Chapter I: Part 1

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_Fanny and_
_the Servant Problem_

_A Quite Possible Play in Four Acts_

_By_
_Jerome K. Jerome_

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_COPYRIGHT_ 1909 _BY_
_JEROME KLAPKA JEROME_

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_Hodder and Stoughton_
_Limited_ _London_

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Amateurs wishing to perform this play should apply to:

SAMUEL FRENCH, LTD.

26 SOUTHAMPTON STREET,
STRAND, W.C.2.

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_Made and Printed in Great Britain_.
_Hazell_, _Watson & Viney_, _Ld._, _London and Aylesbury_.

THE CHARACTERS

_Fanny_

_Her Husband_, _Vernon Wetherell_, _Lord Bantock_

_Her Butler_, _Martin Bennet_

_Her Housekeeper_, _Susannah Bennet_

_Her Maid_, _Jane Bennet_

_Her Second Footman_, _Ernest Bennet_

_Her Still-room Maid_, _Honoria Bennet_

_Her Aunts by marriage_, _the Misses Wetherell_

_Her Local Medical Man_, _Dr. Freemantle_

_Her quondam Companions_, “_Our Empire_”:
_England_
_Scotland_
_Ireland_
_Wales_
_Canada_
_Australia_
_New Zealand_
_Africa_
_India_
_Newfoundland_
_Malay Archipelago_
_Straits Settlements_

_Her former Business Manager_, _George P. Newte_

_ACT I_

_SCENE_

_The Lady Bantock’s boudoir_, _Bantock Hall_, _Rutlandshire_, _a spacious room handsomely furnished_ (_chiefly in the style of Louis the Fourteenth_) _and lighted by three high windows_, _facing the south-west_. _A door between the fireplace and the windows leads to his lordship’s apartments_. _A door the other side of the fireplace is the general entrance_. _The door opposite the windows leads through her ladyship’s dressing-room into her ladyship’s bedroom_. _Over the great fireplace hangs a full-length portrait of Constance_, _first Lady Bantock_, _by Hoppner_.

_The time is sunset of a day in early spring_. _The youthful Lord Bantock is expected home with his newly wedded wife this evening_; _and the two Misses Wetherell_, _his aunts_, _have been busy decorating the room with flowers_, _and are nearing the end of their labours_. _The two Misses Wetherell have grown so much alike it would be difficult for a stranger to tell one from the other_; _and to add to his confusion they have fallen into the habit of dressing much alike in a fashion of their own that went out long ago_, _while the hair of both is white_, _and even in their voices they have caught each other’s tones_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_she has paused from her work and is looking out of the windows_]. Such a lovely sunset, dear.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_she leaves her work and joins her sister_. _The two stand holding each other’s hands_, _looking out_]. Beautiful! [_A silence_. _The sun is streaming full into the room_.] You—you don’t think, dear, that this room—[_she looks round it_]—may possibly be a little _too_ sunny to quite suit her?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_not at first understanding_]. How, dear, _too_ sun—[_She grasps the meaning_.] You mean—you think that perhaps she does that sort of thing?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Well, dear, one is always given to understand that they do, women—ladies of her profession.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It seems to me so wicked: painting God’s work.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We mustn’t judge hardly, dear. Besides, dear, we don’t know yet that she does.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Perhaps she’s young, and hasn’t commenced it. I fancy it’s only the older ones that do it.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He didn’t mention her age, I remember.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. No, dear, but I feel she’s young.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I do hope she is. We may be able to mould her.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We must be very sympathetic. One can accomplish so much with sympathy.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We must get to understand her. [_A sudden thought_.] Perhaps, dear, we may get to like her.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_doubtful_]. We might _try_, dear.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. For Vernon’s sake. The poor boy seems so much in love with her. We must—

_Bennet has entered_. _He is the butler_.

BENNET. Doctor Freemantle. I have shown him into the library.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Thank you, Bennet. Will you please tell him that we shall be down in a few minutes? I must just finish these flowers. [_She returns to the table_.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Why not ask him to come up here? We could consult him—about the room. He always knows everything.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. A good idea. Please ask him, Bennet, if he would mind coming up to us here. [_Bennet_, _who has been piling up fresh logs upon the fire_, _turns to go_.] Oh, Bennet! You will remind Charles to put a footwarmer in the carriage!

BENNET. I will see to it myself. [_He goes out_.]

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Thank you, Bennet. [_To her sister_] One’s feet are always so cold after a railway journey.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I’ve been told that, nowadays, they heat the carriages.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Ah, it is an age of luxury! I wish I knew which were her favourite flowers. It is so nice to be greeted by one’s favourite flowers.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I feel sure she loves lilies.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And they are so appropriate to a bride. So—

_Announced by Bennet_, _Dr. Freemantle bustles in_. _He is a dapper little man_, _clean-shaven_, _with quick brisk ways_.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he shakes hands_]. Well, and how are we this afternoon? [_He feels the pulse of the Younger Miss Wetherell_] Steadier. Much steadier! [_of the Elder Miss Wetherell_.] Nervous tension greatly relieved.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She has been sleeping much better.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he pats the hand of the Elder Miss Wetherell_]. Excellent! Excellent!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She ate a good breakfast this morning.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he pats the hand of the Younger Miss Wetherell_]. Couldn’t have a better sign. [_He smiles from one to the other_.] Brain disturbance, caused by futile opposition to the inevitable, evidently abating. One page Marcus Aurelius every morning before breakfast. “Adapt thyself,” says Marcus Aurelius, “to the things with which thy lot has been cast. Whatever happens—”

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You see, doctor, it was all so sudden.

DR. FREEMANTLE. The unexpected! It has a way of taking us by surprise—bowling us over—completely. Till we pull ourselves together. Make the best of what can’t be helped—like brave, sweet gentlewomen. [_He presses their hands_. _They are both wiping away a tear_.] When do you expect them?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. To-night, by the half-past eight train. We had a telegram this morning from Dover.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Um! and this is to be her room? [_He takes it in_.] The noble and renowned Constance, friend and confidant of the elder Pitt, maker of history, first Lady Bantock—by Hoppner—always there to keep an eye on her, remind her of the family traditions. Brilliant idea, brilliant! [_They are both smiling with pleasure_.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And you don’t think—it is what we wanted to ask you—that there is any fear of her finding it a little trying—the light? You see, this is an exceptionally sunny room.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And these actresses—if all one hears is true—

_The dying sun is throwing his last beams across the room_.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Which, thank God, it isn’t. [_He seats himself in a large easy-chair_. _The two ladies sit side by side on a settee_.] I’ll tell you just exactly what you’ve got to expect. A lady—a few years older than the boy himself, but still young. Exquisite figure; dressed—perhaps a trifle too regardless of expense. Hair—maybe just a shade _too_ golden. All that can be altered. Features—piquant, with expressive eyes, the use of which she probably understands, and an almost permanent smile, displaying an admirably preserved and remarkably even set of teeth. But, above all, clever. That’s our sheet-anchor. The woman’s clever. She will know how to adapt herself to her new position.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_turning to her sister_]. Yes, she must be clever to have obtained the position that she has. [_To the Doctor_] Vernon says that she was quite the chief attraction all this winter, in Paris.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And the French public is so critical.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_drily_]. Um! I was thinking rather of her cleverness in “landing” poor Vernon. The lad’s not a fool.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We must do her justice. I think she was really in love with him.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_still more drily_]. Very possibly. Most café-chantant singers, I take it, would be—with an English lord. [_He laughs_.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You see, she didn’t know he was a lord.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Didn’t know—?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No. She married him, thinking him to be a plain Mr. Wetherell, an artist.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Where d’ye get all that from?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. From Vernon himself. You’ve got his last letter, dear. [_She has opened her chatelaine bag_.] Oh, no, I’ve got it myself.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He’s not going to break it to her till they reach here this evening.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_she reads_]. Yes. “I shall not break it to her before we reach home. We were married quietly at the _Hôtel de Ville_, and she has no idea I am anything else than plain Vernon James Wetherell, a fellow-countryman of her own, and a fellow-artist. The dear creature has never even inquired whether I am rich or poor.” I like her for that.

DR. FREEMANTLE. You mean to tell me—[_He jumps up_. _With his hands in his jacket pockets_, _he walks to and fro_.] I suppose it’s possible.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You see, she isn’t the ordinary class of music-hall singer.

DR. FREEMANTLE. I should say not.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She comes of quite a good family.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Her uncle was a bishop.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Bishop? Of where?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_with the letter_]. He says he can’t spell it. It’s somewhere in New Zealand.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Do they have bishops over there?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Well, evidently.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Then her cousin is a judge.

DR. FREEMANTLE. In New Zealand?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_again referring to the letter_]. No—in Ohio.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Seems to have been a somewhat scattered family.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. People go about so much nowadays.

_Mrs. Bennet has entered_. _She is the housekeeper_.

MRS. BENNET [_she is about to speak to the Misses Wetherell_; _sees the Doctor_]. Good afternoon, doctor.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Afternoon, Mrs. Bennet.

MRS. BENNET [_she turns to the Misses Wetherell_, _her watch in her hand_]. I was thinking of having the fire lighted in her ladyship’s bedroom. It is half past six.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You are always so thoughtful. She may be tired.

MRS. BENNET. If so, everything will be quite ready. [_She goes out_, _closing door_.]

DR. FREEMANTLE. What do they think about it all—the Bennets? You have told them?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We thought it better. You see, one hardly regards them as servants. They have been in the family so long. Three generations of them.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Really, since our poor dear brother’s death, Bennet has been more like the head of the house than the butler.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Of course, he doesn’t say much.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It is her having been on the stage that they feel so.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You see, they have always been a religious family.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Do you know, I really think they feel it more than we do. I found Peggy crying about it yesterday, in the scullery.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he has been listening with a touch of amusement_.] Peggy Bennet?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Yes. _Charles_ Bennet’s daughter.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Happen to have a servant about the place who isn’t a Bennet?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No, no, I don’t really think we have. Oh, yes—that new girl Mrs. Bennet engaged last week for the dairy. What is her name?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Arnold.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Ah, yes, Arnold.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Ah!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I think she’s a cousin, dear.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Only a second cousin.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Um! Well I should tell the whole family to buck up. Seems to me, from what you tell me, that their master is bringing them home a treasure. [_He shakes hands briskly with the ladies_.] May look in again to-morrow. Don’t forget—one page Marcus Aurelius before breakfast—in case of need. [_He goes out_.]

_The sun has sunk_. _The light is twilight_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He always cheers one up.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He’s so alive. [_Mrs. Bennet comes in from the dressing-room_. _She leaves the door ajar_. _The sound of a hammer is heard_. _It ceases almost immediately_.] Oh, Mrs. Bennet, we were going to ask you—who is to be her ladyship’s maid? Have you decided yet?

MRS. BENNET. I have come to the conclusion—looking at the thing from every point of view—that Jane would be the best selection.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Jane!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. But does she understand the duties?

MRS. BENNET. A lady’s maid, being so much alone with her mistress, is bound to have a certain amount of influence. And Jane has exceptionally high principles.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. That is true, dear.

MRS. BENNET. As regards the duties, she is very quick at learning anything new. Of course, at first—

_The sound of hammering again comes from the bedroom_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Who is that hammering in her ladyship’s bedroom?

MRS. BENNET. It is Bennet, Miss Edith. We thought it might be helpful: a few texts, hung where they would always catch her ladyship’s eye. [_She notices the look of doubt_.] Nothing offensive. Mere general exhortations such as could be read by any lady. [_The Misses Wetherell look at one another_, _but do not speak_.] I take it, dinner will be at half past seven, as usual?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Yes, Mrs. Bennet, thank you. They will not be here till about nine. They will probably prefer a little supper to themselves.

_Mrs. Bennet goes out—on her way to the kitchen_. _The Misses Wetherell look at one another again_. _The hammering recommences_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_she hesitates a moment_, _then goes to the open door and calls_]. Bennet—Bennet! [_She returns and waits_. _Bennet comes in_.] Oh, Bennet, your wife tells us you are putting up a few texts in her ladyship’s bedroom.

BENNET. It seemed to me that a silent voice, speaking to her, as it were, from the wall—

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It is so good of you—only, you—you will be careful there is nothing she could regard as a _personal_ allusion.

BENNET. Many of the most popular I was compelled to reject, purely for that reason.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We felt sure we could trust to your discretion.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You see, coming, as she does, from a good family—

BENNET. It is that—I speak merely for myself—that gives me hope of reclaiming her.

_A silence_. _The two ladies_, _feeling a little helpless_, _again look at one another_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We must be very sympathetic.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And patient, Bennet.

BENNET. It is what I am preparing myself to be. Of course, if you think them inadvisable, I can take them down again.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No, Bennet, oh no! I should leave them up. Very thoughtful of you, indeed.

BENNET. It seemed to me one ought to leave no stone unturned. [_He returns to his labours in the bedroom_.]

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_after a pause_]. I do hope she’ll _like_ the Bennets.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I think she will—after a time, when she is used to them.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I am so anxious it should turn out well.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I feel sure she’s a good woman. Vernon would never have fallen in love with her if she hadn’t been good. [_They take each other’s hand_, _and sit side by side_, _as before_, _upon the settee_. _The twilight has faded_: _only the faint firelight remains_, _surrounded by shadows_.] Do you remember, when he was a little mite, how he loved to play with your hair? [_The younger Miss Wetherell laughs_.] I always envied you your hair.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. He was so fond of us both. Do you remember when he was recovering from the measles, his crying for us to bath him instead of Mrs. Bennet? I have always reproached myself that we refused.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He was such a big boy for his age.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I think we might have stretched a point in a case of illness.

_The room has grown very dark_. _The door has been softly opened_; _Vernon and Fanny have entered noiselessly_. _Fanny remains near the door hidden by a screen_, _Vernon has crept forward_. _At this point the two ladies become aware that somebody is in the room_. _They are alarmed_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Who’s there?

VERNON. It’s all right, aunt. It’s only I.

_The two ladies have risen_. _They run forward_, _both take him in their arms_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Vernon!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. My dear boy!

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. But we didn’t expect you—

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And your wife, dear?

VERNON. She’s here!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Here?

_Fanny_, _from behind the screen_, _laughs_.

VERNON. We’ll have some light. [_He whispers to them_.] Not a word—haven’t told her yet. [_Feeling his way to the wall_, _he turns on the electric light_.]

_Fanny is revealed_, _having slipped out from behind the screen_. _There is a pause_. _Vernon_, _standing near the fire_, _watches admiringly_.

FANNY. Hope you are going to like me.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. My dear, I am sure we shall.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It is so easy to love the young and pretty. [_They have drawn close to her_. _They seem to hesitate_.]

FANNY [_laughs_]. It doesn’t come off, does it, Vernon, dear? [_Vernon laughs_. _The two ladies_, _laughing_, _kiss her_.] I’m so glad you think I’m pretty. As a matter of fact, I’m not. There’s a certain charm about me, I admit. It deceives people.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We were afraid—you know, dear, boys—[_she looks at Vernon and smiles_] sometimes fall in love with women much older than themselves—especially women—[_She grows confused_. _She takes the girl’s hand_.] We are so relieved that you—that you are yourself, dear,

FANNY. You were quite right, dear. They are sweet. Which is which?

VERNON [_laughs_]. Upon my word, I never can tell.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Vernon! And you know I was always your favourite!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Dear!

VERNON. Then this is Aunt Alice.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No dear, Edith.

[_Vernon throws up his hands in despair_. _They all laugh_.]

FANNY. I think I shall dress you differently; put you in blue and you in pink. [_She laughs_.] Is this the drawing-room?

VERNON. Your room, dear.

FANNY. I like a room where one can stretch one’s legs. [_She walks across it_.] A little too much desk [_referring to a massive brass-bound desk_, _facing the three windows_].

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It belonged to the elder Pitt.

FANNY. Um! Suppose we must find a corner for it somewhere. That’s a good picture.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It is by Hoppner.

FANNY. One of your artist friends?

VERNON. Well—you see, dear, that’s a portrait of my great-grandmother, painted from life.

FANNY [_she whistles_]. I am awfully ignorant on some topics. One good thing, I always was a quick study. Not a bad-looking woman.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We are very proud of her. She was the first—

VERNON [_hastily_]. We will have her history some other time.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_who understands_, _signs to her sister_]. Of course. She’s tired. We are forgetting everything. You will have some tea, won’t you, dear?

FANNY. No, thanks. We had tea in the train. [_With the more or less helpful assistance of Vernon she divests herself of her outdoor garments_.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_she holds up her hands in astonishment_]. Tea in the train!

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. We were not expecting you so soon. You said in your telegram—

VERNON. Oh, it was raining in London. We thought we would come straight on—leave our shopping for another day.

FANNY. I believe you were glad it was raining. Saved you such a lot of money. Old Stingy!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Then did you walk from the station, dear?

FANNY. Didn’t it seem a long way? [_She laughs up into his face_.] He was so bored. [_Vernon laughs_.]

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I had better tell—[_She is going towards the bell_.]

VERNON [_he stops her_]. Oh, let them alone. Plenty of time for all that fuss. [_He puts them both gently side by side on the settee_.] Sit down and talk. Haven’t I been clever? [_He puts his arm round Fanny_, _laughing_.] You thought I had made an ass of myself, didn’t you? Did you get all my letters?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I think so, dear.

FANNY [_she is sitting in an easy-chair_. _Vernon seats himself on the arm_]. Do you know I’ve never had a love-letter from you?

VERNON. You gave me no time. She met me a month ago, and married me last week.

FANNY. It was quick work. He came—he saw—I conquered! [_Laughs_.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. They say that love at first sight is often the most lasting.

VERNON [_he puts his arm around her_]. You are sure you will never regret having given up the stage? The excitement, the—

FANNY. The excitement! Do you know what an actress’s life always seemed to me like? Dancing on a tight-rope with everybody throwing stones at you. One soon gets tired of that sort of excitement. Oh, I was never in love with the stage. Had to do something for a living.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It must be a hard life for a woman.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Especially for anyone not brought up to it.

FANNY. You see, I had a good voice and what I suppose you might call a natural talent for acting. It seemed the easiest thing.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I suppose your family were very much opposed to it? [_Vernon rises_. _He stands with his back to the fire_.]

FANNY. My family? Hadn’t any!

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. No family?

_Bennet enters_. _Vernon and Fanny left the door open_. _He halts_, _framed by the doorway_.

FANNY. No. You see, I was an only child. My father and mother both died before I was fourteen.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. But your uncle?

FANNY. Oh, him! It was to get away from him and all that crew that I went on the stage.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It is so sad when relations don’t get on together.

FANNY. Sadder still when they think they’ve got a right to trample on you, just because you happen to be an orphan and—I don’t want to talk about my relations. I want to forget them. I stood them for nearly six months. I don’t want to be reminded of them. I want to forget that they ever existed. I want to forget—

_Bennet has come down very quietly_. _Fanny_, _from where he stands_, _is the only one who sees him_. _He stands looking at her_, _his features_, _as ever_, _immovable_. _At sight of him her eyes and mouth open wider and wider_. _The words die away from her tongue_. _Vernon has turned away to put a log on the fire_, _and so has not seen her expression—only hears her sudden silence_. _He looks up and sees Bennet_.

VERNON. Ah, Bennet! [_He advances_, _holding out his hand_.] You quite well?

BENNET [_shaking hands with him_]. Quite well.

VERNON. Good! And all the family?

BENNET. Nothing to complain of. Charles has had a touch of influenza.

VERNON. Ah, sorry to hear that.

BENNET. And your lordship?

VERNON. Fit as a fiddle—your new mistress.

_Fanny has risen_. _Bennet turns to her_. _For a moment his back is towards the other three_. _Fanny alone sees his face_.

BENNET. We shall endeavour to do our duty to her ladyship. [_He turns to Vernon_.] I had arranged for a more fitting reception—

VERNON. To tell the honest truth, Bennet, the very thing we were afraid of—why we walked from the station, and slipped in by the side door. [_Laughing_.] Has the luggage come?

BENNET. It has just arrived. It was about that I came to ask. I could not understand—

_The Misses Wetherell have also risen_. _Fanny’s speechless amazement is attributed by them and Vernon to natural astonishment at discovery of his rank_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. You will be wanting a quiet talk together. We shall see you at dinner.

VERNON. What time is dinner?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Half past seven. [_To Fanny_] But don’t you hurry, dear. I will tell cook to delay it a little. [_She kisses her_.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You will want some time to arrange that pretty hair of yours. [_She also kisses the passive_, _speechless Fanny_. _They go out hand in hand_.]

BENNET. I will see, while I am here, that your lordship’s room is in order.

VERNON. Why, where’s Robert, then?

BENNET. He has gone into town to do some shopping. We did not expect your lordship much before nine. There may be one or two things to see to. [_He goes into his lordship’s apartments_, _closing the door behind him_.]

FANNY. Vernon, where am I?

VERNON. At home, dear.

FANNY. Yes, but where?

VERNON. At Bantock Hall, Rutlandshire. [_Fanny sits down on the settee—drops down rather_.] You’re not angry with me? You know how the world always talks in these cases. I wanted to be able to prove to them all that you married me for myself. Not because I was Lord Bantock. Can you forgive me?

FANNY [_she still seems in a dream_]. Yes—of course. You didn’t—you wouldn’t—[_She suddenly springs up_.] Vernon, you do love me? [_She flings her arms round his neck_.]

VERNON. Dear!

FANNY. You will never be ashamed of me?

VERNON. Dearest!

FANNY. I was only a music-hall singer. There’s no getting over it, you know.

VERNON. I should have loved you had you been a beggar-maid.

FANNY [_she still clings to him_]. With an uncle a costermonger, and an aunt who sold matches. It wouldn’t have made any difference to you, would it? You didn’t marry me for my family, did you? You didn’t, did you?

VERNON. Darling! I married you because you are the most fascinating, the most lovable, the most wonderful little woman in the world. [_Fanny gives a sob_.] As for your family—I’ve got a confession to make to you, dear. I made inquiries about your family before I proposed to you. Not for my own sake—because I knew I’d have to answer a lot of stupid questions. It seemed to me quite a good family.

FANNY. It is! Oh, it is! There never was such a respectable family. That’s why I never could get on with them.

VERNON [_laughing_]. Well, you haven’t got to—any more. We needn’t even let them know—

_Bennet returns_.

BENNET. Robert I find has returned. It is ten minutes to seven.

VERNON. Thanks. Well, I shall be glad of a bath. [_He turns to Fanny_.] Bennet will send your maid to you. [_He whispers to her_.] You’ll soon get used to it all. As for the confounded family—we will forget all about them. [_Fanny answers with another little stifled sob_. _Bennet is drawing the curtains_, _his back to the room_. _Vernon_, _seeing that Bennet is occupied_, _kisses the unresponsive Fanny and goes out_.]

_At the sound of the closing of the door_, _Fanny looks up_. _She goes to the door through which Vernon has just passed_, _listens a moment_, _then returns_. _Bennet calmly finishes the drawing of the curtains_. _Then he_, _too_, _crosses slowly till he and Fanny are facing one another across the centre of the room_.

FANNY. Well, what are you going to do?

BENNET. My duty!

FANNY. What’s that? Something unpleasant, I know. I can bet my bottom dollar.

BENNET. That, my girl, will depend upon you.

FANNY. How upon me?

BENNET. Whether you prove an easy or a difficult subject. To fit you for your position, a certain amount of training will, I fancy, be necessary.

FANNY. Training! I’m to be—[_She draws herself up_.] Are you aware who I am?

BENNET. Oh yes. _And_ who you were. His lordship, I take it, would hardly relish the discovery that he had married his butler’s niece. He might consider the situation awkward.

FANNY. And who’s going to train me?

BENNET. I am. With the assistance of your aunt and such other members of your family as I consider can be trusted.

FANNY [_for a moment she is speechless_, _then she bursts out_]. That ends it! I shall tell him! I shall tell him this very moment. [_She sweeps towards the door_.]

BENNET. At this moment you will most likely find his lordship in his bath.

FANNY. I don’t care! Do you think—do you think for a moment that I’m going to allow myself—I, Lady Bantock, to be—[_Her hand upon the door_.] I shall tell him, and you’ll only have yourself to blame. He loves me. He loves me for myself. I shall tell him the whole truth, and ask him to give you all the sack.

BENNET. You’re not forgetting that you’ve already told him _once_ who you were?

[_It stops her_. _What she really did was to leave the marriage arrangements in the hands of her business manager_, _George P. Newte_. _As agent for a music-hall star_, _he is ideal_, _but it is possible that in answering Lord Bantock’s inquiries concerning Fanny’s antecedents he may not have kept strictly to the truth_.]

FANNY. I never did. I’ve never told him anything about my family.

BENNET. Curious. I was given to understand it was rather a classy affair.

FANNY. I can’t help what other people may have done. Because some silly idiot of a man may possibly—[_She will try a new tack_. _She leaves the door and comes to him_.] Uncle, dear, wouldn’t it be simpler for you all to go away? He’s awfully fond of me. He’ll do anything I ask him. I could merely say that I didn’t like you and get him to pension you off. You and aunt could have a little roadside inn somewhere—with ivy.

BENNET. Seeing that together with the stables and the garden there are twenty-three of us—

FANNY. No, of course, he couldn’t pension you all. You couldn’t expect—

BENNET. I think his lordship might prefer to leave things as they are. Good servants nowadays are not so easily replaced. And neither your aunt nor I are at an age when change appeals to one.

FANNY. You see, it’s almost bound to creep out sooner or later, and then—

BENNET. We will make it as late as possible [_He crosses and rings the bell_], giving you time to prove to his lordship that you are not incapable of learning.

FANNY [_she drops back on the settee_. _She is half-crying_.] Some people would be pleased that their niece had married well.

BENNET. I am old-fashioned enough to think also of my duty to those I serve. If his lordship has done me the honour to marry my niece, the least I can is to see to it that she brings no discredit to his name. [_Mrs. Bennet_, _followed by Jane Bennet_, _a severe-looking woman of middle age_, _has entered upon the words_ “_the least I can do_.” _Bennet stays them a moment with his hand while he finishes_. _Then he turns to his wife_.] You will be interested to find, Susannah, that the new Lady Bantock is not a stranger.

MRS. BENNET. Not a stranger! [_She has reached a position from where she sees the girl_.] Fanny! You wicked girl! Where have you been all these years?

BENNET [_interposing_]. There will be other opportunities for the discussion of family differences. Just now, her ladyship is waiting to dress for dinner.

MRS. BENNET [_sneering_]. Her ladyship!

JANE [_also sneering_]. I think she might have forewarned us of the honour in store for us.

MRS. BENNET. Yes, why didn’t she write?

FANNY. Because I didn’t know. Do you think—[_she rises_]—that if I had I would ever have married him—to be brought back here and put in this ridiculous position? Do you think that I am so fond of you all that I couldn’t keep away from you, at any price?

MRS. BENNET. But you must have known that Lord Bantock—

FANNY. I didn’t know he was Lord Bantock. I only knew him as Mr. Wetherell, an artist. He wanted to feel sure that I was marrying him for himself alone. He never told me—[_Ernest Bennet_, _a very young footman_, _has entered in answer to Bennet’s ring of a minute ago_. _He has come forward step by step_, _staring all the while open-mouthed at Fanny_. _Turning_, _she sees him beside her_.] Hulloa, Ernie. How are the rabbits? [_She kisses him_.]

BENNET. Don’t stand there gaping. I rang for some wood. Tell your brother dinner will be at a quarter to eight.

_Ernest_, _never speaking_, _still staring at Fanny_, _gets clumsily out again_.

FANNY. Well, I suppose I’d better see about dressing? Do I dine with his lordship or in the servants’ hall?

MRS. BENNET [_turns to her husband_]. You see! Still the old impertinence.

FANNY. Only wanted to know. My only desire is to give satisfaction.

BENNET [_he moves towards the door_]. You will do it by treating the matter more seriously. At dinner, by keeping your eye upon me, you will be able to tell whether you are behaving yourself or not.

MRS. BENNET. And mind you are punctual. I have appointed Jane to be your maid.

FANNY. Jane!

MRS. BENNET [_in arms_]. Have you any objections?

FANNY. No, oh no, so long as you’re all satisfied.

MRS. BENNET. Remember, you are no longer on the music-hall stage. In dressing for Bantock Hall you will do well to follow her advice.

_Bennet_, _who has been waiting with the door in his hand_, _goes out_; _Mrs. Bennet follows_.

JANE [_in the tones of a patient executioner_]. Are you ready?

FANNY. Quite ready, dear. Of course—I don’t know what you will think of them—but I’ve only brought modern costumes with me.

JANE [_not a lady who understands satire_]. We must do the best we can. [_She marches out—into the dressing-room_.]

_Fanny_, _after following a few steps_, _stops and thinks_. _Ernest has entered with the wood_. _He is piling it in the basket by the fire_. _His entrance decides her_. _She glances through the open door of the dressing-room_, _then flies across to the desk_, _seats herself_, _and begins feverishly to write a telegram_.

FANNY. Ernie! [_He comes across to her_.] Have you still got your bicycle?

ERNEST. Yes.

FANNY. Could you get this telegram off for me before eight o’clock? I don’t want it sent from the village; I want you to take it _yourself_—into the town. There’s a sovereign for you if you do it all right.

ERNEST. I’ll do it. Can only get into a row.

FANNY. Pretty used to them, ain’t you? [_She has risen_. _She gives him the telegram_. _She has stamped it_.] Can you read it?

ERNEST. “George P. Newte.”

FANNY. Hush!

_They both glance at the open door_.

ERNEST [_he continues in a lower voice_]. “72A, Waterloo Bridge Road, London. Must see you at once. Am at the new shop.” [_He looks up_.]

FANNY. That’s all right.

ERNEST. “Come down. Q.T. Fanny.”

FANNY [_nods_]. Get off quietly. I’ll see you again—

THE VOICE OF JANE [_from the dressing-room_]. Are you going to keep me waiting all night?

[_They start_. _Ernest hastily thrusts the telegram into his breast-pocket_.]

FANNY. Coming, dear, coming. [_To Ernest_] Not a word to anyone! [_She hurries him out and closes door behind him_.] Merely been putting the room a bit tidy. [_She is flying round collecting her outdoor garments_.] Thought it would please you. So sorry if I’ve kept you waiting. [_Jane has appeared at door_.] After you, dear.

_Jane goes out again_. _Fanny_, _with her pile of luggage_, _follows_.

[CURTAIN]

_ACT II_

_SCENE_

_The same_.

_Time_.—_The next morning_.

_The door opens_. _Dr. Freemantle enters_, _shown in by Bennet_, _who follows him_.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_talking as he enters_]. Wonderful! Wonderful! I don’t really think I ever remember so fine a spring.

BENNET [_he is making up the fire_]. I’m afraid we shall have to pay for it later on.

DR. FREEMANTLE. I expect so. Law of the universe, you know, Bennet—law of the universe. Everything in this world has got to be paid for.

BENNET. Except trouble. [_The doctor laughs_.] The Times? [_He hands it to him_.]

DR. FREEMANTLE. Thanks. Thanks. [_Seats himself_.] Won’t be long—his lordship, will he?

BENNET. I don’t think so. I told him you would be here about eleven.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Um—what do you think of her?

BENNET. Of—of her ladyship?

DR. FREEMANTLE. What’s she like?

BENNET. [_They have sunk their voices_.] Well, it might have been worse.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Ah! There’s always that consolation, isn’t there?

BENNET. I think her ladyship—with _management_—may turn out very satisfactory.

DR. FREEMANTLE. You like her?

BENNET. At present, I must say for her, she appears willing to be taught.

DR. FREEMANTLE. And you think it will last?

BENNET. I think her ladyship appreciates the peculiarity of her position. I will tell the Miss Wetherells you are here.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Ah, thanks!

BENNET. I fancy her ladyship will not herself be visible much before lunch time. I understand she woke this morning with a headache. [_He goes out_.]

_The Doctor reads a moment_. _Then the door of the dressing-room opens_, _and Fanny enters_. _Her dress is a wonderful contrast to her costume of last evening_. _It might be that of a poor and demure nursery governess_. _Her hair is dressed in keeping_. _She hardly seems the same woman_.

FANNY [_seeing the Doctor_, _she pauses_]. Oh!

DR. FREEMANTLE [_rises_]. I beg pardon, have I the pleasure of seeing Lady Bantock?

FANNY. Yes.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Delighted. May I introduce myself—Dr. Freemantle? I helped your husband into the world.

FANNY. Yes. I’ve heard of you. You don’t mind my closing this door, do you? [_Her very voice and manner are changed_.]

DR. FREEMANTLE [_a little puzzled_]. Not at all.

FANNY [_she closes the door and returns_]. Won’t—won’t you be seated?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Thanks. [_They both sit_.] How’s the headache?

FANNY. Oh, it’s better.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Ah! [_A silence_.] Forgive me—I’m an old friend of the family. You’re not a bit what I expected.

FANNY. But you like it? I mean you think this—[_with a gesture_]—is all right?

DR. FREEMANTLE. My dear young lady, it’s charming. You couldn’t be anything else.

FANNY. Thank you.

DR. FREEMANTLE. I merely meant that—well, I was not expecting anything so delightfully demure.

FANNY. That’s the idea—“seemly.” The Lady Bantocks have always been “seemly”? [_She puts it as a question_.]

DR. FREEMANTLE [_more and more puzzled_]. Yes—oh, yes. They have always been—[_His eye catches that of Constance_, _first Lady Bantock_, _looking down at him from above the chimney-piece_. _His tone changes_.] Well, yes, in their way, you know.

FANNY. You see, I’m in the difficult position of following her _late_ ladyship. _She_ appears to have been exceptionally “seemly.” This is her frock. I mean it _was_ her frock.

DR. FREEMANTLE. God bless my soul! You are not dressing yourself up in her late ladyship’s clothes? The dear good woman has been dead and buried these twenty years.

FANNY [_she looks at her dress_]. Yes, it struck me as being about that period.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he goes across to her_]. What’s the trouble? Too much Bennet?

FANNY [_she looks up_. _There is a suspicion of a smile_]. One might say—sufficient?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_laughs_]. Excellent servants. If they’d only remember it. [_He glances round—sinks his voice_.] Take my advice. Put your foot down—before it’s too late.

FANNY. Sit down, please. [_She makes room for him on the settee_.] Because I’m going to be confidential. You don’t mind, do you?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_seating himself_]. My dear, I take it as the greatest compliment I have had paid to me for years.

FANNY. You put everything so nicely. I’m two persons. I’m an angel—perhaps that is too strong a word?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_doubtfully_]. Well—

FANNY. We’ll say saint. Or else I’m—the other thing.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Do you know, I think you could be.

FANNY. It’s not a question about which there is any doubt.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Of course, in this case, a _little_ bit of the devil—

FANNY [_she shakes her head_]. There’s such a lot of mine. It has always hampered me, never being able to hit the happy medium.

DR. FREEMANTLE. It _is_ awkward.

FANNY. I thought I would go on being an angel—

DR. FREEMANTLE. Saint.

FANNY. Saint—till—well, till it became physically impossible to be a saint any longer.

DR. FREEMANTLE. And then?

FANNY [_she rises_, _turns to him with a gesture of half-comic_, _half-tragic despair_]. Well, then I can’t help it, can I?

DR. FREEMANTLE. I think you’re making a mistake. An explosion will undoubtedly have to take place. That being so, the sooner it takes place the better. [_He rises_.] What are you afraid of?

FANNY [_she changes her tone—the talk becomes serious_]. You’ve known Vernon all his life?

DR. FREEMANTLE. No one better.

FANNY. Tell me. I’ve known him only as a lover. What sort of a man is he?

_A pause_. _They are looking straight into each other’s eyes_.

DR. FREEMANTLE. A man it pays to be perfectly frank with.

FANNY. It’s a very old family, isn’t it?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Old! Good Lord no! First Lord Bantock was only Vernon’s great-grandfather. That is the woman that did it all. [_He is looking at the Hoppner_.]

FANNY. How do you mean?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Got them their title. Made the name of Bantock of importance in the history of the Georges. Clever woman.

FANNY [_leaning over a chair_, _she is staring into the eyes of the first Lady Bantock_]. I wonder what she would have done if she had ever got herself into a really first-class muddle?

DR. FREEMANTLE. One thing’s certain. [_Fanny turns to him_.] She’d have got out of it.

FANNY [_addresses the portrait_]. I do wish you could talk.

_Vernon bursts into the room_. _He has been riding_. _He throws aside his hat and stick_.

VERNON. Hulloa! This is good of you. [_He shakes hands with the Doctor_.] How are you? [_Without waiting for any reply_, _he goes to Fanny_, _kisses her_.] Good morning, dear. How have you been getting on together, you two? Has she been talking to you?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Oh, yes.

VERNON. Doesn’t she talk well? I say, what have you been doing to yourself?

FANNY. Jane thought this style—[_with a gesture_]—more appropriate to Lady Bantock.

VERNON. Um! Wonder if she’s right? [_To the Doctor_] What do you think?

DR. FREEMANTLE. I think it a question solely for Lady Bantock.

VERNON. Of course it is. [_To Fanny_] You know, you mustn’t let them dictate to you. Dear, good, faithful souls, all of them. But they must understand that you are mistress.

FANNY [_she seizes eagerly at the chance_]. You might mention it to them, dear. It would come so much better from you.

VERNON. No, you. They will take more notice of you.

FANNY. I’d so much rather you did it. [_To Dr. Freemantle_] Don’t you think it would come better from him?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_laughs_]. I’m afraid you’ll have to do it yourself.

VERNON. You see, dear, it might hurt them, coming from me. It would seem like ingratitude. Mrs. Bennet—Why, it wasn’t till I began to ask questions that I grasped the fact that she _wasn’t_ my real mother. As for old Bennet, ever since my father died—well, I hardly know how I could have got on without him. It was Charles Bennet that taught me to ride; I learned my letters sitting on Jane’s lap.

FANNY. Yes. Perhaps I had better do it myself.

VERNON. I’m sure it will be more effective. Of course I shall support you.

FANNY. Thank you. Oh, by the by, dear, I shan’t be able to go with you to-day.

VERNON. Why not?

FANNY. I’ve rather a headache.

VERNON. Oh, I’m so sorry. Oh, all right, we’ll stop at home. I’m not so very keen about it.

FANNY. No, I want you to go, dear. Your aunts are looking forward to it. I shall get over it all the sooner with everybody out of the way.

VERNON. Well, if you really wish it.

_The Misses Wetherell steal in_. _They are dressed for driving_. _They exchange greetings with the Doctor_.

FANNY. You know you promised to obey. [_Tickles his nose with a flower_.]

VERNON [_laughing—to the Doctor_]. You see what it is to be married?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_laughs_]. Very trying.

VERNON [_turning to his aunts_]. Fanny isn’t coming with us.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_to Fanny_]. Oh, my dear!

FANNY. It’s only a headache. [_She takes her aside_.] I’m rather glad of it. I want an excuse for a little time to myself.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I understand, dear. It’s all been so sudden. [_She kisses her—then to the room_] She’ll be all the better alone. We three will go on. [_She nods and signs to her sister_.]

FANNY [_kissing the Elder Miss Wetherell_]. Don’t you get betting.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Oh no, dear, we never do. It’s just to see the dear horses. [_She joins her sister_. _They whisper_.]

VERNON [_to the Doctor to whom he has been talking_]. Can we give you a lift?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Well, you might as far as the Vicarage. Good-bye, Lady Bantock.

FANNY [_shaking hands_]. Good-bye, Doctor.

VERNON. Sure you won’t be lonely?

FANNY [_laughs_]. Think I can’t exist an hour without you? Mr. Conceited!

VERNON [_laughs and kisses her_]. Come along. [_He takes the Doctor and his younger Aunt towards the door_.]

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_who is following last_]. I like you in that frock.

FANNY [_laughs_]. So glad. It’s Ernest who attends to the fires, isn’t it?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Yes, dear.

FANNY. I wish you’d send him up. [_At door—calls after them_] Hope you’ll all enjoy yourselves!

VERNON [_from the distance_]. I shall put you on a fiver.

FANNY. Mind it wins. [_She listens a moment—closes door_, _comes back to desk_, _and takes a Bradshaw_.] Five-six-three—five-six-three. [_Finds page_.] St. Pancras, eight o’clock. Oh, Lord! Stamford, 10.45. Leave Stamford—[_Ernest has entered_.] Is that you, Ernest?

ERNEST. Yes.

FANNY. Shut the door. Sure it went off last night, that telegram?

ERNEST. Yes.

FANNY. If he doesn’t catch that eight o’clock, he can’t get here till nearly four. That will be awkward. [_To Ernest_] What time is it now?

ERNEST [_looks at clock_]. Twenty past eleven.

FANNY. If he does, he’ll be here about twelve—I believe I’ll go and meet him. Could I get out without being seen?

ERNEST. You’ll have to pass the lodge.

FANNY. Who’s at the lodge now?

ERNEST. Mother.

FANNY. Damn!

_Bennet has entered unnoticed and drawn near_. _At this point from behind_, _he boxes Ernest’s ears_.

ERNEST. Here, steady!

BENNET. On the occasions when your cousin forgets her position, you will remember it and remind her of it. Get out! [_Ernest_, _clumsily as ever_, “_gets out_.”] A sort of person has called who, according to his own account, “happened to be passing this way,” and would like to see you.

FANNY [_who has been trying to hide the Bradshaw—with affected surprise_.] To see me!

BENNET [_drily_]. Yes. I thought you would be surprised. He claims to be an old friend of yours—Mr. George Newte.

FANNY [_still keeping it up_]. George Newte! Of course—ah, yes. Do you mind showing him up?

BENNET. I thought I would let you know he had arrived, in case you might be getting anxious about him. I propose giving him a glass of beer and sending him away again.

FANNY [_flares up_]. Look here, uncle, you and I have got to understand one another. I may put up with being bullied myself—if I can’t see any help for it—but I’m not going to stand my friends being insulted. You show Mr. Newte up here.

_A silence_.

BENNET. I shall deem it my duty to inform his lordship of Mr. Newte’s visit.

FANNY. There will be no need to. Mr. Newte, if his arrangements permit, will be staying to dinner.

BENNET. That, we shall see about. [_He goes out_.]

FANNY [_following him to door_]. And tell them I shall want the best bedroom got ready in case Mr. Newte is able to stay the night. I’ve done it. [_She goes to piano_, _dashes into the_ “_Merry Widow Waltz_,” _or some other equally inappropriate but well-known melody_, _and then there enters Newte_, _shown in by Bennet_. _Newte is a cheerful person_, _attractively dressed in clothes suggestive of a successful bookmaker_. _He carries a white pot hat and tasselled cane_. _His gloves are large and bright_. _He is smoking an enormous cigar_.]

BENNET. Mr. Newte.

FANNY [_she springs up and greets him_. _They are evidently good friends_]. Hulloa, George!

NEWTE. Hulloa, Fan—I beg your pardon, Lady Bantock. [_Laughs_.] Was just passing this way—

FANNY [_cutting him short_]. Yes. So nice of you to call.

NEWTE. I said to myself—[_His eye catches Bennet_; _he stops_.] Ah, thanks. [_He gives Bennet his hat and stick_, _but Bennet does not seem satisfied_. _He has taken from the table a small china tray_. _This he is holding out to Newte_, _evidently for Newte to put something in it_. _But what_? _Newte is puzzled_, _he glances at Fanny_. _The idea strikes him that perhaps it is a tip Bennet is waiting for_. _It seems odd_, _but if it be the custom—he puts his hand to his trousers pocket_.]

BENNET. The smoking-room is on the ground-floor.

NEWTE. Ah, my cigar. I beg your pardon. I couldn’t understand. [_He puts it on the tray—breaks into a laugh_.]

BENNET. Thank you. Her ladyship is suffering from a headache. If I might suggest—a little less boisterousness. [_He goes out_.]

NEWTE [_he watches him out_]. I say, your Lord Chamberlain’s a bit of a freezer!

FANNY. Yes. Wants hanging out in the sun. How did you manage to get here so early? [_She sits_.]

NEWTE. Well, your telegram rather upset me. I thought—correct etiquette for me to sit down here, do you think?

FANNY. Don’t ask me. Got enough new tricks of my own to learn. [_Laughs_.] Should chance it, if I were you.

NEWTE. Such a long time since I was at Court. [_He sits_.] Yes, I was up at five o’clock this morning.

FANNY [_laughs_]. Oh, you poor fellow!

NEWTE. Caught the first train to Melton, and came on by cart. What’s the trouble?

FANNY. A good deal. Why didn’t you tell me what I was marrying?

NEWTE. I did. I told you that he was a gentleman; that he—

FANNY. Why didn’t you tell me that he was Lord Bantock? You knew, didn’t you?

NEWTE [_begins to see worries ahead_]. Can’t object to my putting a cigar in my mouth if I don’t light it—can he?

FANNY. Oh, light it—anything you like that will help you to get along.

NEWTE [_bites the end off the cigar and puts it between his teeth_. _This helps him_]. No, I didn’t know—not officially.

FANNY. What do you mean—“not officially”?

NEWTE. He never told me.

FANNY. He never told you _anything_—for the matter of that. I understood you had found out everything for yourself.

NEWTE. Yes; and one of the things I found out was that he didn’t _want_ you to know. I could see his little game. Wanted to play the Lord Burleigh fake. Well, what was the harm? Didn’t make any difference to you!

FANNY. Didn’t make any difference to me! [_Jumps up_.] Do you know what I’ve done? Married into a family that keeps twenty-three servants, every blessed one of whom is a near relation of my own. [_He sits paralysed_. _She goes on_.] That bald-headed old owl—[_with a wave towards the door_]—that wanted to send you off with a glass of beer and a flea in your ear—that’s my uncle. The woman that opened the lodge gate for you is my Aunt Amelia. The carroty-headed young man that answered the door to you is my cousin Simeon. He always used to insist on kissing me. I’m expecting him to begin again. My “lady’s” maid is my cousin Jane. That’s why I’m dressed like this! My own clothes have been packed off to the local dressmaker to be made “decent.” Meanwhile, they’ve dug up the family vault to find something for me to go on with. [_He has been fumbling in all his pockets for matches_. _She snatches a box from somewhere and flings it to him_.] For Heaven’s sake light it! Then, perhaps, you’ll be able to do something else than stare. I have claret and water—mixed—with my dinner. Uncle pours it out for me. They’ve locked up my cigarettes. Aunt Susannah is coming in to-morrow morning to hear me say my prayers. Doesn’t trust me by myself. Thinks I’ll skip them. She’s the housekeeper here. I’ve got to know them by heart before I go to bed to-night, and now I’ve mislaid them. [_She goes to the desk—hunts for them_.]

NEWTE [_having lighted his eternal cigar_, _he can begin to think_]. But why should _they_—