Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Can’t you see—can’t you see I have no alternative? Patricia’s love for me is unearthly in its depth and intensity. She worships me, little as I deserve it. If for one moment she thought my love had slackened, that moment would be her last. You don’t know how sensitive she is.... Do you suppose, Clare, I enjoy playing this dreadful game? But I must—it is my duty. I have sworn to love and cherish her.

CLARE.

(_After a pause, going up to him._) Michael, how long have you loved me?

MICHAEL.

Almost since first I met you, you wild thing! You soul of youth and incarnation of the morning!

(_He looks longingly down at her._)

CLARE.

Oh, you poor old thing! (_She looks up sideways at him._) Mike, you may if you like.

MICHAEL.

Clare....

(_He hesitates._)

CLARE.

Get it over soon. (_He bends down and kisses her reverently, then turns away from her with tragic eyes._) Didn’t you like it?...

MICHAEL.

But the wrong I am doing you, and the wrong I am doing Patricia....

CLARE.

But if Patricia doesn’t know and I don’t mind, I don’t see where the wrong comes in.... Do you?

MICHAEL.

(_Taking her hands._) Do you love me, Clare?

CLARE.

I don’t know.... Yes, I think I do. You’re such a solemn old donkey!... Michael, if I love you, will it really make you a happier man?

MICHAEL.

Happier? Oh, my dear, with the knowledge of your love I should be able to endure anything!

CLARE.

Even Patricia?

MICHAEL.

Hush, Clare, hush!... Patricia’s is a pure and delicate soul. It is I who am unworthy, since I cannot return her wonderful love.... Little girl, do you understand that this love of yours may bring much suffering into your life? I can never, by word or deed, change my attitude towards Patricia—never! She must never know that I do not love her.... And what of us? Our love must stand alone in the world. It must be something wholly pure and noble and self-sacrificing—the love that asks for nothing, that hopes for nothing—the love of the angels that neither marry nor are given in marriage.... Do you realise all this?

CLARE.

Yes.... You see, Mike, I always believe in platonic love.

MICHAEL.

(_A little doubtfully._) Platonic....

CLARE.

Well, platonic lovers _do_ kiss each other now and then ... don’t they?

MICHAEL.

(_Solemnly._) I believe they do.

CLARE.

And, Mike....

MICHAEL.

Well?

CLARE.

I don’t want you to give me that frock.

MICHAEL.

But——

CLARE.

Or the gloves.

MICHAEL.

But why not, Clare? I don’t understand....

CLARE.

Don’t you, old boy? Neither do I. But I’d much rather you didn’t—now.

MICHAEL.

Surely, dear——

(_LADY PATRICIA’S voice is heard speaking beneath._)

CLARE.

Hush!... And I’m going home now. Don’t try to prevent me, like a good chap. And I want to walk back alone.

(_LADY PATRICIA emerges speaking to BALDWIN, who follows
her._)

LADY PATRICIA.

We’ve come just at the wonderful moment, Baldwin. All the west is a ritual of gold. (_She has a wrap over her of a wonderful sunset hue and a white lily in her hand._) Here’s poor Baldwin deeply grieved because he’s shooed away every time he gets to work!

MICHAEL.

He didn’t seem to be doing anything particular, dearest, when I sent him away.

LADY PATRICIA.

But, Michael——

(_BALDWIN, with his shears and saws, crosses to the right
and examines the sunset._)

CLARE.

Don’t you remember he was keeping a h’eye on the sun?

LADY PATRICIA.

But, Clare! What a dreadful state you’re in!

CLARE.

I know. Your trees are shockingly dirty. You really ought to get Baldwin to scrub them with soap and water!... Lady Patricia, I hope you won’t think me very rude if I run away. I had quite forgotten it was father’s sermon night when I accepted Mr. Cosway’s invitation to dinner. I always help him with his sermons.

LADY PATRICIA.

You, my dear child!

CLARE.

I verify the quotations and prune the adjectives.... Then you’ll forgive me?

LADY PATRICIA.

Sweet girl! (_She strokes CLARE’S unwilling face._) I’m very sorry, because I’m going to do such a wicked and decadent thing at dinner. You see this lily? So virginal and nun-like! I am going to put her into a glassful of wine and make her tipsy.

CLARE.

Oh!...

LADY PATRICIA.

You must come some other evening. We are both so very fond of you.

CLARE.

Good-bye. Good-bye, Mr. Cosway.

MICHAEL.

Are you sure you don’t want me to come with you?

CLARE.

Quite, thanks. Good-bye.

(_She goes out._)

LADY PATRICIA.

She seems to be in a chastened frame of mind.

MICHAEL.

Perhaps she’s not quite well.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Holding out her hands to him._) Michael....

MICHAEL.

(_Taking her hands._) Dearest!

LADY PATRICIA.

It will be just—just you and I!

MICHAEL.

You and I, Patricia!

LADY PATRICIA.

You needn’t stay, Baldwin.

BALDWIN.

(_Who is still staring into the sunset._) Beg pardon, mum?

LADY PATRICIA.

You needn’t stay.

BALDWIN.

But if you’ll excuse my sayin’ so, mum, the sun——

LADY PATRICIA.

Another time, Baldwin.

BALDWIN.

Yes, ’m.

(_He goes out slowly._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Just you and I, Michael.... Kiss me.

MICHAEL.

(_Kissing her._) Just you and I.

LADY PATRICIA.

You and I and the sunset....

(END OF THE FIRST ACT.)

THE SECOND ACT

SCENE:—_The same, except for an extra ladder which LADY PATRICIA has had built up to the platform on the left. It is a beautiful night in early June. The full moon spreads a network of shadows on the platform, and a few large stars twinkle through the leaves. Suspended from the branches by pieces of silken string attached to nails driven into the trunk of the tree are several elaborate Chinese lanterns. Empty coffee-cups and liqueur glasses stand on two small tables in the background. There are one or two chairs about in addition to LADY PATRICIA’S deck-chair._

(_When the curtain rises, BALDWIN is seen slowly entering
on the left. He has a bundle of small candles in his hand.
He looks anxiously from lantern to lantern. Suddenly one
of them goes out._)

BALDWIN.

Ho! (_He unfastens the string from the nail and lowers the lantern with deliberation, muttering._) Them little lanterns do burn uncommon quick.... Whoa! (_Fixes fresh candle in the lantern._) Uncommon quick ... drat ’em.... (_Pulls up the lantern._) Whoa!

(_While he fastens the string on to the nail LADY
PATRICIA’S voice is heard singing divinely in the
distance. BALDWIN listens for a moment. The singing
ceases. He shakes his head gloomily, glances into the
tree, and another lantern goes out._)

Ho!... (_He lowers the lantern._) Whoa.... (_Fixing the fresh candle._) They do burn oncommon quick—drat ’em.... (_Pulls up the lantern._) Whoa....

(_After fixing the string, he retires slowly into the
shadowy background and stands motionless, staring from
lantern to lantern. Suddenly BILL O’FARREL enters
hurriedly by the ladder in the centre. He is in evening
dress. He does not see BALDWIN, who merely glances at him
and then resumes his upward scrutiny. BILL throws himself
into LADY PATRICIA’S deck-chair._)

BILL.

Whew.... safe! (_He lights a cigarette._)

(_Suddenly close beneath LADY PATRICIA’S voice is heard
singing with desultory beauty. BILL springs to his feet._)

Damn!

(_He tiptoes cautiously to the edge of the platform and
peeps over. The bird-like snatches of song grow nearer._)

Damn!

(_He crosses softly and quickly to the ladder on the left,
and with a scared look over his shoulder, disappears just
as LADY PATRICIA, in a gown of shimmering wonder, emerges
by the ladder in the centre. She stops singing and looks
around._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Flutingly._) Bill.... Bill.... (_She perceives the shadowy figure of BALDWIN and makes a quick movement with outstretched arms towards it._) Ah, my dear!

BALDWIN.

Beg pardon, m’lady?

LADY PATRICIA.

Oh!... Baldwin! How amusing!... I was looking for—Mr. Cosway. Has he been here?

BALDWIN.

Yes’m.

LADY PATRICIA.

Oh, when?

BALDWIN.

’E took corfee ’ere with your ladyship, mum, and ’is Very Reverence, and the young lady and Mrs. O’Farrel and Mr. O’Farrel.

LADY PATRICIA.

Sometimes, Baldwin, I wonder whether your amazing futility may not be a conscious pose.

BALDWIN.

Beg pardon, mum?

LADY PATRICIA.

Oh, never mind....

(_She goes out on the left, humming sweetly. BALDWIN
retires to the background and resumes his lantern watch.
CLARE enters by the central ladder quickly in breathless
condition and drops into the deck-chair. BALDWIN,
unperceived, glances at her, then looks up at the lanterns
again._)

CLARE.

Safe! (_With a sigh of relief she lights a cigarette._)

(_Suddenly MICHAEL’S voice is heard beneath calling
softly._)

MICHAEL.

Clare—Clare....

CLARE.

Damn! (_She springs to her feet, crosses quickly to the left, and descends as MICHAEL’S head emerges up the central ladder._)

MICHAEL.

Clare.... (_Looks around and perceives the vague form of BALDWIN._) Clare, my—— Oh! I was looking for Lady Patricia. Have you seen her, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Yessir.

MICHAEL.

Oh.... Has she been here?

BALDWIN.

Yessir.

MICHAEL.

When?

BALDWIN.

Beg pardon, sir?

MICHAEL.

(_Impatiently._) When was Lady Patricia here?

BALDWIN.

Well, sir, it may ’a been two minutes ago, sir, or it may ’a been——

MICHAEL.

Thank you.

(_He goes out on the left, while BALDWIN continues_:)

BALDWIN.

Or it may ’a been three. ’Er ladyship were looking for you, sir. She arst me, sir—— (_Perceiving the vanity of continuing his reminiscences he looks up and a lantern goes out._) Ho! (_Lowers the lantern._) Whoa!...

(_Enter ELLIS up the central ladder, carrying a tray with
whisky-and-soda._)

ELLIS.

Good evening, Mr. Baldwin.

BALDWIN.

Them candles do burn oncommon quick.... You was sayin’, Mr. Ellis?

ELLIS.

I said good evening.

BALDWIN.

Whoa!... (_Fixes the string._) Good evening to you.

ELLIS.

(_Clearing coffee-cups, &c., and setting the whisky-and-soda._) It beats me what the company are up to to-night. After dinner they all went for a stroll down to the pond. ’Er ladyship wanted to see—(_imitates PATRICIA_)—“the great moon-flower’s reflection among the lilies.” Then they seem to ’ave separated. The old people are behaving themselves quite rational—playing bézique in the drawing-room. The others are playing the tomfool or ’ide-and-seek or something o’ the sort.

BALDWIN.

’Iding-seek? Are they now! That minds me as ’ow I onct played ’iding-seek with Mrs. Baldwin as was my first wife—she weren’t my wife then—an’ found ’er—(_he chuckles_)—and found ’er—(_chuckles_)—in the middle of the bed!...

(_ELLIS guffaws._)

A rose bed it wer’. “Maidens’ blush” they was, jest fur all the world same as ’er purty face. So I gives her sutting wot to blush for. That I did. Dang it! Yus, I did.

ELLIS.

You seem to ’ave lived your life, Mr. Baldwin.

BALDWIN.

I ’ave that. I’ve ’ad thirteen, an’ two of ’em by me first wife. Thirteen’s an onlucky number I’ve ’eard tell. But I ain’t suspicious.

ELLIS.

Su-per-stitious is what you mean, I take it?

BALDWIN.

If I says suspicious I means it.

ELLIS.

Well, please yourself, Mr. Baldwin, please yourself. My motter’s “Live an’ let live.” Yes, as I was saying, it’s a queer game of ’ide-and-seek they’re playing at. I saw young O’Farrel just now by the yew-trees. ’E caught sight of ’er ladyship comin’ up the path, and dived into the shadder like a frightened rabbit. Bit queer considering ’ow thick they are. I just stood aside to see if anything was going to ’appen. Then ’oo should come along but the master! They must have caught sight of each other at the same time. She gave a sorter jump an’ stood still. ’E cut and ’urried into the bushes. Then she turned and ’urried back the way she’d come. What d’yer say to that?

BALDWIN.

What do I say?

ELLIS.

Bit queer, ain’t it?

BALDWIN.

Chronic! Why, a minute or two back ’er ladyship was up ’ere an’ says, “I’m looking for Mr. Cosway.” And arfter she’s gorne, ’e comes up ’ere an’ says, “I’m lookin’ for ’er ladyship,” ’e says.

ELLIS.

Well, I give it up!

(_LADY PATRICIA is heard singing in the distance._)

There, she’s at it again!

(_BILL enters up the central ladder unperceived by the
others. He stands in the background. They all listen to
the singing in silence until it ceases._)

She can sing, an’ no error!

BALDWIN.

Minds me of an ole cat as used to yeowl night after night in the rubub beds.

ELLIS.

Good Lord, Mr. Baldwin, ’ow d’you make that out?

BALDWIN.

Course it ain’t the same. ’Er ladyship’s voice is a rare treat to ’ear, an’ a cat’s ain’t. But there’s somethin’ in ’em both as seems to be callin’ for somethin’ else. ’Twas jest afore Mrs. Baldwin ’ad ’er seventh. An’ yer’d ’ardly b’lieve me, Mr. Ellis, that cat ’ad kittens same day as Mrs. Baldwin.

(_With a smothered laugh BILL comes forward. ELLIS hastily
picks up the tray with the cups, &c._)

BILL.

Ah, whisky-and-soda, Ellis. That’s good!

ELLIS.

Yes, sir.

(_He goes out by the centre._)

BILL.

(_Helping himself to whisky-and-soda._) Well, Baldwin, what are you up to? Keeping an eye on the sun so as to lop off the branches?

BALDWIN.

No, sir.... I was jest watching them lanterns.

BILL.

Yes. They’re very pretty.

BALDWIN.

They do burn uncommon quick.

BILL.

Well, they’re made of paper, you know.

BALDWIN.

Yessir.... It was the candles I was alludin’ of, sir. They do burn—— (_A lantern goes out._) Ho!

(_He fiddles about with the string, BILL watching him with
a smile. Suddenly halfway up the central ladder you hear
the voice of LADY PATRICIA sweetly humming. BILL throws a
wild glance around him._)

BILL.

Don’t give me away, Baldwin.

(_He darts into the summer-house at the back and locks the
door._)

BALDWIN.

’Iding-seek!... (_Lowering the lantern._) Whoa!...

(_LADY PATRICIA enters._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Bill?... (_Looks around._) Who were you talking to just now, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Mr. O’Farrel, mum.

LADY PATRICIA.

Yes; I thought so—but I don’t see him.

BALDWIN.

No, mum.

LADY PATRICIA.

Where is he?

BALDWIN.

’E’s gorne, m’lady.

LADY PATRICIA.

Gone?

BALDWIN.

Yes’m. You gave yerself away, mum, you did. D’rectly ’e ’eard your ladyship’s voice ’e was gorne, mum.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Amazed._) I gave myself away? Directly he heard my voice he was gone?

BALDWIN.

’Twas like as when you come up ’ere before a-lookin’ for the master. Mr. O’Farrel, ’e was ’ere then, mum. ’E ’eard you, an’ ’e jest ran.

LADY PATRICIA.

Mr. O’Farrel heard me and he ran?

BALDWIN.

Yes’m. An’ if you’ll h’excuse my sayin’ so, mum, it ain’t gumptious to sing when playin’ ’iding-seek.

LADY PATRICIA.

Playing hide-and-seek?...

BALDWIN.

Yes’m.

LADY PATRICIA.

Hide-and-seek! What on earth are you talking about? I really am afraid, Baldwin, the full moon must have deprived you of your few remaining wits. Do you seriously mean to tell me that Mr. O’Farrel ran away twice because he heard me coming?

BALDWIN.

Yes’m.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_After a dumbfounded pause_) Where did he go to?

BALDWIN.

(_Knowingly._) Beggin’ yer pardon, mum, I really couldn’t tell yer that.

LADY PATRICIA.

You——

(_CLARE enters on the left unperceived, and slips
cautiously behind the trunk._)

BALDWIN.

I arst you, mum, would it be playin’ fair on the young gentleman?

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Edging rather nervously away from him._) I think you had better go home now, Baldwin. I am afraid you are not quite well. Tell Mrs. Baldwin to come and see me to-morrow.

BALDWIN.

Yes’m.

(_LADY PATRICIA goes out on the left, throwing a nervous
look back at BALDWIN, who nods his head triumphantly and
pulls up the lantern. CLARE emerges from behind the trunk
and tiptoes towards him._)

BALDWIN.

Whoa!

CLARE.

S-sh!

BALDWIN.

Lord-a-mercy!

CLARE.

Language, Baldwin!

BALDWIN.

Yer did give me a turn, miss.

CLARE.

Sorry! Hullo, drinks! (_Goes to the edge of the platform and looks cautiously over._) The coast’s clear. I’ll have some soda-water.

BALDWIN.

’Iding-seek do give you a bit of a thirst, miss.

CLARE.

(_Astonished._) Hide-and-seek?

BALDWIN.

Yes, miss.

CLARE.

Why, have you been playing hide-and-seek?

BALDWIN.

Me, miss?

CLARE.

Didn’t you say so just now? Really, Baldwin, for a person of your age! And now you want a drink? Well, I’ve no objection, though it looks uncommonly as if you had helped yourself already.

(_She points to BILL’S half-filled glass._)

BALDWIN.

(_Excitedly._) Me, miss? I give you my word, miss. Why, that’s—that’s——

MICHAEL.

(_His voice is heard calling softly beneath._) Clare....

CLARE.

(_To BALDWIN, in a fierce whisper._) Hush! Don’t say where I am!

(_She runs to the summer-house and gains the door just as
MICHAEL emerges up the central ladder. She finds the door
locked. The key turns in the lock audibly, the door opens,
and BILL’S hand seizes her arm and pulls her inside._)

CLARE.

Oh!...

BILL.

Hush!

(_Draws her into the summer-house, closes and locks the
door._)

BALDWIN.

(_In unrestrained delight._) Haw! Haw! Haw! Haw!

MICHAEL.

(_Looking around him._) Wasn’t Miss Lesley speaking to you a second ago, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

She were, sir. Haw! Haw!

MICHAEL.

(_Regarding the amused BALDWIN with severity._) Where did she go to?

BALDWIN.

She’s gorne, sir.

MICHAEL.

I asked you _where_ she had gone to.

BALDWIN.

No, sir; I couldn’t tell yer that, sir. I reely couldn’t.

(_He guffaws again._)

MICHAEL.

Have you been drinking, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Me, sir? Drinking? ’Pon me honour, sir, I ain’t touched a drop o’ that whisky. It’s mortal ’ard, sir, that a man o’ my years should be tole ’e’s in liquor twice in one evenin’! An’ me teetotal ’cept for me pint o’ four-’arf at dinner an’ supper and a drop o’ somethin’ on Saturday night.

MICHAEL.

Do you know the day of the week, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

(_After a pause._) Lor’, sir, if it ain’t Sat’day.... But I give you me word, sir, I ain’t——

MICHAEL.

Very well, Baldwin. But you must admit that your conduct was peculiar. Perhaps now you will be so good as to tell me where Miss Lesley went to.

BALDWIN.

She—she——

(_He starts laughing again._)

MICHAEL.

Do you mean to tell me she has climbed up the tree again?

BALDWIN.

Maybe she ’as, sir, an’ maybe she ’asn’t. Haw! Haw!

MICHAEL.

(_Angrily._) Fool! (_Goes to the trunk, and, standing in the shadow, looks up into the branches._) Clare.... Clare.... I see you, you naughty little girl.... You’ve led me a pretty dance to-night.... Clare.... If you don’t come down I’ll climb up and fetch you....

(_LADY PATRICIA enters quickly on the left._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To BALDWIN, her finger on her lip._) Hush!

(_She tiptoes quickly across the stage and seizes MICHAEL
by the shoulders._)

MICHAEL.

Oh! (_He faces her and falls back._) Patricia!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Falling back an amazed step._) Michael!

BALDWIN.

(_In an ecstasy of glee._) The wrong man! Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!

(_He doubles up with laughter. LADY PATRICIA and MICHAEL
regard him in silent amazement and consternation._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To MICHAEL._) I’m afraid he’s——

(_Touches her forehead._)

MICHAEL.

Good God!...

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Gently._) Don’t you think it’s better you went now, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord!

MICHAEL.

You ought to stay in bed to-morrow.

BALDWIN.

Bed, sir?...

LADY PATRICIA.

Or sit quietly in the sweet sunshine at your cottage door.

BALDWIN.

Yes’m....

LADY PATRICIA.

Good-night, Baldwin.

BALDWIN.

Good-night, mum. Good-night, sir.

(_He walks stolidly to the ladder on the left; then,
just before descending, starts once more guffawing and
continues as he descends. LADY PATRICIA and MICHAEL look
at each other in pitying astonishment._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Poor old man! I fear he is breaking up at last!

MICHAEL.

God forgive me, dearest; I thought he had been drinking.

LADY PATRICIA.

Let us make the twilight of his long day full of peace and fragrance.

MICHAEL.

He shall never want.

(_A nightingale begins its song in the distance._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Ah, listen! Ah, listen, dear heart!

MICHAEL.

The nightingale.

LADY PATRICIA.

We have not far to go, you and I, to reach that land where music and moonlight and feeling are one!

MICHAEL.

Music and moonlight and feeling——

LADY PATRICIA.

Are one....

MICHAEL.

Sweet bird!

(_A pause. They listen “emparadised in one another’s
arms.”_)

LADY PATRICIA.

But where have you been, dearest? For the last half-hour I have been looking for you down shadowy paths and by moonlit waters.

MICHAEL.

And I for you.

LADY PATRICIA.

Cousin Bill went indoors as he had something he wished to say to his mother. So I seized the opportunity to find _you_.

MICHAEL.

Miss Lesley left me to speak to her father—and I thought I would snatch a beautiful moment with my wife.

LADY PATRICIA.

Cousin Bill said he would come back to me in a moment.

MICHAEL.

Miss Lesley too. I’m afraid they may be hunting for us.

LADY PATRICIA.

Poor children! But they will forgive us when they know we have been together—and so happy. Tell me, dear, why were you looking so fixedly up the tree when I came just now?

(_MICHAEL looks apprehensively towards the tree._)

MICHAEL.

I—I was looking for a nightingale.

LADY PATRICIA.

A nightingale?...

MICHAEL.

Yes.

LADY PATRICIA.

I thought for a moment some one had climbed the tree, as you seemed to be speaking up into it.

MICHAEL.

I was making fluting sounds so as to encourage the bird to sing.

LADY PATRICIA.

How clever of you, dear! And now it’s singing in the bushes near the pond.

MICHAEL.

Perhaps I frightened it out of the tree.

LADY PATRICIA.

Perhaps you did.... Darling.

MICHAEL.

Yes?

LADY PATRICIA.

Has it ever occurred to you that child may misconstrue your beautiful friendship for her?

MICHAEL.

(_Startled._) Clare!

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Coldly._) Clare?

MICHAEL.

Er—Miss Lesley?

LADY PATRICIA.

Yes.

MICHAEL.

Oh, Patricia, how can you think such a thing! Our friendship is like the friendship of two men or two women, the elder tenderly guiding the younger towards a higher, saner, nobler, larger view of life. (_He glances apprehensively at the tree._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Exquisite! Ideal! But haven’t you noticed, Michael, that the child no longer accepts your companionship with the same frank pleasure as before? I have watched her lately. It seems to me as though she were always trying to avoid you.

MICHAEL.

(_Roused._) Avoid _me_! Clare!

LADY PATRICIA.

Do you call her by her Christian name?

MICHAEL.

Only in moments of excitement. Avoid me! Impossible!

LADY PATRICIA.

No, dear, not impossible. And when a girl pointedly avoids a man, it too often means—pursue me.

MICHAEL.

(_Distinctly relieved._) Ah!... Ah! yes. But I think you must be mistaken.

LADY PATRICIA.

Indeed, I hope so. But you must be careful. You are so attractive, Michael.

MICHAEL.

Oh, nonsense, darling!... Strangely enough, a week or two ago I was on the point of warning you in just the same way.

LADY PATRICIA.

Warning me?

MICHAEL.

I used to watch that boy’s eyes when he looked at you. They were the eyes of a loving spaniel.

LADY PATRICIA.

Cousin Bill’s?

MICHAEL.

Yes; and I felt sorry for him. But I think his infatuation was only temporary.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Sharply._) Temporary? What do you mean?

MICHAEL.

He no longer sits at your feet and follows you about as much as he used to.

LADY PATRICIA.

You are quite wrong. His cousinly affection is the same now as it ever was. He was never in any way infatuated.

MICHAEL.

How could he help it, dearest? You are so wonderful!

LADY PATRICIA.

Am I? I wonder! (_A pause._) I think we really ought to join the others now, dearest.

MICHAEL.

(_With a glance into the tree._) Very well.

(_LADY PATRICIA, who has moved towards the ladder on the
left, turns and notices MICHAEL’S upward gaze._)

LADY PATRICIA.

What is it, dear?

MICHAEL.

I—I was looking for a star.

LADY PATRICIA.

Which star?

MICHAEL.

Arcturus.

LADY PATRICIA.

But Arcturus is low in the west.

MICHAEL.

How stupid of me!

(_They go out. The stage is empty for a moment. The
nightingale sings on. Then BALDWIN enters—hurriedly for
him—up the central ladder. He goes—softly for him—to the
summer-house, after carefully looking over the edge of
the platform to see that the coast is quite clear. He
listens, nods his head, and grins. Then he taps gently
on the door and listens again. Receiving no reply, he
taps once more and listens. Finally he speaks in a husky
whisper._)

BALDWIN.

It’s all right, sir. It’s all right, miss. They’ve gorne. (_The summer-house remains silent._) They’ve gorne.... It’s all right, sir. (_Taps at the door._) They’ve gorne. (_Taps again after a pause._) They’ve gorne....

(_The door suddenly flies open._)

BILL.

(_In the doorway._) What the devil d’you want, Baldwin?

BALDWIN.

Beg pardon, sir?

BILL.

What do you want?

BALDWIN.

They’ve gorne, sir.

BILL.

I can’t help that, can I?

BALDWIN.

No, sir.

BILL.

Well, then?

BALDWIN.

You see, sir, it’s like this. I thought as ’ow——

CLARE.

(_Invisible in the dark interior of the summer-house._) Oh, Baldwin, for the love of heaven, hook it!

BALDWIN.

’Ook it?

CLARE.

Yes; run away, like a dear.

BALDWIN.

Very good, miss.

(_BALDWIN goes out by the central ladder._)

BILL.

(_Speaking into the summer-house._) Darling.

CLARE.

(_In the summer-house._) You’ve pulled all my hair down——

BILL.

Oh, I——

CLARE.

I’ve lost at least six hair-pins. You needn’t have been so rough.

BILL.

I’m awfully sorry, darling—but—— (_He is about to re-enter the summer-house._)

CLARE.

No, stay where you are....

(_She emerges from the summer-house, and moves past him
to the front of the platform. Her hair is all loose and
dishevelled. She starts shaking it out._)

BILL.

Darling——

CLARE.

Don’t touch me....

BILL.

Clare!...

CLARE.

Please find those hair-pins, and the two side-combs. They’re all real tortoise-shell.

BILL.

But I say——

CLARE.

Find those hair-pins, or, at any rate, the side-combs.

BILL.

Oh, all right....

(_He goes into the summer-house, strikes a match, and
searches about the floor for the missing hair-pins. CLARE
stands plaiting her hair into a “pigtail,” and looking
straight before her with very grave eyes._)

BILL.

(_Half to himself while searching._) Here are a couple.... By Jove! one of ’em’s got rammed tight behind the seat.... Another—that’s three.... Four!... I’ve found one of the side-combs.... I say, they are jolly pretty!... Where the deuce has t’other one got to?... Oh, Lord, I’m awfully sorry! It’s smashed. I put my clumsy hoof on it.... (_He joins her at the front of the platform._)

CLARE.

It’s all right....

BILL.

But—— (_Looks at her with puzzled eyes._) I say, darling, is anything the matter with you? (_Puts his arm around her._) A moment ago——

CLARE.

(_Freeing herself._) You must never call me that again.

BILL.

Call you what?

CLARE.

“Darling.”

BILL.

But——

CLARE.

Or put your arm round me....

BILL.

But——

CLARE.

(_Passionately._) Oh, Bill, I was mad—I lost my head—I forgot.... It was so—so thrilling in there.... I should never have let you—I should never have let you....

BILL.

But I—I only kissed you.

CLARE.

You—you——

BILL.

And told you that I loved you.

CLARE.

Yes....

BILL.

And you said you loved me....

CLARE.

I didn’t!

BILL.

You kissed me.

CLARE.

That’s not the same thing.

BILL.

Then you don’t love me?

CLARE.

I never said so.

BILL.

Do you love me, Clare?

CLARE.

I should never have kissed you if I didn’t.

BILL.

Clare! (_Tries to take her in his arms._)

CLARE.

(_Decidedly._) No....

BILL.

No?...

CLARE.

I am not free.

BILL.

Not ... free.... Then you’re—you’re—engaged?

CLARE.

No.

BILL.

No?... But——

CLARE.

I am not free.

BILL.

But you’re _not_ engaged?

CLARE.

No.

BILL.

Clare! You don’t mean—you can’t mean that you are married?...

CLARE.

Married?

BILL.

Yes—married!

CLARE.

Don’t be silly.

BILL.

That’s no answer. Are you married?

CLARE.

Of course I’m not.

BILL.

You’re neither engaged nor married—but you’re not free to marry me. What does it all mean?

CLARE.

You must be content with that.

BILL.

Must I? Then you don’t know me. I’ll give you no rest—I’ll persecute you night and day till I get at the truth.

CLARE.

(_After a pause._) You may be right, Bill; perhaps I do owe you an explanation since I allowed you to kiss me....

BILL.

And kissed me....

CLARE.

(_Tragically._) I belong to another man....

BILL.

But you said just now——

CLARE.

Whom I can never marry....

BILL.

What!

CLARE.

Because he is already married.

BILL.

(_Horrified._) Clare! you—you——

CLARE.

(_Loftily._) Our bond is purely of the spirit.

BILL.

Eh?

CLARE.

(_Unconsciously imitating MICHAEL’S manner._) He is a noble and high-souled gentleman. His life is one long self-sacrifice for the woman whom he married. She loves him, and for her sake he fought against his love for me. But that love mastered him: he confessed it. I told him it was returned, though I know now it was the pity and friendship I felt for him which I mistook for love. We promised to be true to each other. I cannot—I dare not break my promise. My love is all he has to make life bearable....

(_BILL is about to speak when LADY PATRICIA’S voice,
singing in the distance, brings him up with a jerk. He
listens a moment. When he speaks his tone is one of
dismay._)

BILL.

Great—Scott!

CLARE.

(_Coldly._) I beg your pardon?

BILL.

I say, Clare, d’you know I’ve made an ass of myself in just the same way as you!

CLARE.

An ass?... Will you kindly explain yourself.

BILL.

I had no right to tell you I loved you, because I am bound to another woman.

CLARE.

Not—not to a married woman?

BILL.

A married woman....

CLARE.

Oh, how dreadful!

BILL.

Our bond is purely of the spirit.

CLARE.

Oh?... What is she like?

BILL.

Noble and high-souled like your——

CLARE.

Is she pretty?

BILL.

Oh, yes, she——

CLARE.

Did you love her?

BILL.

Till I met you five weeks ago I believe I did. Then I—— Anyhow, I’m afraid I’ll have to stick to her. If I threw her over now I don’t know what the poor woman would do.

CLARE.

You have a pretty high notion of your attractions.

BILL.

And you of yours.

CLARE.

You appear to forget that I am a woman.

(_You hear LADY PATRICIA’S voice just beneath talking to
MICHAEL. BILL exclaims with a scared look_:)

She’s coming here!...

CLARE.

Well?... (_With dawning comprehension. She seizes his arm._) Bill—you don’t mean to say that she——

(_MICHAEL is heard replying to LADY PATRICIA. CLARE
whispers with startled eyes_:)

That’s he!

BILL.

(_Staring at her._) That’s Michael.... Good God! Clare, it’s not—it’s not Michael that you——

CLARE.

Hush!... They’re going past....

BILL.

(_In a fierce undertone._) The blackguard!

CLARE.

What do you mean?

BILL.

If I hadn’t been a blind fool, I would have seen through this precious friendship for you long ago. It never dawned on me that the fellow was such a scoundrel. And a precious hypocrite, too, by Jove! Playing up so as to make that poor, trusting woman believe him madly in love with her....

CLARE.

That poor, trusting woman? Are you, by any chance, speaking of Patricia?

BILL.

Of course I am. Hanging about her neck while all the time he’s making love to an innocent girl! It’s perfectly disgusting!

CLARE.

And what has your noble, high-souled Patricia been doing, I should like to know? Shamming infatuation for poor Michael to hide her shameful flirtation with a callow boy.

BILL.

It was not a shameful flirtation—and I’m no more a callow boy than you are.

CLARE.

What amazes me is that you should ever have allowed yourself to be fooled by a shallow, deceitful _poseuse_ like Patricia.

BILL.

She hasn’t fooled me. She’s deeply and truly in love with me.

CLARE.

Contradiction isn’t argument: it’s merely rude.

BILL.

If it had been any one else but Michael there might have been some excuse for you. But Michael! How could you? A dull, priggish ass——

CLARE.

He’s not a dull, priggish ass!

BILL.

Contradiction isn’t argument: it’s merely rude.

CLARE.

How dare you speak to me like that!

BILL.

(_Sulkily._) I beg your pardon.

(_He moves away from her, and they both stand staring in
opposite directions._)

CLARE.

(_After a pause._) I don’t think there’s anything more to be said.

BILL.

Neither do I.

(_A pause._)

CLARE.

Nothing.

BILL.

Nothing.

(_A pause._)

CLARE.

Things must remain as they are.

BILL.

Yes, I suppose they must.

(_A pause._)

CLARE.

Of course, any one who was at all unprejudiced would see at once the—the higher morality of my decision.

BILL.

The what?

CLARE.

The higher morality. Michael has often told me that our pure love and the fact that he does his duty as best he can to his wife are the only things that keep him from suicide....

BILL.

(_Under his breath._) Bosh!

CLARE.

I beg your pardon?

BILL.

Nothing.... It’s awfully funny to think of Michael spooning away with you and Patricia and boring you both to death without knowing it.

CLARE.

I don’t see that it’s any funnier than Patricia doing the same with you and Michael.

BILL.

Well, anyhow, I shall have to stick to Patricia—not because of “higher morality”—whatever that means—but because I know she would pine away if I left her now.

CLARE.

Tchah!

(_They stand miserably silent, looking in opposite
directions. The nightingale starts singing, and sings
through the next scene. The voices of the DEAN and MRS.
O’FARREL come up from beneath._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, I find it chilly, Dean—distinctly chilly.

DEAN.

For Whitsuntide, dear lady—surely not. True, Whitsuntide is very late this year....

(_MRS. O’FARREL enters, followed by the DEAN, up the
central ladder._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Why, here’s the child! All alone, my dear? Whatever have you been doing to your hair?

CLARE.

It’s such a hot night I had to take it down.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Hot?

DEAN.

But, my dear child, you can’t possibly go home like that!

CLARE.

I’ll put it up when I get back to the house.

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Perceiving BILL._) Is that my son?

BILL.

(_Gloomily._) Hullo, mater....

DEAN.

Enchanting night, my boy!

BILL.

(_As before._) Awfully jolly....

MRS. O’FARREL.

And where are the others?

CLARE.

I don’t know.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Sentimentalising in the moonlight....

CLARE.

I suppose so.

(_MRS. O’FARREL regards both the young people critically
through her lorgnette._)

DEAN.

(_Breezily._) And what have you two been up to?

BILL.

Mootching around.

CLARE.

Playing about.

DEAN.

Your mother and I thought we’d like a little stroll before going home.

BILL.

Good idea....

(_The DEAN fixes his monocle, and, slightly puzzled,
scrutinises them each in turn._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

What’s the matter with you both?

BILL AND CLARE.

The matter?...

MRS. O’FARREL.

Have you been quarrelling?

BILL AND CLARE.

Quarrelling?...

MRS. O’FARREL.

You’re as sulky as two bears.

BILL AND CLARE.

I?

MRS. O’FARREL.

As two bears. Aren’t they, Dean?

DEAN.

Sulky? No, no; surely not sulky! Chastened! Thoughtful! A little overcome, perhaps, by the beauty of the night—as all sensitive young souls should be.

MRS. O’FARREL.

H’m!... Sensitive young souls!...

(_LADY PATRICIA, followed by MICHAEL, enters on the left._)

LADY PATRICIA.

All of you? But how charming! How delightful!

DEAN.

Dear Lady Patricia!

(_MICHAEL moves towards CLARE, who evades his ardent
gaze._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

What have you been doing with yourselves?

LADY PATRICIA.

Looking at the guelder-roses in the moonlight, and wondering whether they were guelder-roses at all or great pearls.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Personally I should say they were guelder-roses.

LADY PATRICIA.

Ah, but dear Aunt Eileen, how can you tell what pranks the fairies may not play on such a night as this?

DEAN.

What an exquisite fancy!

BILL.

(_Who has been looking jealously at CLARE and MICHAEL. He speaks defiantly with eyes on CLARE._) I say, Cousin Patricia....

LADY PATRICIA.

Yes, Cousin Bill?

(_CLARE looks at them._)

BILL.

If it wouldn’t bother you too much, I wonder if you’d care to take me to have a look at those thingumybob roses. It would be simply corking!

LADY PATRICIA.

I shall be charmed, Cousin Bill. We’ll settle the question of guelder-rose or pearl together.

(_They move towards the ladder on the left._)

CLARE.

(_In a low voice to BILL as he passes her._) Worm! (_In a defiant voice to MICHAEL._) Mr. Cosway, you’ve never shown me the—the what’s-its-name....

MICHAEL.

The spiral nebula in Andromeda? It’s scarcely favourable for a view of the nebula to-night. Shall we look at the mountains of the moon?

CLARE.

Thanks awfully.

(_She and MICHAEL move to the central ladder._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_To BILL as they descend on the left._) Do you believe in fairies, Cousin Bill?

MICHAEL.

(_To CLARE as they descend the central ladder._)

I have often wondered how the night would look if we had nine moons like Jupiter.

(_A pause. The DEAN looks disapprovingly after the
disappearing BILL, MRS. O’FARREL through her lorgnette
after CLARE._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

H’m....

DEAN.

I beg your pardon?... You were saying?...

MRS. O’FARREL.

I didn’t say anything. I was thinking.

DEAN.

Ah, thinking—yes, thinking.... So was I.... By the way, Eileen, your—er—cherished project for marrying Clare to your son doesn’t appear to be materialising quite—er—satisfactorily.

MRS. O’FARREL.

No, it doesn’t.

DEAN.

Not quite as smoothly as we—as you hoped.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Give me a whisky-and-soda.

DEAN.

A whisky——

MRS. O’FARREL.

And soda.

(_The DEAN pours out a drop of whisky._)

Go on....

(_The DEAN sets the syphon going._)

Nearly full.... When!... And you had better take something as well—to fortify yourself against what I am going to say.

DEAN.

Ah.... A little soda-water. (_Helps himself._) So you are going to be unpleasant, my dear Eileen?

MRS. O’FARREL.

I am. Those two _had_ been quarrelling just now.

DEAN.

That was evident—even to me.

MRS. O’FARREL.

They had been quarrelling bitterly—and I can make a shrewd guess at the cause.

DEAN.

I also.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Indeed. Well, I think it’s high time to speak plainly.

DEAN.

I quite agree with you.

MRS. O’FARREL.

I’m glad to hear it.... Bill had very evidently been taking your daughter to task for her amazing indiscretions.

DEAN.

Amazing indiscretions? Clare’s? Will you kindly be more explicit.

MRS. O’FARREL.

I mean to be. Perhaps you remember some weeks ago I warned you that her intimacy with Michael Cosway ought to be stopped?

DEAN.

Certainly. And I took leave to disagree with you entirely.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, you were wrong. You should immediately have put an end to this intimacy—to use the mildest word for her friendship with Michael.

DEAN.

Mrs. O’Farrel, is it possible you are speaking of my daughter?

MRS. O’FARREL.

And it’s your duty to put an end to it at once. I only hope that you may not be too late.

DEAN.

This—this—this is beyond anything!... Perhaps you will be so good——

MRS. O’FARREL.

Now then, Dean, pray don’t lose your temper. It’s neither wise nor becoming, and at our age very bad for the heart. Listen to me quietly for a moment. I refused for a long time to believe any ill of this—er—friendship. I knew Michael to be infatuated with his wife, and Clare to be a healthy-minded girl. But last week Emily Fitzgerald told me she had seen Michael walking in the Stanton Woods with his arm around Clare’s shoulder. She added that the affair was becoming quite notorious in the neighbourhood.... You must act, and act at once.

DEAN.

Is that all? So you condescend to listen to the tittle-tattle of a notorious old gossip like Emily Fitzgerald? Upon my word I’m ashamed of you!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Dean! Have you taken leave of your senses?

DEAN.

I might well put that question to you, Mrs. O’Farrel. But I refrain from vulgar _tu quoque_ repartee. I have no more to say except to warn you that before looking after the morals of my daughter, you had far better look after those of your son.

MRS. O’FARREL.

My son?

DEAN.

Precisely—your son.

MRS. O’FARREL.

What do you mean?

DEAN.

I and others—unlike yourself, I will not drag in the names of outsiders—have for some time past watched your son and Lady Patricia with grief and dismay.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Patricia!

DEAN.

Just now you believed your son had been impertinently taking Clare to task for her charming friendship with Michael Cosway. I am convinced you were mistaken. It was Clare who had been warning your son that his indiscretions were becoming the talk of the place.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Bill entangled with Patricia! And Clare—_Clare_ preaching propriety! It’s too laughable! A boy’s innocent homage for a woman at least ten years his senior! You’re a very foolish old man.

DEAN.

Again I put away from me the _tu quoque_ retort.... Add two and two together. I don’t for a moment blame _her_. I can’t find it in my heart to blame her. The dear and beautiful creature is as God made her: exquisitely sensitive, sentimental and infinitely affectionate.... But I warn you, Mrs. O’Farrel, I warn you.

MRS. O’FARREL.

I refuse to hear another word. You ought to be ashamed of yourself!... And the saddest part of the whole affair is my poor boy’s undoubted affection for your daughter.

DEAN.

Affection for Clare! I don’t believe it!

MRS. O’FARREL.

Are you his mother?

DEAN.

Certainly not!... But I have watched him—with the result that I am convinced of his infatuation for Lady Patricia.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Fiddle-sticks!

DEAN.

And I may as well tell you, though you will not believe it, that my poor girl’s affections are centred on your son.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Oh, dam’ foolishness!

DEAN.

This has gone far enough, Mrs. O’Farrel.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Quite far enough. I am going home.

DEAN.

So am I.

(_Followed by the DEAN, MRS. O’FARREL moves towards the
central ladder. Suddenly he stops, hurries on tiptoe
to the back, and looks cautiously over the railing. He
whispers_:)

Eileen!...

MRS. O’FARREL.

What is it?

DEAN.

Hush!... Clare’s coming here with Michael Cosway. I offer you a chance to substantiate the aspersions you have made against her character.

MRS. O’FARREL.

What do you mean?

DEAN.

We will conceal ourselves in the summer-house and hear what they have to say to each other.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Really, Dean!

DEAN.

We may disregard the rules of ordinary morality in a situation like this. I speak professionally. Quick! (_He draws her towards the summer-house._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, upon my word!...

(_They go into the summer-house, and sit with the door
open, but invisible in the gloom of the interior. Voices
are heard beneath. Then CLARE enters on the left, followed
by MICHAEL._)

CLARE.

Father!... (_She looks around her._) Why, they’ve gone!...

MICHAEL.

They must have returned to the house.

CLARE.

We had better go too.

MICHAEL.

Oh, Clare, a moment.... Look at me, dear.... (_He takes her hands._)

CLARE.

Well?

MICHAEL.

Are you unhappy?

CLARE.

Why should I be?

MICHAEL.

You are no longer the wild and buoyant thing you were. You have grown so pensive and _distrait_. And is it my jealous imagination?—so often lately you have seemed to avoid me....

CLARE.

I—I’m sorry....

MICHAEL.

There’s trouble in your eyes, my dearest. Clare, do you chafe at the restrictions fate has put on our love?

CLARE.

Oh, I—I don’t know. I’m all right, Michael—but you—— We’d better go in now. Father’s waiting for me.

MICHAEL.

Clare.

CLARE.

Yes.

MICHAEL.

Kiss me before you go.

CLARE.

Oh, not now....

MICHAEL.

(_Bending down to her._) Kiss me, dear.

(_She kisses him perfunctorily on the cheek; he sighs;
she turns and descends the ladder on the left; he follows
her._)

How sweet it is!...

CLARE.

Sweet?

MICHAEL.

Your “pigtail,” dear. The sight of it makes me feel a boy again. I should like to pull it and run away.

(_CLARE laughs and they both descend out of sight. A
pause. The nightingale starts singing. MRS. O’FARREL
emerges from the summer-house. Her step is almost jaunty
with suppressed triumph, and her manner elaborately
off-hand. The DEAN remains invisible in the summer-house._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

Ah, the nightingale! How charmingly it sings to-night!... I do wish we had some nightingales at Ashurst. I suppose they prefer low-lying ground like this.... Do they sing in your garden at the Deanery?

(_The DEAN comes out of the summer-house in a very
crestfallen condition._)

DEAN.

Eileen——

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Cheerfully._) Yes?

DEAN.

This is dreadful—dreadful....

MRS. O’FARREL.

On the contrary, I think it’s most delightful! One can hear every note so perfectly at this elevation.

DEAN.

Is it generous of you—is it generous of you, Eileen, to flaunt your terrible triumph like this? I am heart-broken! I am distracted! What on earth am I to do?

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Pouring him out a whisky-and-soda._) Drink this!

DEAN.

(_Pettishly._) I don’t care for whisky.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Oh, you needn’t make such a fuss! It’s perfectly obvious from what we saw just now that no real harm has been done. The way she kissed Michael——

(_She bursts out laughing._)

DEAN.

How can you, Eileen? How can you?

MRS. O’FARREL.

It reminded me of a child taking castor-oil!... But Michael—the double-faced hypocrisy of the man! I’m really very sorry for Patricia.

DEAN.

I don’t see the necessity for lavishing sympathy on her.

MRS. O’FARREL.

What do you mean? Doesn’t she believe he returns her devotion?

DEAN.

Her devotion doesn’t prevent her philandering with other men, as I told you just now.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, upon my word! I wouldn’t have believed it! In spite of this gross example of your obtuseness, you still have the—the audacity to stick to your slander against Bill! Really I—— (_She stops short, listens, then hurries to the back and looks over the railing. She turns to the DEAN and speaks in a quiet whisper._) We must hide in the summer-house....

DEAN.

Eh? What?

MRS. O’FARREL.

At once! Bill and Patricia are returning here. You will see for yourself there’s nothing more between them than cousinly regard.

DEAN.

I refuse to eavesdrop a lady.

MRS. O’FARREL.

But you deliberately did it a moment ago.

DEAN.

Clare is my daughter.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Fiddlesticks! (_Pushes him before her._) Quick now!

DEAN.

I submit——

MRS. O’FARREL.

Hush!

DEAN.

—Under protest....

(_She shepherds the DEAN into the summer-house just as
PATRICIA and BILL come up the central ladder._)

LADY PATRICIA.

Cousin Bill and I have discovered that guelder-roses are guelder-roses after all.... Why, Bill dear, they’re not here!

BILL.

Got impatient, I suppose, and went back to the house. About time we did the same. It’s getting late.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Dreamily._) _Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!_

BILL.

What d’you say?

LADY PATRICIA.

I was quoting Tennyson.

BILL.

Oh....

LADY PATRICIA.

You know the lines, don’t you? Listen:

_Late, late, so late! and dark the night and chill!_
_Late, late, so late, but we can enter still!_
_Too late, too late! Ye cannot enter now!_

So sweet and sad, are they not? Don’t you love sweet, sad things?

BILL.

Rather.

LADY PATRICIA.

_Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought._

BILL.

Rather.... I say, hadn’t we better be going?

LADY PATRICIA.

Bill....

BILL.

Yes.

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Her hands on his shoulders._) Do you love me as you used to?

BILL.

I say, why d’you—you don’t think——

LADY PATRICIA.

No—no—no—ah, no! I know well enough that your love is deeper and stronger than it was. But this sacred love—this hopeless love of ours has swept you suddenly into manhood. You are no longer a boy; you are graver; you are sadder.... And if sometimes you seem to avoid me now, it’s due to no cooling of passion, but to the fear lest the pent-up lava at your heart should overflow and ruin us both.

BILL.

I say, you do put things awfully well!

LADY PATRICIA.

Petrarch and Laura—Paolo and Francesca—Lancelot and Guinevere.... Bill—no, William and Patricia.... Ah, my poor boy, put your arm around me, and say those lines of Lovelace that I taught you.

BILL.

Oh, I say—really, you know—— On my honour, I’ve forgotten ’em....

LADY PATRICIA.

No, no! You’re merely shy—bashful—boyish! I love to hear you say that verse. (_She starts him._) _Yet this_——

BILL.

_Yet this—yet this_—— What’s the word?

LADY PATRICIA.

_Yet this inconstancy_——

BILL.

(_In a self-conscious sing-song._)

_Yet this inconstancy is such_
_As you, too, shall adore;_
_I could not love thee, dear, so much,_
_Loved I not honour more._

LADY PATRICIA.

_Loved I not honour more...._ Love—duty—honour—— (_She sighs deeply._) Come, dear....

(_They go out on the left. A pause. The DEAN comes out of
the summer-house. He barely conceals his triumph under a
mask of outraged propriety. MRS. O’FARREL follows him._)

DEAN.

H’m.... Cousinly regard!...

MRS. O’FARREL.

It’s shocking! Outrageous!

DEAN.

It is indeed.

MRS. O’FARREL.

—That you shouldn’t even pretend to hide your satisfaction at the scene we have just witnessed.

DEAN.

Satisfaction! I assure you, dear lady, I’m shocked and grieved—deeply grieved, that your son should prove capable of such depravity.

MRS. O’FARREL.

My son! You know as well as I do that the foolish boy has been bewitched by that unprincipled woman.

DEAN.

Come, come, Eileen. In common fairness we should apportion the blame equally—though, indeed, my experience has generally led me to the conclusion that the _man_ is more to blame in these cases than the woman.

MRS. O’FARREL.

_Your_ experience! Quite so!... I shall give Patricia my plain, unvarnished opinion of herself and forbid her my house. You will tell Michael that he’s a scoundrel and a libertine.

DEAN.

No, no, no! Tact, tact, my dear Eileen, tact and diplomacy!... Let us calmly review the position. Cosway’s and Lady Patricia’s relations with Clare and your son, though highly culpable, appear to be blameless of the worst, and considerably more—er—ardent on the part of the married couple than of the single. So much is—er—unhappily evident. Now, do you still maintain that your son is—er—interested in Clare?

MRS. O’FARREL.

I am certain of it.

DEAN.

Incredible! Of course, I _know_—in spite of appearances—that Clare feels strongly for your son.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Fudge!

DEAN.

Now, my dear Eileen, pray don’t fall back on contradiction. What we have both got to do is to bring these young people together——

MRS. O’FARREL.

Hush! D’you hear? (_She goes quickly to the back and looks out. A pause._) All four of them! Of course, they went up to the house to look for us.... What shall we do?

DEAN.

Ah! (_Goes to the railing at the back._) Allow me.... (_Calls._) Clare....

CLARE.

(_Beneath._) Hullo!...

MRS. O’FARREL.

(_Excitedly._) But are you going to let them know——

DEAN.

I beg you, Eileen, to sit down and control yourself.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Well, but I should like to know——

DEAN.

Will you kindly entrust the conduct of the situation entirely to me. Take your cue from me, and above all, be tactful and dignified. (_He sits down with unction._)

MRS. O’FARREL.

I really believe you are thoroughly enjoying yourself.

DEAN.

Pray don’t be flippant, Eileen. This is a very serious matter.

(_He crosses his legs and fixes his eyeglass as CLARE
enters up the central ladder followed by LADY PATRICIA,
BILL, and MICHAEL._)

CLARE.

We thought you had gone back to the house.

DEAN.

Indeed.

LADY PATRICIA.

I really believe they went to depreciate the guelder-roses as well!

MRS. O’FARREL.

We did nothing of the sort, Patricia, and let——

DEAN.

Kindly allow me, Mrs. O’Farrel.... No, Lady Patricia, we have not been to examine the guelder-roses. We have been all the time here.

LADY PATRICIA, BILL, MICHAEL, CLARE.

Here!...

DEAN.

We have been all the time—_here_.

MICHAEL.

But—but I returned a short while ago, and you were certainly not here then.

DEAN.

Excuse me, sir—we were.

CLARE.

But we never saw you....

DEAN.

That I can quite believe. We, however, saw you and Mr. Cosway quite distinctly.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Most distinctly! And I——

DEAN.

Allow me, Mrs. O’Farrel....

BILL.

But, I say——

DEAN.

Sir?

BILL.

You can’t have been here a minute or two ago when Patri—— Cousin Patricia and I——

DEAN.

Pardon me, sir—we were.

BILL.

But, I say, you must have hidden yourselves somewhere, because——

DEAN.

Your mother and I were sitting in the summer-house.

BILL, CLARE.

Oh ...!

LADY PATRICIA.

Oh!... O—oh!... (_She gropes for a chair, she sits down heavily._)

MICHAEL.

What—what is the matter, dear?

LADY PATRICIA.

Nothing.... I—I am a little faint——

MICHAEL.

The—the night is certainly oppressive....

LADY PATRICIA.

I—I’m all right now....

(_A pause. The nightingale starts singing._)

DEAN.

(_To CLARE._) I think it is high time to go.... Did you see whether the carriage had arrived?

CLARE.

Yes, it’s there.

MRS. O’FARREL.

Come, Bill, we must be getting home.

DEAN.

(_Solemnly._) I have several weighty additions to make to my sermon to-morrow—additions which certain events to-night have suggested. I trust you will all be at the Cathedral for morning service. (_An awkward silence. The DEAN waves his hand towards the central ladder._) Mrs. O’Farrel.... (_MRS. O’FARREL passes and descends._) Clare.... (_CLARE passes him and descends. He says with impressive unconcern_:) The nightingale sings most divinely to-night!

(_He goes out, BILL following him with a hang-dog air.
BALDWIN enters on the left just as LADY PATRICIA and
MICHAEL move to the central ladder._)

BALDWIN.

If you please, sir....

MICHAEL.

What is it, Baldwin? What is it?

BALDWIN.

If you please, sir, will you be using them lanterns agin to-night?

MICHAEL.

No.

BALDWIN.

Then I ’ad better take ’em down, sir?

MICHAEL.

Yes, take them down. (_To LADY PATRICIA._) Come, dear.

(_BALDWIN starts fiddling about with the strings of the
lanterns._)

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Wearily._) Yes, darling.

BALDWIN.

(_Lowering the first lamp._) Whoa!...

LADY PATRICIA.

(_Speaking in a passionate whisper._) Will you love me, Michael, always—always—and no matter what may happen?

MICHAEL.

(_Taking her hands._) I? How can you ask? But you—could you still love me if—if——

LADY PATRICIA.

If——?

MICHAEL.

If I were unworthy?

LADY PATRICIA.

You!

(_They descend the central ladder._)

BALDWIN.