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Title: The fanatics
A comedy in three acts
Author: Miles Malleson
Release date: August 24, 2024 [eBook #74309]
Language: English
Original publication: London: Ernest Benn Limited, 1927
Credits: Hannah Wilson, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from scanned images of public domain material from the Google Books project.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FANATICS ***
THE FANATICS
A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS
BY MILES MALLESON
[Illustration]
“_I believe you’ve got to have something of a fanatic in you to
do anything worth while these days. The thing is to keep one’s
fanaticism and to keep one’s humanity._”
LONDON
ERNEST BENN LIMITED
_Bouverie House, Fleet Street_
1927
MADE AND PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN
_First published February 1924_
_Second Edition April 1927_
_Second Impression_ (_Second Edition_) _April 1927_
_Third Impression_ (_Second Edition_) _July 1927_
NOTE
AT the first performance of the production at the Ambassadors Theatre
several extensive cuts were made, and for particulars of these cuts for
acting purposes application should be made to the author, c/o Messrs.
Curtis Brown, Ltd., 6, Henrietta Street, Covent Garden, W.C. 2.
_All rights reserved._
_Application regarding performing rights should be
addressed to the author care of the publishers._
TO THOSE WHO LIKE THE PLAY
THE author desires to acknowledge his indebtedness to Mr. Harold Scott
for certain incidents and characteristics in “The Fanatics” derived
from a previously projected and abandoned collaboration.
PERSONS OF THE PLAY
MR. FREEMAN
MRS. FREEMAN
JOHN, _their son_.
GWEN, _their daughter_.
COLIN MACKENZIE
FRANCES SEWELL
MARGARET HEAL
TOBY
ROSIE
SCENE: _Mr. Freeman’s Home_.
ACT I _Downstairs_.
ACT II _Upstairs_.
ACT III _Downstairs again_.
TIME: _The Present_.
ACT I
ACT I
DOWNSTAIRS
_All that follows takes place at MR. FREEMAN’S house in the
neighbourhood of Lancaster Gate; a large house in a terrace of
others like it. It begins in the dining-room; middle-class, but
sumptuously so. Dinner is in its final stages; a decanter of port is
on the table, and a goodly array of the best fruits to be bought.
MR. FREEMAN is seated at the table very occupied with a fruit; MRS.
FREEMAN sits opposite to him; there is no one else in the room. MR.
FREEMAN is rather short and rather round, a little red and a little
bald; MRS. FREEMAN is his wife._
_MR. FREEMAN continues to eat his fruit--there is no other sound._
MR. FREEMAN (_when his mouth is unoccupied_): Disgusting! (_He reaches
out and selects another fruit._) Makes me sick!
[_The door opens and such an attractive head comes round it._
THE HEAD: _No!_... He hasn’t.
[_The head withdraws and the door shuts._
MR. FREEMAN: _Abominable!_ I wonder if Florence knows.
MRS. FREEMAN: She’s out.
MR. FREEMAN: Rosie then. (_Calling._) Gwen!... Gwen!!
[_The door reopens and the head reappears._
MR. FREEMAN: Does Rosie know?
THE HEAD: No.
[_The head disappears and the door shuts._
MR. FREEMAN: _Monstrous!_ (_Then suddenly he shouts again_) HI!
Gwen!... Gwen!!
[_The door reopens and the head reappears._
THE HEAD: Yes?
[_For answer MR. FREEMAN angles for his keys in his hip pocket,
catches them with a laborious spasm and throws them on to the
table._
MR. FREEMAN: Liqueur.
[_The owner of the head comes into the room._ GWEN, _the daughter;
twenty-four years old, and very attractive. She comes straight to
the table, picks up the keys, and unlocks a cupboard in a handsome
sideboard._
MRS. FREEMAN: Shut the door, dear.
[_GWEN goes and shuts the door._
It’s cold.
[_GWEN returns to the cupboard._
GWEN: Which?
MR. FREEMAN: Benedictine.... No. Chartreuse.
GWEN: Green?
MR. FREEMAN: Yellow.... What’s the time? (_But he gets no answer._)
Nobody in this house ever knows what the time is. (_So he looks at his
own watch._) _D’Ha!_ He won’t be back to dinner now.... (_He selects a
cigar from a box on the table_) ... preposterous.
MRS. FREEMAN: You’re worried.
MR. FREEMAN: Of course I’m worried ... he left the office three-quarters
of an hour too early for lunch, and he never came back at all. I haven’t
set eyes on him.
MRS. FREEMAN: He came home.
MR. FREEMAN: Eh? What excuse did he give?
MRS. FREEMAN: I only heard him upstairs in his attic ... playing the
piano.
MR. FREEMAN: _Playing the piano!!!_ I ask you ... a grown man ... what
is ’e? Twenty-six.
MRS. FREEMAN: Twenty-eight.
MR. FREEMAN: Nonsense. (_Then he considers._) Oh, yes, twenty-eight.
He walks calmly out of his office in the City in the middle of the
morning, he leaves an afternoon’s work untouched and he comes home and
PLAYS THE PIANO.
MRS. FREEMAN: He was always fond of music.
MR. FREEMAN: _I’m_ fond of music, but if I was to behave like that I’d
be playing a barrel organ in a fortnight ... where you going?
[_GWEN has given him his liqueur, relocked the cupboard, put the
keys back on the table, and is going quietly out of the room; her
father’s question is mere family curiosity._
GWEN: Drawing-room--going to read.
[_She goes out._
MRS. FREEMAN (_when the door has closed safely_): I’ve got something on
my mind, too.
MR. FREEMAN: What about?
MRS. FREEMAN: About him.
MR. FREEMAN: What?
[_In answer MRS. FREEMAN goes to a writing-desk. He continues his
own train of thought._
He’s not worth a damn in the office. He could be. (_His indignation
increases._) He walks in an hour late, he walks out an hour early, and
he never walks back at all.... No “whys,” no “wherefores” ... when I
think of all that I’ve done for that boy.... (_He becomes conscious
that the hand that isn’t holding a cigar is holding a letter_) ...
What’s this?
MRS. FREEMAN: Smell it.
MR. FREEMAN: Filthy ... what’s wrong with it? ... only scent, isn’t it?
MRS. FREEMAN: It isn’t Frankie’s writing.
[_MR. FREEMAN consults it._
He left it about ... he’s had others like it ... he’s told Rosie to
take them straight upstairs to him.
MR. FREEMAN: Rosie tell you?
MRS. FREEMAN: I’ve noticed.
MR. FREEMAN: What John does in his spare time is nothing to do with me.
It’s not his spare time I’m bothered about ... it’s his working life.
MRS. FREEMAN: He _is_ engaged to Frankie ... suppose there should be
anything serious with this other girl.
MR. FREEMAN: What other girl?
MRS. FREEMAN: _Somebody_ writes those letters.
MR. FREEMAN: ... Um.... I shouldn’t worry ... he’s not quite a fool....
Leave it to me. I’ll give him this.
MRS. FREEMAN: He’s not happy.
MR. FREEMAN: If a man neglects his work as John’s doing, he can’t
expect to be happy.
MRS. FREEMAN: Has he told you he isn’t going to spend Christmas with us?
MR. FREEMAN: Where’s he going...?
MRS. FREEMAN: To stay with Mr. ... I don’t know his name ... his friend.
MR. FREEMAN: Funny-lookin’ feller ... always in the house. _I_ know.
That’s another thing; who _is_ this feller?... I don’t know.
MRS. FREEMAN (_taking her son’s part_): He’s always had the attic for
his own ... hasn’t he? ... with his own friends.
MR. FREEMAN: I know. I’ve never interfered. I’ve no wish to interfere
... when he was a baby in the nursery up there--or a schoolboy with his
friends, but now ... here’s this feller ... he called yesterday when
John was out--I met him on the stairs ... didn’t know him from Adam; we
grinned ... dam’ silly.... Hullo!
[_There has been a prolonged moaning wailing sound--like the cry of
some agonised ghost. MR. FREEMAN hurries to the window._
It’s Frankie ... in the new car; with her father. Hullo! How are you!
(_He waves cordially. The window being shut there it not the remotest
chance of his being heard._) Hullo, Frankie ... pretty girl she’s
getting. (_He comes away from the window._) ’Spose she’s come for John.
I shall speak to him to-night, when he comes in.
MRS. FREEMAN: I shouldn’t say too much about his friend upstairs.
MR. FREEMAN: Um?
MRS. FREEMAN: Well, we did make the arrangement he should be private
upstairs--as if it were his own flat.
MR. FREEMAN: I don’t suppose I’ve been up there for a year.
MRS. FREEMAN: Nor have I ... he might take a flat of his own. I
shouldn’t like that.
[_ROSIE, a picturesque little parlour-maid, shows in FRANKIE SEWELL.
She is a pretty girl of twenty-four or so, and is very good at
tennis and hockey._
MRS. FREEMAN: Well, Frankie dear.
FRANKIE: Good evening, Mrs. Freeman.
[_They kiss._
MR. FREEMAN: What have you done with your father?
FRANKIE: He couldn’t come in; he’s going to call back for me.
MR. FREEMAN: Your young man isn’t in.
FRANKIE: Isn’t he?
[_Again the cry of the agonised ghost._
FRANKIE: Your gate’s in awfully good voice to-night.
MR. FREEMAN (_who has gone to the window_): Wants oil.
FRANKIE (_at a bowl of chocolates on the table_): May I?
MRS. FREEMAN: Of course, dear.
FRANKIE: Thank you.
MR. FREEMAN (_back from the window; aside to his wife_): It’s John.
Take her into the drawing-room.
MRS. FREEMAN: Let’s join Gwen, dear. It’s so much nicer in the
drawing-room. Bring the chocolates if you like.
FRANKIE: Oh no, thanks; I’ll take one more, though.
MR. FREEMAN: I’ll be with you in a minute.
MRS. FREEMAN (_ushering FRANKIE out_): Gwen’ll be so pleased. She’s
only reading.
[_MR. FREEMAN rings ... ROSIE appears._
MR. FREEMAN: Mr. John’s just come in. Tell him I want him in here.
ROSIE: Yessir.
[_She withdraws._
[_MR. FREEMAN waits._
[_To him enters his son JOHN; well-dressed in a lounge suit
evidently cut by a good West End tailor; well-built, and
nice-looking; with a pleasant-sounding voice._
MR. FREEMAN: Come in--I want to speak to you.
[_JOHN comes in and shuts the door, but MR. FREEMAN doesn’t speak
at once, so, after a moment, JOHN does. He speaks quietly._
JOHN: Whose car’s that outside?
MR. FREEMAN: The Sewells’.
JOHN (_with quick concern_): Is Frankie here?
MR. FREEMAN: Yes.
JOHN: Where?
MR. FREEMAN: Drawing-room.
JOHN (_evidently upset_): She said she wasn’t coming round to-night.
MR. FREEMAN: You ought to have let your mother know you weren’t coming
back to dinner.
JOHN (_puzzled_): But ... surely ... I thought you were all going out
to dinner with the Cleavers.
MR. FREEMAN: To-morrow night.
JOHN: I’ve made a mistake.
MR. FREEMAN: You have ... had your dinner?
JOHN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: Restaurant?
JOHN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: Some girl, I suppose?
JOHN: I was by myself.
MR. FREEMAN: Then why on earth didn’t you come home?
[_JOHN doesn’t answer; after a searching look at him his father
continues._
Of course, if you prefer your own company, that’s nothing to do with
me, but your life from ten o’clock in the morning till five in the
evening _does_ belong to me. (_In answer to a look from his son he
expands that._) It belongs to the firm. Now look here, young man, I
can put this in a nutshell. You’ve been engaged to Frankie some time,
on the understanding I make you a junior partner when you marry.
JOHN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: How much do you get now?
JOHN: You know.
MR. FREEMAN: Five hundred a year. A thousand when you marry; and a
yearly rise after that. Of course your life belongs to the firm--and
will do, more and more. It’s about time you realised that.
JOHN: I realise it all right.
MR. FREEMAN: Then I want to know why you left the office an hour before
lunch--and never came back after lunch.
JOHN: ... It’s difficult to explain.
MR. FREEMAN: I daresay it is; but it’s the sort of thing that’s got to
be explained.
JOHN: I don’t think you understand.
MR. FREEMAN: I daresay I shan’t--but I’ll have a dam’ good try. I’m not
quite a fool, though you think I am ... any other man employed in the
firm who did what you’ve done to-day without good reason would get the
sack. I want to know your reason. Exactly.
JOHN: It will sound very trivial.
MR. FREEMAN: That doesn’t matter ... I’m waiting.
JOHN: I’m trying to write.
MR. FREEMAN: What d’you mean--“write”?
JOHN: Articles; and a book----
MR. FREEMAN: What about?
JOHN: ... the world in general.
MR. FREEMAN: What for?
JOHN: I want to. I got stuck--this morning in the office, I got an idea
that I thought might unstick me ... I only meant to go out for a walk
for a few minutes, but it came so dear in my head that I came home and
worked.
MR. FREEMAN: You were playing the piano.
JOHN: Strumming between whiles.
MR. FREEMAN: I see ... now look here ... I’ve got no objection to your
writing articles, or whatever it is and strumming on the piano--it’s a
very nice thing to be able to do ... these things may be all very well
in their place--but their place is not the best working hours of your
life ... that’s what you’ve got to understand. Now, listen to me, my
boy, you’ve got a _niche_.
JOHN: I’ve got a what?
MR. FREEMAN: A NICHE--will you please not laugh.
JOHN: I beg your pardon; it sounded comic.
MR. FREEMAN: Well, it isn’t comic. You’ve got a very pretty little
income waiting for you; and a prettier little wife, but if you think
you’re going to inherit the whole show mooning away a few hours at
the office, when it happens to suit you, because I and others work
hard for you there all day--_and have done for the best part of our
lives_--you’re vastly mistaken. The business is your bread and butter;
your life; and you’ve got to give the best part of your life to it; you
get an idea in your head, and that Robinson contract cropped up in the
afternoon, and you precious nearly lost the firm a thousand pounds ...
what have you got to say to that?
[_The atmosphere is changing; the argument is degenerating into the
family row._
Well, what have you got to say to that?
JOHN: This afternoon my own work seemed most important.
MR. FREEMAN: You’re a perfect dam’ fool: _work_! You’ve got no sense of
values.
JOHN: We’ve a _different_ sense of values.
MR. FREEMAN: I’m not going to argue. It’s not going to happen again; do
you grasp that?
JOHN: Need we discuss it to-night?
MR. FREEMAN: There’s no discussing to be done.
JOHN: I’m sorry. I see your point of view.
MR. FREEMAN: That’s splendid.
JOHN: But----
MR. FREEMAN: But what?
[_The wailing gate intervenes--JOHN hurries to the window._
MR. FREEMAN: Who’s that?
JOHN: For me.
[_MR. FREEMAN goes to the window to look._
MR. FREEMAN: Who _is_ this feller?
JOHN: He’s part of my private life....
MR. FREEMAN: I daresay--but I can’t have your private life swarming
all over my house. I can’t walk out of a room without falling over a
perfect stranger.
JOHN (_going to the door, opening, and speaking out of it_): Rosie ...
show my friend in here, please.
MR. FREEMAN: I’ve never interfered; I’ve no wish to interfere, but----
[_ROSIE shows in the gentleman; MR. FREEMAN having his back to the
door goes on talking._
----hang it all, if this feller’s going to spend half his time under
my roof, I might at least know what to call him when we bump in the
passage----
JOHN: Let me introduce you--Colin Mackenzie ... my father.
MR. FREEMAN: Oh!... How d’you do? How d’you do? (_He shakes hands._)
Glad to make your acquaintance. I was just telling my boy here, I
should like to--one likes to show a little decent hospitality.
COLIN: Thank you.
MR. FREEMAN: Sit down, won’t you, sit down.
COLIN: Thank you.
[_A little silence._
JOHN: I believe you saw Colin’s play the other night ... didn’t you go
to the Criterion?--“A Pair of Pyjamas”----
MR. FREEMAN: Yes?
JOHN: The author!
MR. FREEMAN: Really!? By jove ... did you really write it?
COLIN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: By jove yes ... my wife and I enjoyed it immensely ...
most amusin’ ... _most_ amusin’.... By jove! ... it’s a great success,
isn’t it?
COLIN: It’s been on some time.
JOHN: A year; _and_ in America; _and_ three touring companies; _and_ in
the colonies; _and_ the world’s film rights.
MR. FREEMAN (_offering the box of cigars_): Try one o’ these?
COLIN: Thanks.
MR. FREEMAN: Have a drink?
COLIN: No, thanks.
MR. FREEMAN: Wouldn’t you like to come into the drawing-room? ...
my wife would be delighted to meet you ... she really did enjoy it
immensely--very funny--very funny indeed--immensely.
JOHN (_cutting in_): I’m going to take him upstairs. He’s been away and
I’ve been away; we haven’t seen one another for months.
MR. FREEMAN (_rising_): Well, I’m glad to have met you. I hope you’ll
look in again one evening.
COLIN (_rising to shake hands_): Thank you.
MR. FREEMAN (_going_): See you again, John ... don’t forget Frankie’s
here. Good night.
COLIN: Good night.
[_MR. FREEMAN goes._
JOHN (_at once_): Come upstairs.
COLIN: I can’t stay. I want to borrow your score of the new ballet. At
least Margaret does. I’m taking her to hear it.
JOHN: It’s upstairs.
COLIN: They’re doing it last. I needn’t go for a few minutes.
JOHN: Then you’d better have a drink.
COLIN: Right.
JOHN: Whiskey?
COLIN: Thanks.
JOHN: Have a good holiday?
COLIN: Yes.
JOHN: It’s nearly three months since I’ve seen you. How’s life?
COLIN: Very good. (_He gets his drink._) Thanks. And with you?
JOHN: Rotten.
COLIN: Why?
JOHN (_with some deliberation_): We only have a certain amount of
energy and vitality in us, Colin; and I’m using mine up on things that
are utterly unimportant.
COLIN: The same tack you were on last time I saw you?
JOHN: Yes.
COLIN: You’re not going to get much sympathy out of me.
JOHN: Oh! ... why?
COLIN: John! You can overdo ideals ... they can make one rather useless
and a little bit silly.... I’ve been thinking about you a good deal
while I’ve been away.... I’d made up my mind to tell you what I thought
of you one of these days.
JOHN: Now, please. I’m in no mood to wait.
COLIN: Well----
JOHN: Come on; out with it; what have you been thinking? What’s wrong
with me?
[_There is a certain eager impatience in his manner._
COLIN: Well--to be quite frank with you--I think all this talk about
the business being a waste of your life is rather stupid. The world’s
in a devil of a mess; we’re all living on a volcano; but, as far as one
can be sure of anything, your business is sure; you get a very good
screw; you get all your evenings to yourself; in a world where ninety
per cent of people are continually anxious about their livelihood, your
comfort and comparative wealth are assured. You’re a damned lucky man,
John, and you’ve got no right to go about grousing about yourself.
JOHN: Can I be quite frank answering that?
COLIN: Of course.
JOHN: There’s one big difference between us.
COLIN: Yes?
JOHN: It’s difficult to say.
COLIN: Don’t be a fool.
JOHN: You never went into the trenches.
[_This causes a sudden stoppage in the dialogue, momentary but the
severance is complete; it doesn’t go on in quite the same tone
afterwards._
COLIN: No. I agree to that difference--very humbly; but I don’t see
what difference that makes about the business.
JOHN: It makes the hell of a difference to _me_ ... it’s hateful to
talk about it ... but there it is.
COLIN (_gently_): I’m interested.
JOHN (_responding_): There were several of us, Colin, who used to
talk about the whole thing out there; I mean, why the whole thing had
happened, and what we were going to do about it when it was over ...
a good many of us to start with ... we got fewer; the lucky ones were
killed outright. Jack Bardsley got half his face blown away and _can’t_
talk now; Peter Glen’s blind; Chris--Chris was engaged to a most
attractive girl ... he was mad about her ... used to talk to her at
night ... I heard him once, when he thought I was asleep--he got a bit
of shrapnel in his stomach and thighs, and had to be cut away. He never
married. Little Westerby’s mad.... I’m the only one left.... Sometimes
I think I’ve got no right to be alive at all, Colin--just a fluke ...
there are millions of my age, skull and bone and rotting flesh just
under the earth over there....
[_COLIN has no answer ... the short silence is tense ... then he goes
on more calmly._
If the war hadn’t happened I should have married Frankie; and gone into
the business, and settled down to it ... but I _can’t_ just go on using
my life up aimlessly--or what seems to me aimlessly, as if nothing had
happened ... to hear them talk--father and his lot, you’d think nothing
had happened--_my God_!
It’s hard to talk about it; it’s hard to feel a thing very deeply, and
talk about it, and not sound priggish; but I must talk to somebody;
you’re the only one.
COLIN: Thank you.
JOHN: You’re an idealist, really. You wrote “A Pair of Pyjamas,” and
you’ve made the devil of a lot of money, but you know the real worth
of things; that’s why you get angry with me when I still care about
ideals; it makes you uncomfortable; and you hate being uncomfortable,
because you’ve made too much money.
COLIN: I shall have another of your drinks and then I shall go.
JOHN: For the love of God, don’t! Not till you need. Colin, things
can’t go on like they are with me, I want your advice.
COLIN: Are you doing any writing?
JOHN: Yes; of course.
COLIN: You ought to stick to the business, and do your own work in the
evenings.
JOHN: ... We fought like hell out there all day and all night; we
didn’t just let off a few guns in the evenings, as a sort of hobby,
after we’d spent the day doing something else. If we’re going to
have any sort of world for our children after those years of bloody
slaughter, it seems to me we’ve got to fight like hell all the time
now. It’s no good writing anything unconsidered these days. One must
read, and think, and meet people, and be quiet.... You can’t serve God
and Mammon. There are some jolly good things in that book; Colin, it’s
dreadful to spend one’s best energies doing something, when you feel
you ought to be doing something else.
COLIN: You’ve got an Urge.
JOHN: I’ve got something horrible. My father told me it was a Niche:
you say it’s a Nurge!
COLIN: It’s what Quakers get. The spirit urges and they feel wicked if
they don’t follow.
JOHN: I feel miserable.
COLIN: Same thing.
JOHN: And, incidentally, while I mess on day after day, I’m getting my
life into more of a muddle. I feel a cad about Frankie, and I feel a
cad about Toby; I really don’t know what I ought to do about either of
them.
COLIN: You’re engaged to Frankie?
JOHN: Before I went to France. The daughter of my father’s partner;
both families delighted; and they’ve all taken it up at the point where
it was left off as if it was just the same; it isn’t, nothing’s just
the same ... for one thing when I was engaged I was innocent ... quite
... one learnt more than soldiering in France.
COLIN: I don’t know why you should put _that_ down to the war--it
happens to some of us even in peace time.
JOHN: It complicates things.
COLIN: How?
JOHN: In the old days Frankie and I used to go about together a
lot--like any respectably engaged couple.
COLIN: Yes?
JOHN: I used to take her to the theatre, and straight back to her house
afterwards; her mother couldn’t sleep unless she knew Frankie was in;
and I always said good night to her on her doorstep with a kiss--quite
a nice one, but perfectly respectable.
COLIN: Yes.
JOHN: That was all. I don’t say I never wanted any more. However, I
didn’t expect any more; I didn’t know any more, and I was quite ready
to go on like that till we were married.
COLIN: Yes?
JOHN: I was terrified of getting killed in France before I’d had any
experience at all.
COLIN: Yes.
JOHN: Just before an attack, when I was quite sure I was going to get
knocked out, I went off the deep end and had my experience.
COLIN: Yes.
JOHN: Then we attacked ... it was funny; I remember feeling very proud
of myself--and I didn’t get knocked out. Afterwards I thought a great
deal about that first little French girl, and about Frankie; and one
night I realised I loved Frankie desperately, because I wanted her like
that; and because of Frankie I kept clear of any more of it.... I just
lived for my next leave, and the moment when I should see Frankie again
... and the first time we were alone again--it was in this room--I was
standing over there and she came in, and came towards me and I went to
meet her, and I put my arms round her and held her close--closer than
I’d ever done before. My God, I loved her that moment....
COLIN: Yes?
JOHN: She pushed me away. She hardly said anything; but she made me
feel that she was a little angry and a little indignant--I’ve never
felt such a fool in my life ... before I went back to the front that
leave, I’d met Toby.
COLIN: I remember. You still see her?
JOHN: Sometimes. She’s coming here to-night.
COLIN: Here!
JOHN: Upstairs. It’s like my own flat, you know.
COLIN: Yes--but....
JOHN: I know. But I was certain they were all going out to dinner. And
she’s always wanted to see the attic; and they haven’t gone out; and
now Frankie’s turned up!
COLIN: Frankie!
JOHN: Yes; she’s in the drawing-room; I’m worried.
COLIN: I’m not surprised.
JOHN: I’m desperately anxious to get Toby up there without her meeting
anybody. It’s an underhand business; it’s got to stop. (_He is
troubled._) They’ve never been so close; in any sort of way.... Colin,
I don’t make love to Frankie; not at all; she doesn’t seem to want it.
COLIN: Are you sure?
JOHN: Yes, I think so; that’s the trouble. I never get any _response_
from her. It makes me rather uncomfortable with her, and shy! She
doesn’t seem to miss anything ... but, unless, in my marriage, that
part of it is as perfect, and as beautiful as ... as Toby has taught me
it can be, my marriage will be a failure. I’m getting afraid it isn’t
in Frankie.
COLIN: It may be. You never can tell.
JOHN: And it may not be ... a mistaken marriage messes up two lives at
least.
COLIN: But they’re not uncommon.
JOHN: It’s silly, isn’t it?
COLIN: But there it is.
JOHN: Do you know what I believe I _ought_ to do?
COLIN: What?
JOHN: Go to Frankie and either break off our engagement, or else ask
her to come away with me somewhere.... I’m perfectly serious; you may
say “There it is ... it’s the way Civilisation has always managed
it.” Civilisation made millions of young people kill and maim and
torture one another for five bloody years--there’s something wrong with
Civilisation. I don’t mean that because a thing was there before the
war it _must_ be wrong--but it _may_ be ... a good many things have got
to be thought out again from the beginning--this business of marriage
is one of them.
COLIN: Have you said anything about it to her?
JOHN: No.
COLIN: Why don’t you?
[_GWEN comes quickly into the room._
GWEN: Oh! sorry; I thought you were upstairs.
JOHN: Come in. You do know one another, don’t you?
COLIN: Yes. We’ve met. How d’you do?
[_They shake hands._
JOHN: I’ll get that score. (_He moves to the door._)
COLIN (_to GWEN_): I wonder if you remember where we met?
GWEN: Quite well; at a concert; you were very nice to me.
COLIN: I’m very glad.
GWEN: A man played some very modern music--and you asked me what I
thought of it; I didn’t like it a bit really, but I didn’t like to say
so; and you said it was the sort of music one never ought to hear for
the first time.
COLIN: Not such a bad remark; I wonder where I heard it ... do you play
and sing, and have your brother’s accomplishments?
GWEN: I don’t do anything.
JOHN (_who has stopped to select a fruit from the table--as he
disappears_): Painting’s Gwen’s forte.
COLIN: Painting?
GWEN: I’ve given it up....
COLIN: Why?
GWEN: I don’t know.
COLIN: I should like to see something of yours.
GWEN: That’s mine. (_She indicates a little painting on the wall that
is hung close to another.... He goes to it._) I was very young.
COLIN: It’s very good.
GWEN: I used to love painting.
COLIN (_moving to the other picture_): This yours too?
GWEN: No; that’s by ... somebody else.
[_He looks at her--and back at the picture._
COLIN (_meaning it_): It’s quite beautiful.
GWEN (_with eagerness_): Do you think so?... I do.
COLIN: It’s not unlike yours ... you knew the painter?
GWEN (_simply_): I wanted to marry him ... only ... well, he was quite
poor, so it was stopped. And then he was killed.
COLIN: In the war?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: I’m sorry.
GWEN: I’ve got over it. I didn’t think I should--but I have.
[_They look at each other and smile._
COLIN: Why has your brother kept us apart all this time?
GWEN: Has he?
COLIN: I know him so well; it seems absurd I know you so little.
GWEN: Well--here I am!
COLIN: And I’ve got to rush away; I’m sorry----
GWEN: So am I.
COLIN: I’m going to hear this new ballet: I wish you were coming.
GWEN: So do I.
COLIN: I’m taking somebody. I’ve got the last two seats in the
house.... Will you come to-morrow night?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: Do you go to bed very early?
GWEN (_laughing_): Why?
COLIN: If I come in after the ballet--to tell you whether I’ve got
tickets--will you have disappeared?
GWEN: No.
[_JOHN returns with the music score._
COLIN: Thanks ... I must be off.... (_To GWEN_) Then I won’t say good
night.... John, I’m going to look in on my way back from the show.
JOHN: Do ... bring Margaret ... what time does this thing begin?
[_They disappear.... GWEN is quiet in the room till her brother’s
return._
JOHN: If you’re going into the drawing-room, I wish you’d tell Frankie
I want to see her.
GWEN: Is he married?
JOHN: Colin?
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: No.
GWEN: Does he live by himself?
JOHN: Er ... as a matter of fact I believe he does, at the moment.
GWEN (_point-blank_): What’s that mean, Jacko?
JOHN (_a little taken aback_): Well--he’s made a lot of money; he’s got
a beautiful flat and a lovely little cottage in the country; he knows
lots of people; there’s a queer superficial cynicism about him--but if
I was in trouble I’d sooner go to him than to anybody I know----
GWEN: Yes?... Go on.
JOHN: He married when he was quite young; about twenty I believe and it
failed; I think he divorced her; he’s never found anything permanent
since.
[_ROSIE enters to clear the table._
In some ways I think he’s a very lonely person, but he’s not always
alone.
GWEN (_moving to the door_): I’ll tell Frankie you want her.
JOHN (_as she is at the door_): Not in the attic. Down here.
GWEN: Right.
[_She goes._
JOHN (_to ROSIE, who is clearing away_): You’ll show my friend
straight up into the attic, Rosie, when she comes--won’t you?
ROSIE: Yes, Mr. John.
JOHN: Is that speaking-tube arrangement mended yet?
ROSIE: Yes, Mr. John.
JOHN: ... If I’m up there when Miss Frankie is going you might give me
a whistle on it, will you? ... don’t wait for an answer ... just blow
it three times and I’ll know what it means.
ROSIE: Yes, Mr. John.
JOHN: Thank you.
[_FRANKIE comes in._
FRANKIE: Do you want me?
JOHN: Yes ... don’t bother about the table now, Rosie, d’you mind----?
ROSIE: No, Mr. John.
JOHN: I’ll ring later.
ROSIE: Thank you, sir.
[_ROSIE goes out._
JOHN: Another row with my father to-night.
FRANKIE: Oh, John!...
JOHN: He was in the right.
FRANKIE: What about?
JOHN: I stayed away from the office.
FRANKIE: Why did you?
JOHN: What would you say if I chucked it altogether?
FRANKIE: The business?
JOHN: Yes.
FRANKIE: For good?
JOHN: Yes.
FRANKIE: What would you do?
JOHN: Oh, there’s a lot of writing I want to get done.
FRANKIE: What sort of writing?
JOHN (_wretched_): Oh ... articles; and a book.
FRANKIE: To get it published?
JOHN: I hope so.
FRANKIE: Would you get any money for it?
JOHN: Not much.
FRANKIE: Then what would happen to us?
JOHN: ... I don’t know the answer to that.
FRANKIE: John--what’s the matter? ... do you mean you want a longer
holiday?
JOHN: I want to start work.
FRANKIE: But you _can’t_ talk about giving up the business ... after
all it’s going to make our marriage possible, isn’t it----?
JOHN: Are you looking forward to our marriage?
FRANKIE: I should think I _am_!
JOHN: Are you _really_?
FRANKIE: John!... (_She goes to him and stands quite close to him,
playing with the lapel of his coat ... her voice is thrillingly low and
eager._) I’ve been thinking such lots about the time when we’re married.
JOHN: Have you?
FRANKIE: Yes. Listen!... If we don’t furnish those two top rooms at
once, I think we’ll be able to have two servants; I’ve been going all
through it with mother to-day--my dear, the prices of things are
awful--but that’ll mean one to wait at dinner, and that’s ever so much
nicer--and I’m going to give you such lovely little dinners--when you
bring your friends home--and p’r’aps when you don’t sometimes!... Oh,
and I’ve furnished your study to-day in my head--it’s going to be ever
so comfy ... and you can write your book there in the evenings ... I
won’t come near you if you don’t want me to ... you know, dear, we
couldn’t have a smaller house than the little one at the corner, could
we? ... and it’s really ever so cheap.
JOHN: It’s a queer business, marriage, isn’t it?
FRANKIE: Yes.
JOHN: We’ve got to be everything to each other for the rest of our
lives.
FRANKIE: Dear!... I’m going to try to be----
JOHN: ... Frankie!
FRANKIE: Yes, dear.
JOHN: Do you remember once when I took you in my arms and kissed you?
FRANKIE: Yes.
JOHN: You _do_ remember that time?
FRANKIE (_low_): Yes. Very well.
JOHN: If I did it now--would you tell me not to?
FRANKIE: ... I don’t know.
JOHN: May I?
FRANKIE: I’d rather you didn’t.
JOHN: Why?
FRANKIE: Kiss me, John, if you want to, but not like that.
JOHN: Why?
FRANKIE: I’d rather you didn’t.
[_They stand close, untouching and silent ... MR. FREEMAN comes in._
MR. FREEMAN: Hullo! Sorry! Thought you were upstairs. Your father’s
back; the car’s out there. But, look here, you stay for a bit if you
like. John can walk home with you.
FRANKIE: I think I’d better go with Dad.
[_The gate wails and screeches--JOHN hurries to the window._
MR. FREEMAN: Who’s that?
JOHN: Colin came back.
MR. FREEMAN: Who’s Colin?
JOHN: The man who was here just now.
MR. FREEMAN: What’s he come back for?
JOHN: I don’t know.
[_MRS. FREEMAN comes in._
MR. FREEMAN (_family curiosity_): Where’s Gwen?
MRS. FREEMAN: Gone out to the car with Mr. Sewell. Are you going to
stay, Frankie?
FRANKIE: I think I’d better go back with Dad.... Good night, Mrs.
Freeman.
MRS. FREEMAN: Good night, dear. (_A kiss._)
FRANKIE: Good night, Mr. Freeman--good night, John.
JOHN: Good night, Frankie.
[_GWEN enters._
GWEN: What a topping car.
FRANKIE: We’ve only had it a week.
GWEN: Can you drive it?
FRANKIE: Rather.
[_JOHN makes his escape._
GWEN: I like it heaps better than the old one.
FRANKIE: I should think so. Is Dad waiting?
GWEN: He’s gone.
FRANKIE: Gone?
GWEN: I thought you were going to stop.
MR. FREEMAN: You’ll have to now.
GWEN: Who was that on the doorstep?
MR. FREEMAN: That feller’s come back.
GWEN: It’s dark out there; I began talking; I thought it was you at
first, Frankie.
MR. FREEMAN: It was that feller.
GWEN: Oh no, it wasn’t.
MR. FREEMAN: Eh? Then who was it?
[_GWEN scents danger._
GWEN: Oh, nobody.
MR. FREEMAN: What d’you mean--nobody?
GWEN: Nobody we know.
MR. FREEMAN: D’you know that feller?
GWEN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: It wasn’t him?
GWEN: Er ... no.
MR. FREEMAN: Then why the deuce did he say it was? You thought it was
Frankie. Was it a man or a woman?
GWEN: Oh, father, it wasn’t anybody we know.
MR. FREEMAN (_under his breath to his wife_): Take ’em into the
drawing-room.
MRS. FREEMAN: Let’s go into the drawing-room, Frankie--it’s so much
nicer there.
[_FRANKIE is ushered out. GWEN is following, but:_
MR. FREEMAN: Gwen!
[_GWEN stops._
Shut the door!
[_GWEN does._
Who let her in?
GWEN: Rosie!
MR. FREEMAN: Send Rosie here.
GWEN: Oh, father!
MR. FREEMAN: Send Rosie to me.
GWEN: Oh, my goodness.
MR. FREEMAN: Will you please not say “Oh, my goodness” to me.... Go and
tell Rosie I want her.
[_GWEN goes out.... MR. FREEMAN pulls the scented letter from his
pocket, smells it, and with an exclamation of disgust flings it on
the table.... ROSIE comes in._
Did you show anybody up to Mr. John’s attic just now?
[_ROSIE is silent._
Did you?
ROSIE: Yes, sir.
MR. FREEMAN: Was it a man or a woman?
ROSIE (_loyally_): It was a friend of Mr. John’s.
MR. FREEMAN: Was it a man or a woman?
ROSIE (_sticking to it_): I don’t know ’oo it was.
MR. FREEMAN: She’s up there now? ... is she? ... what’s the matter with
you, girl? ... is she?
ROSIE: I don’t know, sir.
MR. FREEMAN: Is this thing mended?
ROSIE: I don’t know, sir.
[_MR. FREEMAN gets up and blows in the speaking-tube like an amateur
trombonist or an irritated typhoon--and listens ... evidently no
answer ... another blow ... and another ... then another listen
... still no answer ... he hangs back the tube and flings from the
room ... slamming the door after him ... he returns to pick up
the offending letter from the table and bear it with him from the
room.... ROSIE remains, sniffing pathetically ... she creeps from
the room._
CURTAIN
END OF ACT I
ACT II
ACT II
UPSTAIRS
_The attic that has been in turn JOHN’S nursery, his school-room,
and is now his flat. Plain distempered walls; a few pictures--some
reproductions of Orpen and Augustus John, and of a Nevinson war
picture called “The Doctor”; books; some statuettes; a baby grand
piano, littered with manuscript music; two tennis racquets and
plenty of comfortable places to sit. The fire-place, which has been
converted to a gas-stove, is in the middle of the footlights--that
is to say it is imagined--but the chairs are placed so that a
group sitting round the imagined gas-fire, sit directly facing the
audience, and quite intimately close to the footlights. Two doors;
one into his bedroom, the other on to the landing at the head of the
staircase._
_ROSIE shows in TOBY. TOBY is in the chorus of a musical comedy
in a West End theatre. Slight and very pretty, with fair hair and
large blue eyes. If you were to talk to her at all confidentially,
she would tell you that she thought musical comedy silly, and the
other girls in the chorus awfully empty; indeed she has a good
deal of sense--but not of her own. Often she could have “got off”
with middle-aged business men with money, or with young men with
well-brushed hair and incomes; but such were of “no use” to her.
Through a curious quality in her she attracts, and is attracted by
artists; her life has been mostly in studios and cafés, and from her
surroundings, and from the artists that have been in her life, she
has acquired her sense and taste._
ROSIE: This is what we call Mr. John’s attic ... you’ve got to wait
here. I’ll tell him. (_She is going; as she reaches the door._)
TOBY: I say!
[_ROSIE turns._
Isn’t there a glass here?
ROSIE: A glass?
TOBY: Something to see yourself in.
ROSIE: Oh! ... in ’is bedroom.
TOBY: In there?
ROSIE: Yes.
[_TOBY goes into the bedroom. ROSIE has never seen her before; she
looks after her; the tiniest wrinkle of her nose at the door through
which TOBY has disappeared is her criticism. She goes out of the
room on to the landing and downstairs ... somebody is heard on the
attic stairs, and JOHN comes hurriedly into the room. He stops in
the doorway surprised._
JOHN: Toby!
[_TOBY appears at the door having taken off her hat and coat._
I couldn’t think where you’d got to.
TOBY: I like your bedroom.
JOHN: Do you?
TOBY: Who was that I met outside?
JOHN (_with patent anxiety_): Did you meet anybody?
TOBY: Yes.
JOHN: Where?
TOBY: On the doorstep; Gwen they called her.
JOHN (_with patent relief_): Oh! She’s all right ... she’s my sister.
TOBY: It’s nice here. Why haven’t you asked me here before?
JOHN: It’s nicer in your room--because it’s _yours_.
TOBY: I hate you sometimes.
JOHN: Why?
TOBY: When you say things you don’t mean ... you never wanted me to
come here ... you don’t want me now.... If you think I don’t know ...
that’s why I’ve come. If you’d had the courage to say out you didn’t
want me here, I wouldn’t of....
[_He has no answer._
... I wish I hadn’t now; coming all up through a great horrid strange
house; I nearly went away again.
JOHN: I’m glad you didn’t.
TOBY: Why?
JOHN: I’m worried to-night--it’s good to be near you. (_He is sincere._)
TOBY: Is it?
JOHN: Yes.
TOBY: Then I’m glad I came.
JOHN (_getting happier_): Also ... if you hadn’t come, I shouldn’t be
able to give you something I’ve got for you.
TOBY: A present?
JOHN: Yes. Only I can’t give it to you now ’cos you’re cross.
TOBY: Oh yes, you can.
JOHN: No!
TOBY: You’ll make me feel a beast for being cross ... where is it?
JOHN: Shan’t tell you.
TOBY: What is it?
[_He shakes his head._
How large is it?... Is it little?
JOHN: No.
TOBY: Is it big?
JOHN: Yes.
TOBY: How big?
JOHN: Middling.
TOBY: Please; I’m not cross any more. (_Whispering very prettily._)
Where is it?
JOHN: Kiss. (_She does._) Turn round. (_She does._) On that chair.
[_She sees a milliner’s box, and going to it, undoes it, and
extracts an attractive little frock._
TOBY: Oh, you dear! It’s the one I saw in Shaftesbury Avenue ... isn’t
it sweet? ... it cost a terrible lot ... you are _awful_ to spend so
much money on me. I love it. (_She puts it in a chair to look at it._)
Think I’ll look nice in it?
JOHN: Shouldn’t be surprised.
[_She undoes a button or two in the frock she has on, it slips from
her, and there she stands half-naked and unashamed in the scantiest
and daintiest of under-garments. She is going to try on her present,
but:_
JOHN: Come here.
[_She does. He puts his arms round her again; she snuggles her head
on his shoulder and says softly:_
TOBY: Thank you. I’m sorry I was cross.
JOHN: Do you hate me?
TOBY: Sometimes.
JOHN: Do you hate me now?
TOBY: No.
JOHN: Do you love me?
[_For answer she looks up and her lips seek his--they kiss as
lovers ... uncannily there is a shrill whistle in the room. TOBY
disentangles herself with wide-open eyes._
JOHN: Sssssssh!
[_A second whistle ... and a third, louder ... then silence;
downstairs the enraged MR. FREEMAN has banged the tube back on its
hook._
TOBY: _What_ever is it?
JOHN: A speaking-tube.
TOBY: A _speaking_-tube? ... who taught it? ... what’s it say?
JOHN: All clear.
TOBY: Doesn’t it want to be answered?
JOHN: No. But it means we’re alone here--you and I.
TOBY: Oh!
[_She is near the speaking-tube; JOHN has gone to a big chair by
the fire._
JOHN: Put the light out ... the switch is there by the door ... there,
silly ... just in front of you ... that’s right.
[_She works the switch; the lights go out--except one softly shaded
one._
TOBY: Oooooooh! Nice.
[_Meanwhile JOHN lights the gas-fire._
[_He holds a match where it should be and there is a terrific bang._
JOHN: Good lord! These gas fires’ll be the death of me.
[_He tries another match--this time with the normal and successful
result. He throws a big cushion on the ground beside his chair now
in the soft half-light; she comes and makes herself comfortable upon
it, leaning against him. They are quiet ... he caressing her, she
gazing into the fire._
TOBY: It’s a funny gas-stove ... Mabel Claridge has got one like that
in her room ... that man gave her another ring yesterday ... must of
cost _hundreds_. She says there is nothing in it ... I _don’t_ think.
[_Her conversation trails off ... the cushion is comfortable, the
heat is pleasant through the flimsy things she has on, and she likes
his fingers through her hair._
It’s lovely....
[_She leans luxuriously back towards him ... he kisses her._
JOHN: You dear----
TOBY: Thank you.
[_He puts an arm round her, and their heads close, they both for a
moment gaze into the fire._
JOHN: You know ... I owe you an awful lot.
TOBY: Do you?
JOHN: Yes.
TOBY: How much?
JOHN: Let me think of a few of the things ... to begin with, everything
on the piano’s yours.
TOBY (_screwing her head back_): What’s on the piano?
JOHN: All my songs.
TOBY: Oh _them_--yes?
JOHN: And you give me _peace_ ... like nobody else in the whole world
gives me.
TOBY: Why?
JOHN: Oh, why!... ’Cos there’s nobody else in the whole world with whom
I can be quiet and effortless with all the barriers down.
TOBY: Funny.
JOHN: Just because you can slip out of your frock, like you did, as if
I wasn’t there and come close into my arms when I ask you, without any
fuss.
TOBY (_her face very close to him--her very low voice a lover’s_):
’Course there isn’t any fuss--’cos I _want_ to come close into your
arms.
JOHN: That’s the wonder of you.
[_Suddenly she shifts her position; kneeling on the cushion she
faces him; she shakes her hair with a throw of her head; there is a
queer fierce laugh in her eyes--he catches it._
JOHN: My dear, it’s such _fun_ loving you.
TOBY: Is it?
JOHN: However much you’re loving me I can always see the _fun_ of it
dancing behind your eyes ... you’ve taught me that ... whatever happens
I shall be eternally grateful.
TOBY: What _is_ going to happen?
JOHN: I don’t know.... I don’t want anything to happen any more
ever.... I want to sit here like this for ever and ever Amen.
[_Down in the house there is a little noise--as it were a cloud the
size of a man’s hand on the horizon--but it grows._
TOBY: What’s that?
JOHN: I don’t know.
TOBY: Somebody coming up----
JOHN: It can’t be.
[_And the noise grows, as MR. FREEMAN falls up the attic stairs ...
there is a knocking at the door._
Good God!
[_TOBY leaps up; MR. FREEMAN getting no answer comes in, and
switches on the light.... Tableau! MR. FREEMAN, JOHN, TOBY._
MR. FREEMAN (_after an appalling hiatus of silence, failing to cope
with this new situation and throwing the scented letter on to the
table_): Yours.... Found it among mine.
JOHN (_rattled_): Er ... thanks.... (_Feebly_) This is my father, my
father--Miss Clyde.
[_MR. FREEMAN glares speechless. TOBY is as if turned to stone._
MR. FREEMAN: I’ll see you about this in the morning. (_At the door he
turns and starts to speak._) Frankie---- (_He gets TOBY in his vision
again and collapses._) No, never mind ... I’ll see you in the morning.
[_Even after the door has shut behind him the situation is beyond
words; TOBY is still motionless, but there is an ugly look in her
face.... JOHN is the first to speak._
JOHN: I’m awfully sorry.
TOBY: I’m going home.
JOHN: I’m awfully sorry....
TOBY: My things are in there. (_She makes for his room._)
JOHN (_between her and the door_): Toby!
TOBY: Let me go ... I feel dirty all over.
JOHN: Let me come with you--please.
TOBY: All right, only let me get out of this bloody house.
[_She disappears into the bedroom ... he is staring into the fire
when there is a timid knock at the door ... it is repeated._
JOHN (_hurrying to the door_): ... Hullo? Who’s there?
[_The door opens before he reaches it and GWEN comes in._
Hullo, Gwen.
GWEN: I say, did I put my foot in it downstairs with father? I’m sorry.
JOHN: Oh, that’s all right.
GWEN: I thought you wouldn’t mind me coming up--father told me you were
alone.
JOHN: _Did_ he?
GWEN: Can Frankie come up?
JOHN: _Frankie!_
GWEN: She’s staying the night ... she telephoned home.
JOHN: Where is she?
FRANKIE (_just outside_): Here I am!
GWEN: It’s all right ... he’s all alone.
FRANKIE (_her head in at the door_): Can I come in?
[_JOHN gives a glance at the bedroom door which is shut ... and
FRANKIE comes in._
John ... can I speak to you?
GWEN (_tactful_): I’ll be in my room.... I shan’t go to bed; I wish
you’d give me a call later.
[_She is gone._
FRANKIE: I couldn’t go home without seeing you.
[_From the bedroom comes TOBY’S voice._
TOBY’S VOICE: John!... _John!_
FRANKIE (_going to the other door and calling_): Gwen!!
GWEN’S VOICE (_half-way down the attic stairs_): Hullo!
FRANKIE: Come back, please.
TOBY’S VOICE: I’m sorry I was cross ... it wasn’t your fault I’ve got
something to show you ... wait a sec....
[_GWEN comes back...._
GWEN: What is it?
[_Silence.... Then:----TOBY comes leaping into the room in JOHN’S
pyjamas and strikes an attitude._
TOBY: TA--RA!!!!
[_Again she is struck still and dumb by these two strangers; after a
moment’s silence, with a real big explosive angry “Damn,” she goes
back into the bedroom.... JOHN follows her._
GWEN: I think it would be better if we went downstairs.
FRANKIE: I’m going to stay here ... have you ever seen her before?
GWEN: No.
FRANKIE: Do you know who she is?
GWEN: No.
FRANKIE: She’s common, isn’t she?
GWEN: I didn’t notice.... Frankie, I’m sure we’d better go downstairs.
FRANKIE: I’m not going.
[_JOHN comes in and begins hunting about._
GWEN: What is it?
JOHN: Have you seen a dress about?
FRANKIE: A dress! What sort of a dress?
JOHN: A little blue one.
FRANKIE (_holding it out at arm’s length_): This?
JOHN: Yes. Thank you.
[_He takes it from her and retires again with it.... GWEN hovers
miserably. FRANKIE is rock-like._
GWEN (_by the door--persuasively_): Come on.
[_The other shakes her head.... JOHN comes back, shutting the door
after him._
JOHN: ... I’d rather you didn’t say anything about it till she’s gone,
please.
[_No answer. TOBY comes in dressed again._
TOBY: Show me down to the front door, please. (_She crosses at once to
the other door; JOHN following._)
JOHN (_low to her_): I can’t come with you at once.
TOBY: I don’t want you to ... I don’t want you to come any more--ever.
JOHN: Toby!
GWEN (_by the open door into the bedroom_): Frankie!
[_She makes an enticing movement, and this time FRANKIE, more
tractable, follows her into the bedroom._
TOBY: I don’t want ever to see you again.
JOHN: It’s been damnable for you ... you make me feel a brute.
TOBY: Damned good thing--you are.
JOHN: But who’ll look after you?
TOBY: Thanks, I can look after myself. Don’t _you_ worry ... show me
downstairs in case I meet anybody....
JOHN: You’re leaving your new frock.
TOBY: Keep it ... you can give it to the next one.
[_She goes ... JOHN hesitates; then calls into his bedroom._
JOHN: Gwen.
GWEN’S VOICE: Yes?
JOHN: I’ll be back in a minute.
[_He follows TOBY.... GWEN comes back into the room._
GWEN: They’ve gone.
[_FRANKIE comes back; she is blazing._
FRANKIE: Oh, I _am_ angry. It makes you wonder whether there are any
decent men in the world. I didn’t know John was a _cad_.... (_In a
burst of rage_) Oh, the beast! the beast! Oh, it makes me furious....
While that--girl was waiting up here for him he wanted to kiss me.
GWEN: Did he?
FRANKIE: Yes.
GWEN: But _did_ he?
FRANKIE: What?
GWEN: Kiss you.
FRANKIE: No, he didn’t.
GWEN: Why not?
FRANKIE: I don’t know, he didn’t.
GWEN: Why didn’t he?
FRANKIE: He didn’t.
GWEN: You mean you wouldn’t let him?
FRANKIE: He came straight up here to her.... Oh, it’s so humiliating....
GWEN: D’you think it’s altogether his fault?
FRANKIE: Oh, I daresay she had plenty to do with it--you can easily see
what sort she is.
GWEN (_ominously quiet_): I didn’t mean _her_.
FRANKIE (_with fine ironic scorn_): Oh, if it wasn’t _her_ fault, I
suppose you’ll say it’s _mine_ next.
GWEN: Yes.
FRANKIE: Oh, don’t be ridiculous.
GWEN: If I was engaged to a man, and he wouldn’t let me kiss him, I’d
jolly well go and kiss somebody else.
FRANKIE: Gwen!
GWEN: I would. There are times when you must be kissed.
FRANKIE: Gwen!
GWEN: Well, there are--don’t you ever feel like that?
FRANKIE: No; besides _her_; she’d kiss anyone.
GWEN: I don’t see why you should say that--perhaps they’re in love.
FRANKIE: Love! What he feels for her isn’t love.
GWEN: It’s what I’d want my man to feel for me ... if ever I have a man
in love with me again that I want, I ... (_But FRANKIE is crying._)
Oh, Frankie. (_She goes to her._) Don’t cry ... I didn’t mean what I
said ... yes I did ... but not to say it like that ... Frankie ... it
isn’t a bit simple.
FRANKIE: Yes, it is. Quite simple. He’s been a beast; nothing can alter
that.
GWEN: I don’t know.
FRANKIE: I do.
GWEN: Such heaps of things are uncertain--that seemed certain----
[_JOHN comes back._
JOHN (_speaking at once_): Will you talk to me, Frankie?
FRANKIE: I suppose so.
JOHN: Leave us alone, Sis, for a bit.
GWEN: Are they up, downstairs?
JOHN: There’s a light in the drawing-room.
GWEN: Can I go in there (_indicating his bedroom_)? I should be
cross-examined, and I feel all wrong for them downstairs to-night.
[_JOHN opens the bedroom door for her, and she passes into the room;
he shuts the door after her ... there is a little silence between
JOHN and FRANKIE._
JOHN (_quietly, almost tonelessly, speaking facts_): I met her during
the war when I was on leave ... we had supper after the theatre, and
I went back to her flat--and stayed there ... and I’ve been there,
sometimes, ever since.
[_She doesn’t answer._
... I’m very sorry it should have happened like this.
FRANKIE: I never dreamed of anything like it.... I trusted you ... I
hate being deceived ... it’s been going on all this time and I never
knew it ... all the time you were with me.
JOHN (_quickly_): But I never made love to you ... it’s been absolutely
apart from the rest of my life here. She’s never been here before.
FRANKIE: Hasn’t she?
JOHN: No.... They were two quite distinct relationships, mine with
you--and with her.
FRANKIE: I should hope so!
JOHN: I’ve not made love to you, not because I haven’t wanted to, but
because you didn’t want me to....
FRANKIE: I’m glad I didn’t. I don’t want to share that sort of thing,
thank you.
JOHN: You wouldn’t have done.
FRANKIE: What do you mean?
JOHN: If you’d wanted to make love, I shouldn’t have wanted anybody
else.
FRANKIE: That’s easy enough to say now.
JOHN: I’ve been wrong. I’ve let things drift.
FRANKIE: Why?
JOHN: All this time, I’ve hoped something would flare up between us,
and then it would have been perfect--but it hasn’t.
FRANKIE: You say it’s my fault too!
JOHN: It’s nobody’s fault. We’re different--that’s all.
FRANKIE: Do you want to marry this girl?
JOHN: No.
FRANKIE: I don’t understand----
JOHN: Frankie, don’t cry.
FRANKIE (_through her tears_): And this morning I was talking to mother
about furnishing ... and the little house ... it’s arranged, nearly ...
what’ll everybody say? Oh, it’s too bad of you!
JOHN: I’m awfully sorry; I ought to have had it out before; I’m sorry;
don’t cry....
FRANKIE: Don’t talk then.
[_But she cannot stop the tears and escapes from the room. The
unhappy JOHN remaining, throws himself into the depths of his
chair; there is a knock at the door._
JOHN: Come in.
[_It is the little housemaid._
ROSIE: Please, Mr. John, there’s a lady to see you.
JOHN: Oh, my God! Where?
ROSIE: Downstairs--in the morning-room. She’s waiting.
JOHN: I’ll come.
ROSIE: ... Please, Mr. John.
JOHN: Yes?
ROSIE: About that blow-pipe ... it wasn’t my fault ... ’e blowed; I
couldn’t stop him.
JOHN: That’s all right, Rosie.... In the morning-room?
ROSIE: Yes, please, Mr. John.
[_JOHN goes out--ROSIE following ... the silence in the room is
broken by GWEN’S voice from the bedroom._
GWEN’S VOICE: You’re very quiet! ... can I come back? Can I...?
John!... Frankie!...
[_GWEN’S head comes round the corner of the door ... and is so
surprised at the emptiness that she apologises to it._
Oh, I beg your pardon!... I mean.... (_She comes into the room with a
laugh._)...
[_COLIN comes up from downstairs._
COLIN: Hullo.
GWEN: Hullo.
COLIN: I was told I’d find you up here.
GWEN: Do you know where John is?
COLIN: I met him on the stairs. Margaret refused to come up till she’d
heard from his own lips that we were wanted: I came up.
GWEN: ... Yes.
COLIN: I’ve got those tickets.
GWEN: Oh, thank you.
COLIN: For to-morrow night.
GWEN: Thank you.
[_Unexpectedly there is an awkward little silence between them ... it
grows uncomfortably._
GWEN: ... Won’t you have a cigarette?
COLIN (_gratefully_): Thank you.
[_He takes and lights one; she does the same; the horrid little
silence hasn’t been killed._
GWEN: It’s a long time since I went to the theatre. It _is_ kind of you.
COLIN: I’m looking forward to to-morrow night.
GWEN: So am I.
[_The door opens cautiously and MARGARET HEAL appears; a woman of
about thirty-five; attractive without being strikingly beautiful or
pretty; she is looking her best now, in evening dress and cloak._
MARGARET: Anybody here?
GWEN: Hullo, Margaret. Come along in. What have you done with John?
MARGARET: He’s walking round the square.
COLIN: Sounds mathematical.
MARGARET: Yes, it’s impossible.
COLIN: Why?
MARGARET: It’s raining; and he’s got no coat, and slippers. (_To
COLIN._) You ought to go and fetch him in.
GWEN: It would be kind of you.
COLIN: Certainly I will; if I may come back.
GWEN: Of course.
[_COLIN goes._
MARGARET: There’s been trouble; I’m sure you don’t want us.
GWEN: Oh yes I do. I’m glad you came.
MARGARET: It’s dreadfully late to call; but Colin was so anxious to
come back here.
GWEN: Was he?
MARGARET: Something’s happened to him since dinner.
GWEN: Oh?
MARGARET: He’s unusually easy enough to manage; to-night he was
as obstinate as a pig. He would come; said he wanted to see John
particularly. And there was only the most expensive box left for
to-morrow night. He would get it. It cost him about twelve guineas. I
wonder who he’s going to take.
[_She has taken off her cloak. GWEN takes it._
Thank you.
[_MARGARET sits._
What are you doing with yourself these days?
GWEN: Nothing special.
MARGARET: Have you kept on your nursing at all, since the war?
GWEN: No. And then I only ran errands for the nurses.
MARGARET: Did you like it?
GWEN: Rather. It was something outside home I wasn’t cross-examined
about. I often envy _you_.
MARGARET: _Me?_
GWEN: John often tells me about you, and your office.
MARGARET: Oh!
GWEN: It’s a kind of a literary agency, isn’t it?
MARGARET: That’s the sort of thing.
GWEN: It must have been awfully adventurous--starting on your own.
MARGARET: I had a good training as a secretary. Then an election came
and I had a girl to help me, and I found I could boss her. So I got
three girls and bossed them--made them work for me, instead of me
working for somebody else. Now I’ve got ten in the office--and several
young men.
GWEN: It must be splendid to have built up something like that for
yourself.
MARGARET: It’s very interesting. The girls are interesting, too; they
bring all their troubles to me.
GWEN: What sort of troubles?
MARGARET: Men--mostly!
GWEN: Are you a good sort of person to bring your troubles to?
MARGARET: I’ve had some of my own--so perhaps I am.
[_FRANKIE comes in._
GWEN (_surprised_): Hullo, Frankie! ... you know Margaret.
FRANKIE: Of course.
MARGARET: Good evening.
FRANKIE: I thought I’d go to bed, and then I thought I wouldn’t. I
should just lie and think; and I heard you come up.
[_The other two have nothing to say. She goes on; to MARGARET:_
Do you know what’s happened to-night?
MARGARET: Vaguely.
FRANKIE: Did you know this girl?
MARGARET: Vaguely.
FRANKIE: Everybody seems to think it’s my fault!
GWEN: Frankie! I didn’t say....
FRANKIE: Yes you did. So did John.
[_Again a silence; again she continues:_
I’ve been crying; I’ve got that over, now I’ve got used to the idea.
John says he doesn’t love me.
[_Again they have nothing to say; but she encourages them._
You can say what you like; I shan’t cry again.
GWEN (_gently_): He did: I don’t think he does now.
FRANKIE (_unexpectedly defiant_): Well, I’m quite sure I don’t
love him! I was sobbing away upstairs, but I found it was for the
drawing-room curtains I’m not going to buy; not for him. Of course,
I’m angry and hurt at being deceived. And I don’t see why I shouldn’t
be!... But you can say what you like.
GWEN (_suddenly_): Margaret!
MARGARET: Yes?
GWEN: If I ask you some questions--things that’ll help me if I
know--will you answer them?
MARGARET: If I can.
GWEN: You’re not married?
MARGARET: No.
GWEN: Have you ever let anybody love you? You know what I mean. Words
are difficult--I don’t want to be frightened by them.... Have you?
MARGARET: Yes.
GWEN: Just one man, or more than one?
MARGARET: More than one.
GWEN: Tell me about it, with _all_ of them, please!
[_A little smile breaks on MARGARET’S lips, and the tiniest laugh.
Perhaps the audience laughs louder; so much the better, for GWEN
answers----_
GWEN: Don’t laugh, please. I don’t mean it to be anything to laugh
at. I ask because I want to know. Not about you, but about love. I’m
ashamed to be as old as I am, and not know--You have knowledge, and I
haven’t.... So will you tell me, please?
MARGARET: Ask away.
GWEN: When you didn’t know anything at all, how did it first happen?
[_A pause. Then:_
MARGARET (_beginning slowly in recollection_): A man I was doing some
work for asked me to join a walking party in the Lakes. We started all
together. Half-way through, he and I branched off to walk across a
pass and meet the others on the other side. I don’t know whether he
meant to meet them. I meant to. But we didn’t.
GWEN: What sort of a man was he?
MARGARET: An enthusiast about freedom.
GWEN: How old?
MARGARET: About thirty. We walked among mountains and talked a great
deal, and when it was getting dark, we reached an inn. And there we had
dinner, and there we stopped.
GWEN: Did you love him very much?
MARGARET: No. I was curious.
GWEN: Yes.
MARGARET: It’s queer. We hadn’t got love, which nowadays seems to me
the only justification--yet I’ve never had any regrets.
FRANKIE: Haven’t you?
MARGARET: We were full of air and sky, and ideas for making the world
better; probably very silly, but quite genuine. And he was very gentle
and understanding.
FRANKIE: What happened when you _did_ meet the others?
MARGARET: We didn’t. We walked in the other direction for a week. Then
we came back to London.
FRANKIE: And then?
MARGARET: Then he fell in love with another girl. I daresay he taught
her what he taught me. That seems to be his mission in life!
FRANKIE (_indignant_): That’s what always happens--weren’t you furious
and ashamed?
MARGARET: I was awfully pleased with myself! I was living in a
boarding-house in Bloomsbury. I couldn’t afford a room of my own, or to
go out in the evenings. I used to have to sit in the drawing-room with
a lot of old spinster ladies, knitting and playing patience and talking
scandal. Before the Lakes, I used to think I should go mad, sometimes;
but afterwards, when I looked round at them all, there was a sort of
triumphant glee in me. I used to say to myself, “I know more about life
than you do. Poor old things!”
GWEN: That must have been topping.
MARGARET: It was rather.
GWEN: ... Who was the next?
MARGARET: I fell in love; so it’s not easy to talk about. I lived with
him. For three years. The best time of my life. That’s all.
GWEN: D’you mind my asking?
MARGARET: Of course not. Most people like talking about themselves.
GWEN: Why didn’t you marry?
MARGARET (_painfully_): We meant to get married ... when we could
afford children. And then I ended it.
FRANKIE: You?
GWEN: How?
MARGARET: At least it was my fault. My man was away; and a boy fell in
love with me; it was in the middle of the war when it seemed it would
go on for ever. We met at a friend’s house; he was in khaki; at a
house party. And then he came to have tea with me at my flat.
GWEN: Were you in love with _him_?
MARGARET: I couldn’t have married him. But he was very strong, and
good-looking ... and going back to the front. They knew what they were
going back to, and they laughed. He was the first man younger than I
was who told me that he loved me; and on his last night in England, as
if he was my child, I wanted to give him everything he asked for. And
he asked for me and--I was glad.
GWEN: I’m glad you were. Did he stop at your flat?
MARGARET: We went to an hotel. We had dinner in the West End. Across
the little table--with a shaded light on it--I kept catching him
looking at me.... One evening when nothing mattered but our happiness.
Then he went back to France, and I went home and told my man--and my
life smashed.
GWEN: Didn’t he understand?
MARGARET: Oh yes, he understood. We went to the Queen’s Hall the night
I told him, and when we got home talked till five in the morning; it
didn’t smash all at once--it just made a difference.
GWEN: I don’t understand.
MARGARET: Nor do I--altogether. _He_ had an affair soon afterwards. You
see, he’d given up everything of that sort for me, and I didn’t ... so
he didn’t ... it broke up our life together. Freedom’s a devastating
thing ... a few hours I shall never forget, and a year of hell
afterwards, and I’ve never really made up my mind whether I’m glad or
sorry.... (_To FRANKIE_) Do you disapprove of me very much?
FRANKIE: Disapprove? No. But I don’t think it’s right.
GWEN (_a quick challenge_): What’s right?
FRANKIE: When I marry I shall have kept myself for him, whoever he is.
And I hope he will, too.
MARGARET: Oh, my dear!
GWEN (_alert_): Why did you say “Oh, my dear” like that?
MARGARET: Another young man fell in love with me. (_She turns to
FRANKIE with a smile._) I’m sorry! I know it sounds _dreadful_ saying
them one after the other, quickly, like this! But there was a year of
being lonely--desperately lonely. And it hurt the young man, too; so I
let him take me away.
[_A pause._
GWEN: ... Well?
MARGARET (_to FRANKIE_): He was one of your ideal young men.
FRANKIE: Yes?
MARGARET: And not only innocent; ignorant. He knew his own needs,
vaguely; not mine, at all. I suffered from his ignorance.... But he
taught me something.
GWEN: What?
MARGARET: Why so many married women go on regarding love-making as
horrid.
GWEN: Why?
MARGARET: They’re married to men who don’t know how to make love. You
see, without gentleness and sensitiveness and consideration--and much
that comes from knowledge, what ought to be complete harmony can be
very disharmonious, what ought to be utterly satisfying to body and
soul can be utterly nerve-racking and unsatisfactory.... Somebody said
that a man who can’t make love is like an Orang-Utang playing the
fiddle.... It wants learning--the fiddle.
FRANKIE: It seems so horrid to make that part of it so important.
MARGARET: I daresay it’s not so important if it’s right. It’s
all-important if it’s wrong.
GWEN: How?
MARGARET: If you can’t make love beautiful for your man, sooner or
later, he’ll go to someone who can; or he’ll want to, which is as bad.
FRANKIE: Are you happy?
MARGARET: I suppose not, really.
FRANKIE: What do you want?
MARGARET: A man of my own, and children.
FRANKIE: Doesn’t that prove your way’s wrong?
MARGARET: I’m not saying it’s right or wrong. Gwen asked me. I’ve told
you.
GWEN: Thank you.
[_COLIN and JOHN come in._
Come in and sit down.
MARGARET: If she asks any questions, don’t you answer!
COLIN: What sort of questions?
MARGARET: Don’t ask me.
GWEN: I wish somebody’d tell me what love is.
JOHN (_sotto voce, getting out of his wet coat, disappearing into his
bedroom with it_): A damned nuisance.
COLIN: _I’ll_ tell you.
GWEN (_eagerly_): I should like to know what _you_ think.
[_Thus challenged, COLIN collects himself; he joins the group round
the fire._
COLIN: As one gets older, and loses one’s illusions----
MARGARET: They’re off.
COLIN: And realises half one’s life has gone, and there’s an end to
it some day, one is apt to get lonely. A lost atom in an infinity of
blackness. In that blackness is despair. Only one thing can dispel
it--Love. Real love. None of your free sort, John!
GWEN: What d’you mean?
COLIN: I mean that love between two people that doesn’t need anything
else, that won’t tolerate anything else, that’s lasting and tyrannical
and jealous, is the only kind that’s worth while.
JOHN (_reappearing_): What he really means is, he’s getting middle-aged.
COLIN: Real love isn’t free.
JOHN: Now listen, Grandpa; you’re nearly forty.
COLIN: Shut up.
JOHN: You’ve been at it twenty years. Have you ever had an experience
which might be called free?
COLIN: Don’t be silly.
JOHN: You’ve passed the years of adventure, and you want to settle
down. So you say: “Ah, I’m wise and sane and right, and all you poor
young people are wrong.”
FRANKIE (_very much at JOHN_): Do you think you know all about it
because you’re wrong?
JOHN: We couldn’t very well make a worse mess than they have, could we?
FRANKIE: I’m not so sure.
JOHN: Oh, Frankie! If we sat down with a pencil and paper and tried to
work out a really unclean, intolerant, silly system, we couldn’t work
out a worse one than exists to-day. Do you realise that?
FRANKIE: No, I don’t.
JOHN: I could make you.
GWEN: Try--go on.
JOHN: Well--to start with ... the obvious things. (_He talks without
difficulty, speaking what he has thought about._) Hundreds of thousands
of girls on the streets; and an incredible amount of sex disease. One
in every five infected! A million or so girls more than men doomed to
a life without love. Some millions of separated people living without
love and not allowed to marry again. Thousands of marriages where only
distaste, and hate, remain. Ugliness, and cruelty, and intolerance
about the whole subject that makes the sum of unnecessary suffering
almost incredible. Does all that sound like a success? After all, we’re
responsible to the next generation for the sort of world they’ll find.
Have we any right to say, “Oh, that’s all right; we can’t do better
than that. We needn’t bother”? Look at all the girls in the world,
Frankie--one lot selling themselves to any man who can pay them; the
rest brought up in a sort of prison of asceticism, as candidates for
the privilege of becoming a man’s married housekeeper.
COLIN: Oh, come, John! Nowadays there are a great many “betwixt and
betweeners,” as it were!
JOHN: The whole thing’s breaking up.
COLIN: Then why bother?
JOHN: The break-up is all so undirected and casual.
MARGARET: Are you so sure it is breaking up?
JOHN: Yes. Quite.
GWEN: Why?
JOHN (_definitely, and as the result of previous thought_): The Church
is losing its influence.
COLIN: I shouldn’t have thought that mattered tuppence.
JOHN: It’s fundamental.
COLIN: How?
JOHN: For hundreds of years the Church has had the most enormous
influence by its hold over the lives of men and women in this way.
Hasn’t it?
COLIN: Yes.
JOHN: Obviously its attitude towards the whole thing is fundamental.
COLIN: Yes.
JOHN: It regards sex as sin. It’s holy when the Church permits it in
matrimony; and then it’s got to remain holy, for ever and ever Amen.
GWEN: As if it did.
JOHN: They couldn’t stop people loving outside their rules; but they’ve
made them ashamed of it. They’ve made sex a secret furtive thing. Well,
anyhow, we’ve got _our_ chance now.
MARGARET: Why _now_, particularly?
JOHN: The Church built the system, and as a binding force it’s no
longer effective. Here’s your society--in a certain mould; but the
power that did the moulding, that held it together, has gone. It’s
vaguely keeping its shape, at present--but it’s crumbling. It must
crumble; and it’ll have to be remodelled. That was going on, anyhow.
Then the war came. Everything shaken to its foundations. Personal
beliefs, institutions--everything. The world’s fluid. That’s why it’s
all so damnably important now.
FRANKIE: If it’s all as bad as you say, surely if people lived as
Religion tells them, all these terrible things wouldn’t happen?
JOHN: That’s exactly what the Church says. “Society must be purified.
Men and women must be taught not to sin.” But what they mean by
purifying society is simply forcing it back under the old rules; what
they mean by Sin is any infringement of those rules. What we say
is: it’s the very narrowness of their rules that has made the mess,
it’s the reverse side of their mistakenness ... “they make of their
bodies a rampart for the protection of respectable families”--that’s
what Balzac says of prostitutes. “Sacrifices on the altar of
monogamy”--Schopenhauer. Prostitution means disease. You _can’t_ do
away with these things by the old rules. The old rules are the _cause_
of them. Practice proves it: the countries with easier divorce laws
don’t have more promiscuity; less. You _must_ tackle the business with
new ideas--anyhow, it’s happening----
GWEN: What’s happening?
JOHN: Compare the world of to-day and the Christian ideal of morality;
a man must love one woman and one woman only; a woman must love one man
and one man only; _there must be no sex experience of any kind before
or after marriage_. That’s the ideal. And it’s tremendously important
to realise it is the ideal; because either you agree with it and you’ve
got to strive ruthlessly towards it, or you don’t agree with it, and
you’ve got to find another.
FRANKIE: Are you so certain decent people don’t live according to it?
JOHN: Yes.
FRANKIE: I’m not.
JOHN: Take any average collection of people--take any ordinary audience
at a theatre! How many men do you suppose have loved only their wives?
COLIN: One or two, with luck.
JOHN: How many women do you suppose have loved only their husbands?
FRANKIE: All of them. There may be just one or two who haven’t.
MARGARET: You’re an optimist.
JOHN: Anyhow, there are more of them every day; it’s a matter of
mathematics.
GWEN: What _do_ you mean?
JOHN: Decent men don’t pick up girls off the streets. They love decent
women. But if decent men love decent women--where are the decent women?
All over the place.
COLIN: If you had the rearranging of the world to-morrow what would you
_do_?
MARGARET: I’m going home.
GWEN: Not for a minute. Go on, John. What would you _do_?
COLIN: A minute to recreate the world, John. Hurry up.
JOHN: It comes down to a question of personal responsibility. When
outside rules go, inside rules have got to take their places.
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: I mean, life was probably fairly simple to the early Victorian
girl. She was brought up entirely without any sex in her life, waiting
for a man to marry her. Anything else was so unthinkable that she
didn’t think about it. The rules of her conduct were imposed from
without. She had no decisions to make. So she didn’t worry. It’s
different now.
GWEN: It is.
JOHN: She’s got no respect for the outside rules; she’s got to find her
inside ones. She _is_ worrying. Whether you like it or not, she is. A
great deal. Talking, thinking, deciding. Not always as her elders would
like. But there are some fine people among ’em; they’ll do the devil of
a lot to make a better world.
GWEN: I hope that’s true.
MARGARET: They’re claiming a good deal more out of life.
JOHN: Why shouldn’t they?
GWEN: Hear, hear!
COLIN: You’re a dangerous influence, young man.
JOHN: To you old men; I hope so; you’ve been damned dangerous to us!
FRANKIE: If Religion’s going to have nothing to do with your new world,
what is?
JOHN: You’re mixing up religion and the Church. There’s got to be a
religious spirit; that’s essential; I mean the spirit that makes you
strive to do the best with your life. I believe some young people
to-day want to live according to their beliefs with a sincerity that’s
religious--anyhow it’s causing nearly as much trouble.
COLIN: A lot of conscientious consenters, that’s what you are.
GWEN: Now let’s be _personal_.
JOHN: Go ahead.
MARGARET: Must we!
FRANKIE: _You_ needn’t talk.
MARGARET: Needn’t! But I did.
GWEN: I know I’m sick of living at home; I know I’m sick of living
alone. The obvious way out is to get married. But I don’t see how I can
ever be certain of wanting to live all alone with the same person for
the rest of my life.
COLIN: When you’re in love, you’ll know all right.
JOHN: That’s easy to say when you’re forty.
COLIN: You’re being very unpleasant to me to-night.
JOHN: I agree with Gwen. Nobody can know until they’ve tried.
GWEN: What d’you mean, “tried”?
COLIN: Oh, my God, where’s a drink?
[_He gets up to help himself to one._
JOHN: Frankie, it’s been on the tip of my tongue during these last
months to ask you where you wanted to go most in all the world: and
then to ask you to come with me there, straight away.
GWEN: What fun! Would you have gone?
FRANKIE: Of course not.
GWEN: I don’t see why. A sort of trial affair.
JOHN: No, Gwen. Much more respectable than that. Not a trial “affair.”
A trial marriage. We should have gone definitely to find out whether we
were suited for life.
FRANKIE: That would have been all very nice for _you_!
JOHN: You flatter yourself. It might have been nice for you, too!
FRANKIE: Supposing you’d taken me away and left me--where should I be
then?
COLIN (_with his drink_): That depends where you went to.
GWEN: Answer, John.
JOHN: If we parted it would mean it wasn’t successful. It would be a
very good thing for both of us that we weren’t tied up for life.
FRANKIE: Anyhow, you’d see a good deal of the world, John!
JOHN: What do you mean?
FRANKIE: You’d always be going away with different people all over the
place.
JOHN: This is becoming too personal.
FRANKIE: You began it.
JOHN: Somebody asked me to rearrange the world; and I’m doing it. I
certainly wouldn’t sweep away all existing marriage laws all at once----
COLIN: When are we coming to what you _would_ do?
JOHN: I should go all out for a much larger tolerance; I should allow
certain special relationships, _within_ the present system, to be open
and decent and honourable.
FRANKIE: There _is_ something else.
GWEN: What?
FRANKIE: ... It’s difficult to say.
COLIN: Good heavens! Somebody’s found something they can’t say. It must
be awful.
GWEN: Go on, Frankie.
FRANKIE: Well--if you go away with somebody--and it’s a failure, and
you part, for the girl it’s not just as you were, is it?
JOHN: No. I see what you mean ... it seems to me, chastity is a thing
nobody has any right to inflict upon anybody else.
GWEN: Hear hear.
JOHN: It may be fine when it’s undertaken from real personal belief,
but it’s not worth tuppence when it’s meant a tremendous effort of
starvation that achieves nothing but starvation.
MARGARET: You know a lot of girls are quite tranquil and untouched by
all this, until it’s thrust under their noses.
FRANKIE: That’s it. That’s where you’re so wrong, John. You don’t save
girls from trouble, you _make_ it for them.
GWEN: Quite a lot _aren’t_ tranquil. It’s wicked to keep people from
love, when you needn’t.
JOHN: Surely you have to deal with every case on its merits. When I
have a daughter----
FRANKIE: When you have a daughter, you won’t be talking like this.
JOHN: I shall want my daughter to be happily married; _and this is the
real answer to you, Frankie_. If you want a happy, lasting marriage,
the love-making part of it has got to be successful.
MARGARET: Yes.
JOHN: It’s fundamental. Bed-rock. The rock on which most marriages
split, and up to now it’s been just left to chance ... a girl must
have absolutely no real emotional experience until she’s married. Her
first real experience may alter her whole being, yet by the time she’s
allowed that first experience she must have tied herself up for life.
Now I don’t think that’s merely silly. _I think it’s definitely wrong._
COLIN: I agree with you.
JOHN: Grandpa agrees with me. I must be right.
COLIN: Yes, my child, but I think you’ve got to be extremely careful
over this experimenting business of yours.
JOHN: Why?
COLIN: You’ve got the artistic temperament, God help you. Most people
haven’t. The majority of ordinary respectable human beings just want
quiet, uneventful, peaceful lives.
FRANKIE: Yes.
COLIN: You can just as easily wreck people’s happiness by persuading
them to go experimenting all over the place, as by denying them the
right to do it.
GWEN: Don’t just say “Don’t, don’t, don’t.” That’s negative ... a
denial of things. We can’t live by that.
COLIN: My dear--Miss Freeman, I’m not denying the years of adventure,
as John calls them. Anyhow, they’ll remain for a good many, whatever
we say. But when it comes to arranging a new system, keep adventure
for adventure’s sake for the unfortunate artistic people. They’ll
hurt themselves. And make a song about it. But if ordinary people
get into the habit of fluttering from experience to experience they
damned easily lose the stability or the capacity for happiness. And
undisturbed love between two people is the highest happiness.
GWEN: But supposing you don’t find it, or make a mistake the first time?
COLIN: I’m not denying the right of the ordinary person to experiment,
but it ought to be for the definite object of discovering a true lover,
and making a lasting marriage.
JOHN: And if you help people to find their real mates, and when they’ve
made a mistake, help them out of it quietly and decently, you’ll have
many more happy marriages and much less beastliness.
COLIN: Yes, I agree.
MARGARET (_rising_): Well, I’m glad we’ve settled _that_!! Now I’m
going home. Good night, Gwen.
GWEN: Good night.
MARGARET (_to FRANKIE_): Good night ... don’t think me an abandoned
woman----
FRANKIE: I don’t.
MARGARET: Good night, John.
JOHN: I’ll come down.
COLIN: Got a cigarette, John?
JOHN: There’s a new box on the table by the bed.
[_COLIN goes into the bedroom._
MARGARET (_at the door_): It _is_ dark.
GWEN: I’ll put on the light; it’s just at the bottom of the stairs.
[_They both disappear._
JOHN (_alone with FRANKIE_): Please ... will you forgive me?
FRANKIE: I hope you’ll find someone and be very happy.
JOHN: I hope you will, too.
[_COLIN comes back into the room._
FRANKIE: Good night, Mr. Mackenzie.
COLIN: Good night.
JOHN: I’m just going to see Margaret out.
[_He follows FRANKIE from the room. COLIN alone. GWEN returns._
COLIN: Hullo!
GWEN: Hullo!
COLIN: I’m glad you’ve come back.
GWEN: Are you?
COLIN: I suppose you wouldn’t care to come for a walk with me to-morrow
afternoon?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: Where can we go in an afternoon?
GWEN: Anywhere.
COLIN: If I came for you in a car about ten, we might get down to the
sea and back in time to dress for dinner and the ballet.
GWEN: That would be lovely.
COLIN: Will you be ready at ten?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: Ten o’clock then, to-morrow morning.
[_JOHN comes back._
COLIN: I’ll be getting along. Don’t come down. Good night, John.
JOHN: Good night.
COLIN (_to GWEN_): Good night.
GWEN: Good night.
[_COLIN goes._
JOHN: I wish they’d stayed. We might have had a decent talk! I’m going
to do some work.
GWEN: I’m going to bed.
[_As she goes, she takes an enormous handful of cigarettes from the
new box which COLIN had brought in from the bedroom._
JOHN (_noticing_): Have a cigarette?
GWEN: No, thanks. I don’t smoke. Good night, dear.
JOHN: Good night. Bless you.
[_GWEN goes. JOHN settled down in a comfortable chair to a book, he
gets up to find sheets of manuscript paper, a pipe and tobacco, and
throws the lot down beside the chair, and gets into it again ... his
father comes into the room._
MR. FREEMAN: There you are.
JOHN: Yes?
MR. FREEMAN: There’s just one thing I want to say to you to-night.
JOHN: Yes?
MR. FREEMAN: Not a _word_ of all this business to your sister.
CURTAIN
END OF ACT II
ACT III
ACT III
DOWNSTAIRS AGAIN
_A week later. MR. and MRS. FREEMAN have just finished tea. She is
sewing; he is moving about._
MR. FREEMAN: There’s going to be a first-class row in this house this
afternoon. A first-class _row_.... Is he up there?
MRS. FREEMAN: I think so.
MR. FREEMAN: Having tea?
MRS. FREEMAN: It’s Florence’s day out. He has his tea down here on
Thursdays.
MR. FREEMAN (_at the speaking-tube_): Hullo!... John! _Is that you?_
Are you up there!... What d’you mean “_No!?_”... I want a word with
you.... When you’ve had your tea.... Yes; it’s waiting. (_He comes away
from the tube._) I’ll teach him to be funny!
MRS. FREEMAN: Is he coming down?
MR. FREEMAN: Yes. (_He paces again_) ... came like a thunderbolt; this
afternoon was absolutely the first I’d heard of it.... I’ve a good
mind to pop round and see Frankie, or her father; shouldn’t stay; be
back here before he’s finished his tea; ... a week ago; never a word
to anyone; a week--I didn’t tell you all about that evening; that girl
up in his room; when I went in there she was ... well, never mind--and
then this morning, he walks into my office, as calm as you like, and
informs me, if you please, he does not intend to marry Frankie....
And that’s not all. Oh no. Not by any means. He’s going to leave the
business.... Leave it ... throw the whole thing up.
MRS. FREEMAN: What did _you_ say?
MR. FREEMAN: I’m not quite sure. But whatever I said, it’s nothing to
what I’m going to say! I’ve had about as much as I’m going to put up
with!... It’s such a dam’ bad influence on Gwen, too.... D’you realise
she’s only been in to dinner once this week?
MRS. FREEMAN: Twice.
MR. FREEMAN: Once.
MRS. FREEMAN: Wednesday and Sunday.
MR. FREEMAN: Oh yes. Sunday. Well, twice.... Where’s she been?
MRS. FREEMAN: Out with Mr. ... Mr. ... John’s friend.
MR. FREEMAN: The playwriting feller.
MRS. FREEMAN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: What! Every night?
MRS. FREEMAN: I think so.
MR. FREEMAN: I ask you!
MRS. FREEMAN: He seems a very nice man.
MR. FREEMAN: Does he?! I don’t care how nice he is, when it comes to
taking my daughter out six times a week!
MRS. FREEMAN: Five times.
MR. FREEMAN: I’ve had enough. That’s what it amounts to. And my
foot’s coming down--pretty hard. (_He goes to speaking-tube again._)
Hullo.... I want to see you; when you’ve had your tea; ... you’re not
going out? very well; when you’ve had your tea. (_He replaces the
tube._) I think I _will_ just look round and see Frankie; and the old
man, if he’s in; shan’t stay; because I’m coming back to talk to John
... a fine old rumpus; that’s what there’s going to be; back almost
directly.
[_He goes out. Alone, MRS. FREEMAN sews a few stitches; then rises,
presses a bell, and returns to her sewing.... ROSIE enters._
MRS. FREEMAN: Make a fresh pot of tea for Mr. John.
[_ROSIE fetches the teapot from the tray, and is retiring with it.
At the door, she is stopped by MRS. FREEMAN’S voice._
Rosie!... Is anything the matter?
ROSIE: No’m.
[_She goes out. Alone, MRS. FREEMAN sews.... GWEN comes in._
GWEN: Is he having tea upstairs?
MRS. FREEMAN: No.
GWEN: Oh, it’s Thursday.
MRS. FREEMAN: Did you have a nice lunch?
GWEN: Yes.
MRS. FREEMAN: Was it with Mr. ... Mr. ... John’s friend?
GWEN: He’s got a good many friends.
MRS. FREEMAN: Yes; but you know the one I mean--his special one.
GWEN: I lunched with Colin Mackenzie.
MRS. FREEMAN: Oh yes; that’s it: Mackenzie. I never can remember. It’s
such a difficult name. Nothing to get hold of. If it was Mackintosh ...
rain or toffee; _Mackenzie_ ... Mackenzie ... he seems a very nice man.
GWEN: Not bad.
MRS. FREEMAN (_rising_): I’ve ordered some fresh tea. I’m going into
the drawing-room. (_At the door._) You’ll be in to dinner to-night?
GWEN: Yes.
MRS. FREEMAN: You won’t be going out at all?
GWEN: No.
MRS. FREEMAN: I’m glad.
[_She goes.... GWEN crosses to the speaking-tube, and blows into
it; she gets no answer; while she is doing this, ROSIE returns with
the teapot. As she puts it down, she gives a sudden little sob._
GWEN (_gently; but without surprise_): Don’t cry.
ROSIE: I can’t ’elp it.
GWEN: Would you mind if I told Mr. John?
ROSIE: If you wants to.
[_JOHN comes in._
JOHN: Hullo, Gwen.... Have they had their tea, Rosie?
[_ROSIE, being unable to answer, nods, and then sobs. JOHN looks
enquiringly from her to GWEN._
ROSIE: Go on. Tell ’im.
GWEN: Rosie’s going to have a baby.
ROSIE (_utterly pitiful_): It’s about finished me.
GWEN (_to her brother_): We can help, can’t we?
JOHN: Of course.
ROSIE (_with sudden unexpected vigour; turning on him_): It’s all very
well for _you_!
JOHN (_taken aback_): Rosie!
ROSIE: Standin’ there _talkin’_!
JOHN: But, Rosie.
ROSIE: It’s all _your_ fault, anyhow!
JOHN: _My_ fault!
ROSIE: Yes.
JOHN: _Mine?_
ROSIE: Yes, yours.
GWEN: Oh, John!
JOHN: Rosie, what _do_ you mean?
ROSIE: I’d never of done it, if it ’adn’t been for _you_. I’ve _’eard_
yer. _Talkin’!_... “What ’arm is there in it?” “Why shouldn’t a girl
’ave a good time?” Next time you tell her that, you tell ’er what’ll
’appen to ’er.
JOHN: ... Is he anybody you could marry?
ROSIE: ’E’s married.
JOHN: Oh!
ROSIE: I’m frightened. I am, straight. (_She stares at them, in vague
terror._) You’re ’elpless; you know what I mean: you go into the next
room, and it’s everywhere; you can’t get away from it. (_Her look seems
to hypnotise them; they can find no words. She continues:_) It’s bad
enough when you’re married, and ’ave a ’usband to look after yer; and
yer mother’s pleased.... I can’t never tell my mother. I can’t tell
nobody.
GWEN: You’ve told us.
ROSIE: Oh, it’s all right for _you_, miss--_you_ don’t know. You can’t
do nothing. I went to a chemist w’ot ’e told me of--a long way off it
was, on a tram--and they as good as kicked me out. Then I goes to a
doctor; I ’as to go alone. I rings the bell, and the man w’ot opened
the door, ’e looked at me--’e seemed to know; and the doctor said ’e
couldn’t do nothing. It’s finished me.
JOHN: Let’s go upstairs. We’ll be quieter there.
ROSIE: I’ve got t’go and ’elp cook. That Florence is out.
JOHN: As soon as you can get off will you come upstairs?
ROSIE: Yes. (_She hesitates. Then:_) ... I’m sorry--what I said. It’s
kind o’ yer; then, you’re _kind_ all right ... and if you’re a bit orf,
you can’t ’elp it; I mean, you can’t really _know_--can yer?... It’s an
awful thing to ’appen to anyone ... you gets to ’ate yerself.
GWEN: Oh no. (_She adds, rather lightly to help:_) After all, it might
happen to any of us.
ROSIE (_fiercely_): Don’t you never let it ’appen to _you_, miss.
You take care you _’as_ ’im, safe, ’e’ll marry yer, before you does
anything. Me! I lied awake all last night. Throw myself in the
river--that’s about what I’m fit for now.
GWEN: Rosie!
ROSIE: Well, other girls do, don’t they? Nobody couldn’t blame me then;
p’r’aps they’d be sorry.... ’Ere, I must get. That old cook’ll be after
me. She’s a one. Work’s something; stops yer thinkin’.
JOHN: As soon as you’re finished, you’ll come back.
ROSIE: Yes, sir.
JOHN (_gently but firmly_): Now, look here, Rosie; you’ve told us and
you’re not alone any more. And we’re going to stand by you and see you
safe. See? Whatever happens, we’ll see you safe right through and out
the other side.
ROSIE: It’s kind o’ yer.
JOHN: ’Tisn’t. We’re just all in the world together; that’s all....
You’re coming back as soon as you can get away from cook.
ROSIE (_with a ghost of a smile, as she goes_): That cook! She’s a one!
[_When she is gone, there is a short silence. Then:_
GWEN: It must be awful.
JOHN: Does this frighten you?
GWEN: It’s a bit of a red light.
JOHN: How?
GWEN: Well ... you’ve got to remember when you talk about all this, it
_does_ happen to people. It happened to the eldest Gillingham girl....
I didn’t know much about it; but she had the most terrible time.... You
can imagine ... what Rosie said--_helpless_ ... awful. (_She thinks for
a while; then her eyes, wandering, light on the tea-things._) Do you
want some tea?
JOHN: Yes ... thanks.
[_GWEN pours out his tea and gives it to him; and pours out her own
and, sitting, stirs it, reflectively. These two are very fond of one
another, and at ease together; there is a quality of gentleness in
their bearing to each other._
GWEN: ... It doesn’t frighten me ... really ... not if you stop to
think ... you needn’t have a baby, need you?
JOHN: Nearly everybody, in our class, limits their families.
GWEN: If you make up your mind it’s not wrong to love without having
children, it’s awfully _weak_ to change your mind just because someone
else has one by mistake, isn’t it?
JOHN: That’s true.
GWEN: But, Jacko ... you know ... all the same ... the people who are
against you would pick on Rosie; they’d say, there’s a girl with her
life ruined, and her baby’s life ruined; and if you had your way,
there’d be more and more like her....
JOHN: Fools!!
GWEN: Yes, but what’s the answer, Jacko?
[_She speaks, and listens, always, with a simple direct eagerness for
understanding, and points of view._
JOHN: The answer!
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: ... Well ... in the first place: there are plenty of Roses, now,
aren’t there?
GWEN: I suppose so.
JOHN: Thousands. The streets are strewn with their petals; and the
winds that strew them, blow out of unhappy homes.
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: Out of unsuccessful marriages; and lonely separations. They can’t
boast such a success with their Roses, as things _are_.
GWEN: No.
JOHN: And in the second place, if Rosie’d been _your_ daughter, or
mine, she’d have had a different education about it all.... Wouldn’t
she?
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: What Rosie knows, she knows from cinemas, and giggling talks with
other girls and occasional young men. Whatever “teaching” she’s had,
has been just _Don’t_.
GWEN: Yes. Just “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t; it’s wicked,” all the time.
JOHN: Exactly; about its real possibilities, and its real dangers,
she knew nothing; and along comes this man; and over she goes!... If
she’d belonged to us, she’d have known what she was doing; either she
wouldn’t have had an affair with this man at all--he’s apparently left
her in the lurch--or, if it was a thing of real value in their lives,
she wouldn’t have had a child; unless she wanted it; and was prepared
to face up to the whole business.
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: And in the third place, now that it _has_ happened, half her
trouble is her _fear_; the disgrace of it. If instead of cursing her,
and blaming her, and pushing her away, people would help her, it
wouldn’t be so very terrible.
GWEN: There’s her baby....
JOHN: Gwen; an epileptic woman in a slum can have twelve children by a
confirmed drunkard. Which is worse? That; or this baby of Rosie’s? But
as long as it’s in “holy matrimony,” people can have dozens of children
with no earthly chance of looking after them--and your moralists make
no objection; but they’ll torture young Rosie till she thinks of
suicide.... The whole question of children--I’m sure it’s a matter of
_clear thinking_. It’s so damned important we should think clearly....
Love between two people is a personal relationship.
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: I can’t see that anybody has a right to interfere.
GWEN: No.
JOHN: But as soon as you have a child, it’s more than personal; it’s a
social relationship.
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: And the Law oughtn’t to be concerned with the personal side of it
at all; but with the social--with the obligations to the children.
GWEN: Yes.... What would you do about children in your trial marriages?
JOHN: There oughtn’t to be any; not until they’ve set out to be
permanent.
[_Up to this point the talk has been quiet; they have been helping
themselves, and each other, to their teas._
[_Now, JOHN is impelled from within to move. His own convictions,
with the sense of a world in opposition, trouble him; his sentences
jerk out: all underlined, as it were._
JOHN: But it’s just because as many permanent happy marriages as
possible seems the best way it’s so damned important for people to
make a good choice ... with full knowledge ... and so, with a real
hope of being lasting and happy; and to help them _out_ when they’ve
made a mistake ... it wouldn’t be so difficult if people would be
open-minded and sane about it ... people just point out difficulties
and dangers, and think they’ve smashed our case ... of course there’d
be difficulties and unhappiness; love’s not simple ... but look at it
all _now_. That’s what they forget. Look at it _now_....
When one thinks of the Prejudices, and Intolerance; of all the
_Righteousness_ that stands between us and a happier world, it drives
one mad.... Have you walked through a slum lately?
GWEN: No.
JOHN: I did; yesterday; ... thousands of babies rolling about in filth;
and you only see them outside, where at least there’s a square inch of
open sky above them.
Think of them inside. Whole families in one room. The mothers and
fathers, growing brothers and sisters, and new-born babies; all
together; day and night; in every city in the civilised world.... Think
of it, for a moment ... _intimately_.... Good God! Talk about leading
little children astray. A civilisation that tolerates it ought to have
a millstone round its neck; ... as a matter of fact, it has; the thing
itself is a millstone; dragging us down; fast.
GWEN: How?
JOHN: How! Why: if anybody has the quality to rise out of it, he gets
on at his job, marries above him and doesn’t have children. The worst
are pouring out children, the best are more or less barren.
GWEN: But, John, if the worst are increasing so much the fastest,
things may get worse and worse.
JOHN: Of course.
GWEN: Then why doesn’t somebody _do_ something!
JOHN: For various reasons.
GWEN: What?
JOHN: Religion doesn’t do anything because it thinks Birth Control
wicked. Big Business doesn’t do anything, because it wants cheap
Labour; the Governments don’t do anything because they want soldiers
for the next war.
GWEN: The next war!
JOHN: The next war.
GWEN: Jacko, do you think there is going to be a next war?
JOHN: Who’s going to stop it? We’re all arming again as fast as we
can go. Submarines and aeroplanes; blockade and starvation; bombs and
poison gas from the air that’ll exterminate whole cities at a go! (_He
is speaking with great emphasis._) D’you realise one of the leading
scientists of the world has said that the millions of London could be
blotted out in three hours! You may say that’s an exaggeration; it may
be; but at the rate science is going it won’t be in a few years. “Easy
and inexpensive”--that’s what a Cabinet Minister said about poison
gas; and they’re all making it; as fast as they can go; and fleets of
aeroplanes to drop it.
GWEN: Do you mean that the children I may have, or you may have, may be
just wiped out in another war, more terrible than the last?
JOHN: Why not? When nations are armed to the teeth, the arms go off,
sooner or later. It always has been so; there’s no reason why it should
be any different now; unless there was a change of spirit; and there’s
no sign of that. Why should there be? The old ideas are still in power;
all over the world; the very same men mostly; you see, _they_ survive
wars!
GWEN: But can’t _we_ do something? Why should we have children for that?
JOHN: My dear, they laugh at _us_. And at anybody else who suggests
they aren’t wisdom incarnate ... unless we ever became effective
against them; then they’d find a way of downing us. You’ve only got to
read the newspapers: speeches by generals, and admirals--and bishops;
threatenings by politicians; in every country; the old financial
interests at work under it all; and the great mass of the people, in
every country, struggling all day just to exist, absolutely incapable
of independent thought, and ready to believe what any newspaper tells
them three days running.
GWEN: John! ... if it’s like that, what’s the good of anything! It
doesn’t seem worth going on, or trying.
JOHN: Oh yes, it’s worth it. If the smash comes the few ideals that are
left will float upward, and have some influence on what comes next.
Something’s got to come next!... Men _could_ free themselves from war.
GWEN: Could they?
JOHN: And from all the other forces that make them suffer so. They’re
not natural forces; they’re forces men have made.
GWEN: Then why don’t they?
JOHN: ... And it isn’t for want of courage or nobility.
GWEN: Then why?
JOHN: There’s no _will_ to do it, and that’s because there’s no
understanding.... I often think, now, of being in the trenches.
GWEN: Do you?
JOHN: There was a joy in it; at first, anyhow.
GWEN: _You_ say that!
JOHN: Comradeship.
GWEN: The friends you made....
JOHN: No. The strangers on the road, day and night, at the same task;
one’s rest and play only to give one strength for it; a _purpose_ that
gave meaning to every moment.
GWEN: Oh, Jacko, something in me leaps to that.
JOHN: For five years the men under forty worked together, sacrificed
everything they had in life, every hope, prospect, comfort; they
underwent suffering, physical suffering and moral suffering, absolutely
inconceivable to those who stayed at home, so that to give their lives
at the end of it was often a relief ... and they won! By God, Gwen, if
the men over forty with the money and the power would get together and
work _one-twentieth_ as well, and sacrifice _one-hundredth_ of their
personal comfort, what mightn’t they make of the victory--but they
won’t! They won’t, because they see no reason why they should. They’ve
got no _faith_ to make them. They’ve got nothing great to _believe
in_.... To-day, the wisest of men are cynical, and the cleverest are
rich, and none are happy.... There’s no great purpose outside our own
lives to give them harmony and meaning. Ask the ordinary people, in
the streets, and tubes, and ’buses ... what they’re living _for_; they
don’t know.... All the old _duties_--our duty to our parents; to our
country; to God; they’ve been prostituted; they demanded our blood; and
took it; and gave us nothing in return but a dreadful sense of futility
... we’ve got to find something truer to believe in....
GWEN: Can we find something?
JOHN: I believe so.
GWEN: What?
JOHN: ... Why not, just ... our duty to our fellows.... Suppose we all
started in with that as a _Religion_; with half the will we went to
war; a common purpose so deeply felt that everybody was ready to spend
their lives for it, and make any sacrifices that were called for; I’d
be a parson if that was religion, teaching that common purpose--just
to clear up the mess a bit; so that the generation that’s waiting just
outside the doors of existence, should come in and find it a happier
place; it ’ud be a dam’ sight happier place for those in it _now_,
anyhow! and we’d soon do away with any fear of another war; that ’ud be
something.
GWEN: John, do you think there’s a hope?
JOHN: There’s always hope--in the young people.
GWEN: Do you believe that?
JOHN: What other hope is there? There are millions and millions waiting
to be born; they haven’t got all the prejudices and hatreds that cause
the trouble; they get ’em from us; we’ve got to give ’em something
better.
GWEN: And shall we?
JOHN: If we don’t, they’ll go through all the hell that we’ve been
through, probably a worse hell than anything we’ve known yet--in
this country, anyhow--and then their children, and their children’s
children, will try again.
GWEN: But _now_! Can’t we do anything now?
JOHN: I don’t know.
GWEN: We ought to try.
JOHN: That’s what I feel. That’s why I’m chucking the business.
GWEN: What are you going to do?
JOHN: Follow my urge! That’s all I can do.
GWEN: What’s that mean?
JOHN: I’ve got a few hundred pounds in the bank; and I’m selling my
piano, and everything else I can. I’m going to write; and think and
read; and get into touch with any others I can, who feel as we do.
GWEN: Yes. What are you going to write?
JOHN: I want to try and write something for the ordinary sort of
person, who’s just lost and discontented. There _are_ some.
GWEN: Heaps and heaps.
JOHN: That might be my job; it’s not much; when one talks of _doing_,
what can one _do_, oneself, seems so inadequate. But it would have been
a poor excuse before a tribunal: “I’m not going to join up.” “Why?” “I
don’t see myself winning the war single-handed” ... plenty only stopped
a bullet going into something else. I may only encourage somebody else
to do something.
GWEN: You’re lucky having something you know you ought to do. I wish I
had.
JOHN: You have!
GWEN: What?
JOHN: There’s one way all our lot can help: it’s probably the best way,
too.
GWEN: What is it?
JOHN: To live by what you believe, which is difficult ... and not by
what you don’t believe, which is easy.
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: If you can, you’re a fanatic! But I believe you’ve got to have
something of a fanatic in you to do anything worth while these days.
The thing is to keep one’s fanaticism, and to keep one’s humanity.
GWEN: Jacko! It _is_ important to live what you believe, isn’t it?
JOHN: _I_ think so; tremendously; I think, if this generation misses
its opportunity, _which it may_, it’s because we’ve lost the old
beliefs and haven’t taken the trouble to get a new one for ourselves.
GWEN: Yes. Oh, there are such heaps of people “lost and discontented”;
I know such heaps of girls like that. They just don’t know where they
are; they make an awful mess of things sometimes.
JOHN: You do, if you don’t know where you are. You know, if we’re not
careful, there’ll be a period of aimless licence, and then reaction.
It’s a critical time all right. A puritan reaction; and all the old
inhibitions and denials and secrecies _clamped down_ on our children
again.
GWEN: It makes everything seem unimportant except doing one’s bit;
doesn’t it?
JOHN: Yes.
GWEN: It’s funny that just when I’m beginning to feel like that, there
_is_ something in my life that’s important.
JOHN: What?
GWEN: You won’t laugh!
JOHN: Of course not.
GWEN: I only wish it didn’t seem so important ... you won’t laugh?
JOHN: You’ll get a clump on the head in a minute, if you keep on asking
me not to laugh ... what is it?
GWEN: I’m in love.
JOHN: Colin?
GWEN: Oh damn! Is it so obvious?
JOHN: ’Tisn’t obvious a bit; up to a second ago I hadn’t a notion; but
you’ve seen a good deal of him these last two weeks, haven’t you?
GWEN: He’s taken me out nearly every day; theatres and dinners; I’ve
never had such a time.
JOHN: Does he love you?
GWEN: I don’t think so; I don’t think he cares a bit more for me than
for all the others he takes about. I’m a fool! I dread every time I
see him in case I should find out it’s no good; but every time he goes
away, life’s just waiting for the next time I see him!
JOHN: Are you sure?
GWEN: _Sure?_ How?
JOHN: That you love him?
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: Enough to marry him?
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: By jove, Gwen, I’d like you to.
GWEN (_brokenly_): Oh, Jacko....
[_A knock at the door._
JOHN: Come in.... Hullo, Colin!
COLIN (_coming in_): Hullo.... Hullo, Gwen. Good afternoon.
JOHN: Have some tea? It’s quite cold.
COLIN: No, thanks.
GWEN: I’ll make some in a moment.
COLIN: You’ve had yours....
GWEN (_rising_): I’ll make some more.
COLIN: No. Don’t you go.... (_To JOHN._) Can _you_ make tea?
JOHN: Yes.
COLIN: I’ll have some if _you_ make it.
JOHN: I don’t make it in this house; I don’t know where the things are
kept.
COLIN: Well, could you go and buy some cigarettes?
JOHN: I’ve got some!
COLIN: Could you run out and post a letter?
JOHN (_with a grin_): I haven’t got any to post!
COLIN: Then go out into the street, and go up to the first person you
meet, and ask them to teach you to take a hint.
JOHN: You want to be left alone!
COLIN: You’re very bright this afternoon.
[_JOHN goes straight out of the room.... A sudden silence falls....
COLIN takes out his cigarette-case, and helps himself to one; and
puts it back ... and takes it out again._
I beg your pardon ... will you?
GWEN: No, thanks.
[_He puts it back, and lights his cigarette ... the silence grows
again._
GWEN: I think I will.
[_He takes out his case; she takes a cigarette, and he lights it for
her._
COLIN: ... lovely day it’s been.
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN (_suddenly_): _I say, Gwen!_----
[_A knock at the door._
Come in.
JOHN: Sorry! It’s raining! I’ll be upstairs. Give me a blow when I can
come down.
COLIN: Seems a bit changeable!!
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN (_throwing away his cigarette, he starts again with the same
suddenness of tone_): _Gwen!_... What would you say if I asked you to
marry me?
GWEN: ... are you being serious?
COLIN: Yes.
[_He comes quickly to her where she is sitting; he speaks crisply._
I want to kneel down, but I can’t. Stand up.
[_She does. They are standing close ... they remain so for a moment,
and then kiss._
COLIN: Then it’s all right?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: Thank God. I wish I’d said this days ago.
GWEN: So do I.
COLIN: Do you?
GWEN: No I don’t. I don’t want anything to be different. Oh, Colin,
you’ve taken such a load off my mind!...
COLIN (_roughly_): Come here!
[_He takes her and kisses her again; they part; he strides away from
her._
Oh my God! I am happy! (_His eyes fall on the tea-tray._) Have some
cold tea?
[_She shakes her head; he pours himself out some._
My throat’s as dry as a bone. (_He drinks._) Come to dinner to-night?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: And to-morrow?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: And lunch?
GWEN: You’re lunching with someone.
COLIN: I’ll put ’em off.
GWEN: You oughtn’t to.
COLIN: Yes, I ought.
GWEN: I’m so glad you will.
COLIN: Oh, my dear!--it’s difficult to talk sense. Let’s try. I don’t
want to wait. Do you?
GWEN: I don’t think I could.
COLIN: When shall we get married?
GWEN: Not yet.
COLIN: But we don’t want to wait.
GWEN: No.
COLIN: Then what do you mean?
GWEN: Don’t let’s get married yet.
COLIN: Oh don’t let’s have any more of that _rot_! (_And, because his
nerves are on edge, he makes it sound more explosive than he meant.
Realising, he adds, mitigatingly:_) I mean, it may be all right when
you’re not serious, but when you are, it’s no good.
GWEN: It’s not “rot” to me.
COLIN: Well--perhaps not; but _we_ needn’t be mixed up in it.
GWEN: Leave it to somebody else.
COLIN: Yes! pray God, yes! Look here, I love you. Please understand
that. Quite certainly. With everything in me, for always.
GWEN (_very gently, to herself_): Oh, Colin!
COLIN: I’ve been very lonely; with everything I wanted--unhappy. You’ve
changed all that. I want everything now, for you.
GWEN (_softly_): It’s a miracle!
COLIN: It’s a fact. But I know what I want; d’you see? ... that’s going
to give me the power to get it--for both of us. All this experimenting
business. It’s no good. I’ve finished with it!
GWEN: You’ve _finished_ with it!
COLIN: Yes.
[_She gives a little laugh._
COLIN: Now, look here, Gwen; people who _shilly-shally_ round and get
someone in their lives, and then look round and wonder whether someone
else wouldn’t give them a fuller life! I’ve no use for it. I know a
good deal about life.
GWEN: You mean you’ve had a lot of ... of lovers?
COLIN: You know that. I don’t want to pretend. Not an abnormal amount!
Nothing out of the ordinary, but _because_ this isn’t new to me, I
haven’t a doubt. This thing’s permanent. I _know_.
GWEN: It’s all new to me.
COLIN: Can’t you trust me?
GWEN: To teach me love. Yes.
COLIN: Gwen, I’ve seen my children in your eyes.
GWEN (_with a little cry_): Oh, why did you say that? You know I want
them, too; but not yet.
COLIN: My dear love; if you want to see life, or the world, a bit
first--of course--there’s nowhere you can’t go; nothing you can’t have
for the asking; I’m going to give the rest of my life to give you
everything you want.
GWEN: I only want you.
COLIN: That’s all right then. Now; when are we going to get married?...
[_She is silent._
Has John been putting you up to this?
GWEN: To what?
COLIN: This refusing-to-marry stunt!
GWEN: No.
COLIN: Yes; he has; you’ve been listening to him.
GWEN: Well, why not?
COLIN: Why not?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: Because ... because I won’t stand for it!
GWEN: You won’t stand for it?
COLIN: No. Why should I? Your head’s full of his stuff.
GWEN: It’s full of his stuff because I believe it’s true.
COLIN: Oh, damn it all, Gwen; what d’you believe’s true?
GWEN: I believe with all my soul to marry you now, straight off, would
be a wrong thing to do. (_She is passionately sincere._) Really!
Really! I don’t believe it would be _right_! If I did, it would only be
to save bother. I want to do what’s right. Oh, I can’t talk; I can’t
say what I mean; I feel it; it isn’t only myself ... it’s the others.
COLIN: The others?
GWEN: Yes; we’re supposed to; it isn’t easy to hold out; some girls
are; I want to be on their side; I want to keep hold of my part in the
future; if I give in right at the beginning, how can I ever take any
part, or interest ever again, without being ashamed ... if that’s a
“stunt”; if it’s all “rot” to you ... it’s no good; you’d better go!
COLIN: And you say you love me!
GWEN: Yes; I love you; make no mistake about that. I don’t know what I
shall do, if you go.... I love you so much, I don’t want our first love
to be spoiled by feeling I’m doing wrong.
COLIN: You’re obstinate.
GWEN: I can’t help it.... Oh, Colin, please, don’t you see ... if
_you’re_ certain, it’ll make no difference in the end.
COLIN: Oh, it’ll make a difference all right!
GWEN: What difference?
COLIN: It’s going to be very unpleasant for me.
GWEN: If I’m not more important than unpleasantness----
COLIN: Suppose I’m obstinate too; and just as conscientious; and I
don’t want it to be spoiled, and I think we _ought_ to get married.
GWEN: You don’t. You want to avoid unpleasantness.
COLIN: Thanks.
GWEN: It’s true.
COLIN: Suppose it’s a question of doing things my way, or saying
good-bye?
GWEN: Oh no!
COLIN: Yes.
GWEN: Colin! ... if I gave in, I shouldn’t be any _good_ to you;
something in me would die.
COLIN: I’ll risk that.
GWEN: I can’t give in.
COLIN: My way, or saying good-bye.
GWEN: Oh, Colin.
COLIN: ... Well?
GWEN: Colin!----
[_MR. FREEMAN enters. He has hurried and is in a temper anyhow,
which is not improved by finding “that feller” alone with his
daughter._
MR. FREEMAN: Oh!... Where’s John?
GWEN: He went out.
MR. FREEMAN: Where to?
GWEN: I don’t know.
MR. FREEMAN: He’s got no business to go out. I want to speak to him. I
told him I wanted to speak to him.
[_A whistle from the speaking-tube._
That’s probably him.
[_GWEN has gone to answer. She takes the receiver and speaks._
GWEN: Hullo!
MR. FREEMAN (_taking it from her_): Here, give it to me. (_He
listens._) ... Has he _“popped” what_? No. It’s me speaking. _Me._ I
don’t know what you’re talking about. Come down. At once. (_He replaces
the instrument._) ... What the devil did he mean?... Going off his
chump! That’s what’s the matter with him. Off their chumps! That’s
what’s the matter with the whole family.
[_A silence. COLIN and GWEN are hung in mid-air, as it were;
while MR. FREEMAN becomes more and more manifestly oppressed with
their presence._
COLIN: ... Well, I must be getting along.
MR. FREEMAN (_jumping at this_): I’m sorry I can’t ask you to stay.
I’ve got some particular business to discuss with my son.
COLIN: Oh, of course. (_He hesitates awkwardly a moment, and then says,
low, to GWEN:_) Will you come and have dinner to-night?
GWEN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN (_catching this_): What’s that?
COLIN: I was asking your daughter if she’d dine with me to-night.
MR. FREEMAN: I’m afraid I can’t allow it.
GWEN: Father!
MR. FREEMAN: _That’s enough!_... You’ve been out with Mr. Mackenzie six
times this week. I’m sure Mr. Mackenzie’s man-of-the-world enough to
realise that’s unusual.
GWEN: I’m over twenty-one.
MR. FREEMAN: I can’t help that. You’re in my house; under my charge.
[_JOHN comes in._
Come in. I’ve just had to put my foot down. I’ve forbidden your sister
to go out with Mr. Mackenzie.
JOHN: Forbidden!
MR. FREEMAN: Yes. _Forbidden!_ If I don’t take a strong line, goodness
knows where we shall get to. You young people think you can play
highty-tighty just as you please.... As I say, I’ve no wish to be
offensive to Mr. Mackenzie. It’s very good of him to spend so much
time on her.... Every now and again. Yes. Of course. But six times a
week! The thing becomes ridiculous. (_To COLIN._) I hope you understand
my position.
COLIN: I think perhaps you don’t quite understand _my_ position. I have
asked your daughter to marry me.
MR. FREEMAN: This is the first I’ve heard of it.
COLIN: I only asked her a few minutes ago.
MR. FREEMAN: Well, of course, this does rather alter the aspect of
things.... I don’t know what to say; ’pon my word, you’ve rather taken
the wind out of my sails ... of course, it’s all got to be considered.
I shall want to talk to you ... then, if I approve, and her mother ...
the whole thing wants talking over.
GWEN (_she is very pale, and her teeth are set_): You needn’t talk it
over, thank you. I’ve made up my mind.
MR. FREEMAN: Oh, you have.
GWEN: Yes. I’ve told him I won’t marry him yet. But I’ve told him I’ll
go away with him; and we can get married later; when I know what I’m
doing; if we want to.
MR. FREEMAN (_blankly_): You told him you’d go away with him!
GWEN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: I don’t understand! What d’you mean?
GWEN: What I said: I told him I’d go away with him. I’ll marry him
afterwards when I’m sure.
JOHN (_almost to himself_): Gwen! That’s good!
MR. FREEMAN (_turning fiercely on him_): GOOD!!! What the devil do you
mean--_good_?!!! Really, I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my
heels! (_To COLIN._) What have _you_ got to do with this?
COLIN (_taken aback_): Me?
MR. FREEMAN: Is this the result of six dinners with you?
COLIN (_trying to be dignified_): Certainly not.
MR. FREEMAN: I suppose I can believe my ears. You heard what she said
... she’s already made this outrageous suggestion to you.
COLIN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN: After any encouragement from you?
COLIN: No.
MR. FREEMAN: Do I understand then that you propose to behave like a
gentleman?
COLIN: I’m not quite certain how a gentleman would behave under the
circumstances.
MR. FREEMAN: I’m sorry to hear that.
COLIN: Well, how would _you_ behave?
MR. FREEMAN: Me?
COLIN: Yes. Supposing when you were single, the girl you loved, out
of a sort of access of social duty, had proposed a sort of trial trip
before you were----
MR. FREEMAN: Social fiddle-sticks! When I was a young man the thing was
unthinkable.
GWEN}: But Father!----
}
JOHN}: When you were young, but----
MR. FREEMAN (_turning on his children and shouting_): I _will_ not
argue.
COLIN: I don’t want to argue either; but I think you might answer my
question. What would you do in my place?
MR. FREEMAN: Do! Why, good God, sir, I should tell her to go to the
devil.
COLIN: I’m rather thinking of telling her to do that.
MR. FREEMAN: I’m glad to hear it.
COLIN: Only if she does, I suppose I shall go with her.
[_A very tiny suspicion of a laugh from JOHN is immediately
quashed._
MR. FREEMAN: _Stop that noise!_ Is your sister’s _shame_ a laughing
matter to you?
JOHN (_dangerously_): _Shame?!_
MR. FREEMAN: Yes; that’s what I said--_shame_. It’s time there was a
little plain-speaking in this house!! I don’t know what’s come over
you; both of you. You think you can treat us just as you like; push
us on one side; me, and your mother, and the family; the traditions;
trample on everything we hold sacred. You can’t.
[_The two stand silent, while he looses his wrath against them. To
JOHN:_
You think you can break faith just as you will: you can’t; you throw
over the girl you’ve been engaged to since you were children; and
the same with the business; and never a word ’till this afternoon
... and now this ... this cruel, insane, folly of Gwen’s. A cruel,
thoughtless, insane _wickedness_ that I never thought I should find
in a child of mine. Have you no thought for others--either of you? No
consideration? (_To JOHN._) You’re lazy; that’s what’s the matter with
you. No aim in life. No desire to get on. Dog lazy. And you. (_He turns
on his daughter._) You’re worse. Are you mad? or are you wanton? You
seem to have no thought but for your own pleasure----
JOHN (_going off suddenly, like a bomb_): BE QUIET!!!!
MR. FREEMAN: What the devil?
JOHN: I shall lose my temper in a moment.
MR. FREEMAN: Lose your temper?
JOHN: Yes. I have lost it. I’ve lost it now!! How _dare_ you talk like
that? _How dare you?!?!_
MR. FREEMAN (_shouting_): John!
JOHN (_refusing to be stopped_): It’s no good. It’s got to come out
now. _You_, who sat at home here in comfort all those five years of
hell.
MR. FREEMAN (_bewildered_): Sat at home!
JOHN: You don’t know what I’m talking about! You’ve forgotten. I’ll
tell you. (_He is possessed by an overwhelming rage._) Your generation
has done ours in! Smashed it! Millions! If we were to stand at that
window and they marched past us, they’d march all day, and all night,
and all day again--for days and nights. Dead men. Dead. For what? They
died to end war; to make a better world; and before their corpses
have rotted into earth, new wars are preparing and the world’s a dam’
sight worse--and you? Is there one word of apology in you? One word
of humility? No. The same old pride; and blindness; and intolerance.
Because I don’t want to live as you’ve lived, I’m lazy; because Gwen
wants to live, not exactly as her mother and grandmother lived, she’s
mad or wanton! Good God in Heaven! if there’s one way that’s been
proved wrong it’s your way! If we live exactly as you lived, it’ll all
happen over again!...
[_He comes to a sudden stop. The silence in the room is complete.
He seems to have burnt himself out; and MR. FREEMAN to be knocked
mentally head-over-heels, and to be only partially conscious. JOHN
breaks the silence in a low voice:_
Sorry. I lost my temper. I’ve got it again now.... I was rude. I’m
sorry.... We only ask that you should go your way: and leave us to find
ours. I beg your pardon. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends.
MR. FREEMAN: Friends!
JOHN: Yes.
MR. FREEMAN (_to GWEN_): Do you suppose your mother will ever lift up
her head again?
GWEN: We could be far better friends when she knows.
MR. FREEMAN: Don’t be a fool.
GWEN: We lived in the same house; but we’re strangers.
MR. FREEMAN: Who’s fault’s that?
GWEN: What I believe is part of me, I can’t help that. I couldn’t be
anything but a stranger with anyone from whom I had to hide it. We
could be closer now. If _she_ will. I’ll do my best.
MR. FREEMAN: Rubbish. (_He makes for the door._) All I can say now is:
I shall oppose you with every means in my power. If you persist, not
another penny do you get from me--either of you. (_To COLIN._) And as
for you, sir, you’re a damned scoundrel!
[_He goes._
GWEN (_at once, to COLIN_): Oh, I’m so sorry.
COLIN (_taking her roughly by the shoulders_): Look here; you’re going
to love me; and I’m going to love you, and there’s going to be no one
else. Do you understand?
GWEN: Yes.
COLIN: Good. Now I’m going to clear out; right out of it, for a bit.
GWEN: What do you mean?
COLIN: Where do you want to go to most in all the world?
GWEN: I only want to be where you are.
COLIN: I’m going to Rome. As soon as I can get a passport. I think you
can get a passport quicker than you can get a licence. Shall I get
two--passports?
GWEN: Colin!
COLIN: That’s all right. John, I’m going to marry your sister.
JOHN: When?
COLIN: As soon as I can get her away from you.
GWEN: No.
COLIN: Well, when we come back to England.
GWEN: Perhaps.
COLIN: Say yes.
[_She shakes her head._
You little devil. I’m only afraid of one thing.
GWEN: What?
COLIN: You’ll make me serious. Then we shall all starve.
GWEN: I shouldn’t care.
COLIN: I should.
JOHN: Well. I’ve had my telegram.
COLIN: What telegram?
JOHN: My man’s bought my piano and every other damned thing in the
whole attic. So we’re in the soup, now, Gwen, both of us!
GWEN: Yes.
JOHN: Good luck to you. (_He stretches out his hand._)
GWEN (_taking it_): Thanks. And good luck to you.
JOHN: By God, life’s _good_, isn’t it?
COLIN: There’s someone knocking at the door.
JOHN: See who it is.
[_COLIN goes and opens the door._
COLIN: It’s Rosie.
GWEN: Rosie!... I’d forgotten!... (_With sudden misgiving._) John, this
isn’t going to stop us.
JOHN (_very strongly_): No. Nothing’s going to stop us now.
GWEN: But we must help her.
JOHN: _Of course we must help her_; that’s part of our job.... Rosie!
[_As he goes to the door the CURTAIN FALLS._
END OF THE PLAY
Printed In Greet Britain at _The Mayflower Press_, _Plymouth_. William
Brendon & Son, Ltd.
TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:
Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.
Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.
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