur._

Just to see Aunt Trafalgar, sir? I hope Aunt Trafalgar is well, sir.


_Sir William._

[_With a slight change of tone._] Your Great-aunt Trafalgar? Ugh, yes, I
suppose she will consent to see ye----


_Arthur._

Ah, sir----!


_Sir William._

But I shall be out; I shall not be within doors.


_Arthur._

Then, if Aunt Trafalgar will receive me, sir, do you think I may be
allowed to--to bring Miss Trelawny with me----?


_Sir William._

What! ha, I perceive you have already acquired the impudence of your
vagabond class, sir; the brazen effrontery of a set of----!


_Rose._

[_Rising and facing him._] Forgive him! forgive him! oh, Sir William,
why may not Arthur become, some day, a _splendid_ gypsy?


_Sir William._

Eh?


_Rose._

Like----


_Sir William._

[_Peering into her face. _] Like----?


_Rose._

Like----


_Tom._

Yes, sir, a gypsy, though of a different order from the old order which
is departing--a gypsy of the new school!


_Sir William._

[_To Rose._] Well, Miss Gower is a weak, foolish lady; for aught I know
she may allow this young man to--to--take ye----


_Imogen._

I would accompany Rose, of course, Sir William.


_Sir William._

[_Tartly._] Thank ye, ma'am. [_Turning._] I'll go to my carriage.


_Arthur._

Sir, if you have the carriage here, and if you would have the patience
to sit out the rest of the rehearsal, we might return with you to
Cavendish Square.


_Sir William._

[_Choking._] Oh--h--h--hi


_Arthur._

Grandfather, we are not rich people, and a cab to us----


_Sir William._

[_Exhausted._] Arthur---!


_Tom._

Sir William will return to his box! [_Going up the stage._] O'Dwyer!


_Sir William._

[_Protesting weakly._] No, sir! no!

[_O'Dwyer appears._]


_Tom._

Mr. O'Dwyer, escort Sir William Gower to his box.

[_Arthur goes up the stage with Sir William, Sir William still uttering
protests. Rose and Imogen embrace._]


_O'Dwyer._

[_Giving an arm to Sir William._] Lean on me, sir! heavily, sir-!


_Tom._

Shall we proceed with the rehearsal, Sir William, or wait till you are
seated?


_Sir William._

[_Violently._] Wait! Confound ye, d'ye think I want to remain here all
day!

[_Sir William and O'Dwyer disappear._]


_Tom._

[_Coming forward, with Arthur on his right--wildly._] Go on with the
rehearsal! Mr. Gordon and Miss Rose Trelawny! Miss Trelawny! [_Rose
goes to him._] Trelawny--late of the "Wells"! Let us--let----[_Gripping
Arthur's hand tightly, he bows his head upon Rose's shoulder._] Oh, my
dears! let us--get on with the rehearsal!


THE END.








End of Project Gutenberg's Trelawny of The "Wells", by Arthur W. Pinero