Chapter V: Act III: Lady Frederick's Dressing-Room (5)

[_Smiling._] Perhaps you would like me to call you Sir Robert?

BOULGER.

I should prefer that you would call me nothing at all. I have absolutely no wish to know you.

ALEC.

Which shows that your taste is as bad as your breeding.

BOULGER.

[_Angrily, walking up to him._] By God, I'll knock you down!

ALEC.

You could hardly do that when I'm already lying on my back.

BOULGER.

Look here, Mackenzie, I'm not going to let you play the fool with me. I want to know what answer you have to make to all these charges that have been brought against you.

ALEC.

Might I suggest that only Miss Allerton has the least right to receive answers to her questions? And she hasn't questioned me.

BOULGER.

I've given up trying to understand her attitude. If I were she, it would make me sick with horror to look at you. Since this morning you've rested under a direct accusation of causing George's death, and you've said nothing in self-defence.

ALEC.

Nothing.

BOULGER.

You've been given an opportunity to explain yourself, and you haven't taken it.

ALEC.

Quite true.

BOULGER.

Are you not going to deny the charge?

ALEC.

I'm not.

BOULGER.

Then I can only draw one conclusion. There appears to be no means of bringing you to justice, but at least I can refuse to know you.

ALEC.

All is over between us. And shall I return your letters and your photograph?

BOULGER.

I'm not joking.

ALEC.

It's singular that though I'm Scotch and you are English I should be able to see how ridiculous you are, while you're quite blind to your own absurdity.

DICK.

Come, Alec! Remember he's only a boy.

BOULGER.

[_To_ DICK LOMAS.] I'm perfectly able to look after myself, and I'll thank you not to interfere. [_To_ ALEC.] If Lucy's so indifferent to her brother's death that she's willing to keep up with you, that's her own affair ...

DICK.

[_Interrupting._] Come, Bobbie, don't make a scene.

BOULGER.

[_Furiously._] Leave me alone, confound you!

ALEC.

Do you think this is quite the place for an altercation? Wouldn't you gain more notoriety if you attacked me in my club or at Church parade on Sunday?

BOULGER.

It's mere shameless impudence that you should come here to-night. You're using these wretched women as a shield, because you know that as long as Lucy sticks to you there are people who won't believe the story.

ALEC.

I came for the same reason as yourself, dear boy. Because I was invited.

DICK.

Now then, Bobbie, shut up!

BOULGER.

I shan't shut up. The man's got no right to force himself here.

DICK.

Remember that you're Lady Kelsey's nephew.

BOULGER.

I didn't ask him. D'you think I'd have come if I knew he was going to be here? He's acknowledged that he has no defence.

ALEC.

Pardon me, I acknowledge nothing and deny nothing.

BOULGER.

That won't do for me. I want the truth, and I'm going to get it. I've got a right to know.

ALEC.

[_Beginning to lose his temper._] Don't make an ass of yourself, Bobby.

BOULGER.

By God, I'll make you answer!

[_As he says this he goes up to_ ALEC _furiously, but_ ALEC. _with a twist of his arm, hurls him back._

ALEC.

I could break your back, you silly boy.

[_With a cry of anger_ BOULGER _is about to spring at_ ALEC _when_ DICK _gets in the way._

DICK.

Now then, no scenes. And you'll only get the worst of it, Bobby. Alec could just crumple you up. Take him away, Mallins. Don't stand there like a stuffed owl, Carbery.

BOULGER.

Let me alone, you fool!

MALLINS.

Come along, old chap.

BOULGER.

[_To_ ALEC.] You damned skunk!

DICK.

Now then, be off with you. Don't make a silly ass of yourself.

[BOULGER, MALLINS _and_ CARBERY _go out._

DICK.

Poor Lady Kelsey! To-morrow half London will be saying that you and Bobby had a stand-up fight in her drawing-room.

ALEC.

[_Furiously._] The damned cubs!

DICK.

The position is growing confoundedly awkward!

ALEC.

They lick my boots till I loathe them, and then they turn against me like a pack of curs. Oh, I despise them--these silly boys who stay at home wallowing in their ease while men work. Thank God, I've done with them all now. They think one can fight one's way through Africa as easily as one walks down Piccadilly. They think one goes through hardships and dangers, illness and starvation, to be the lion of a dinner-party in Mayfair.

DICK.

My dear Alec, keep calm.

ALEC.

[_With a visible effort containing himself completely, with studied nonchalance._] D'you think that I look wildly excited?

DICK.

[_Ironically._] I don't think butter would melt in your mouth.

[DICK _and_ ALEC _go out into the garden. In a moment_ BOULGER _comes in with_ LADY KELSEY.

BOULGER.

Thank heaven, there's nobody here.

LADY KELSEY.

I think you're dreadfully foolish, Bobby. You know how Lucy resents any interference with her actions.

BOULGER.

Won't you sit down? You must be dreadfully tired.

LADY KELSEY.

Why won't you wait till to-morrow?

BOULGER.

I feel that it ought to be settled at once.

[LUCY _appears_.

LUCY.

Did you send for me, my aunt? Mr. Carbery said you wanted to speak to me here.

LADY KELSEY.

Yes, I gave him that message.

BOULGER.

I asked Aunt Alice to beg you to come here. I was afraid you wouldn't if I asked you.

LUCY.

[_Lightly._] What nonsense! I'm always delighted to see you.

BOULGER.

I wanted to speak to you about something, and I thought Aunt Alice should be present.

LUCY.

Is it so important that it can't wait till to-morrow?

BOULGER.

I venture to think it's very important.

LUCY.

[_Smiling._] I'm all attention.

[_He hesitates for a moment, then braces himself to the ordeal._

BOULGER.

I've told you often, Lucy, that I've been in love with you for as many years as I can remember.

LUCY.

Surely you've not snatched me from the unwilling arm of my partner in order to make me a proposal of marriage?

BOULGER.

I'm perfectly serious, Lucy.

LUCY.

[_Smiling._] I assure you it doesn't suit you at all.

BOULGER.

The other day I asked you again to marry me, just before Alec Mackenzie came back.

LUCY.

It was very charming of you. You mustn't think that because I laugh at you a little I'm not grateful for your affection.

BOULGER.

Except for that letter in this morning's _Times_, I should never have dared to say anything to you again. But that changes everything.

LUCY.

I don't understand what you mean.

BOULGER.

[_After a little pause._] I ask you again if you'll be my wife? When Alec Mackenzie came back I understood why you were so indifferent to me, but you can't marry him now.

LUCY.

You have no right to talk to me like this.

BOULGER.

I'm the only man who's related to you at all, and I love you with my whole soul.

LADY KELSEY.

I think you should listen to him, Lucy. I'm growing old, and soon you'll be quite alone in the world.

BOULGER.

I don't ask you to care for me. I only want to serve you.

LUCY.

I can only repeat that I'm very grateful to you. I can never marry you.

BOULGER.

[_Beginning to lose his temper again._] Are you going to continue to know Mackenzie? If you'll take the advice of any unprejudiced person about that letter, you'll find that he'll say the same as I. There can be no shadow of doubt that Mackenzie is guilty of a monstrous crime.

LUCY.

I don't care what the evidence is. I know he can't have done a shameful thing.

BOULGER.

But have you forgotten that it's your own brother he killed? The whole country is up in arms against him, and you are quite indifferent.

LUCY.

[_Much moved._] Oh, Bobbie, how can you be so cruel?

BOULGER.

If you ever really cared for George at all, you must wish to punish the man who caused his death.

LUCY.

Oh, why d'you torment me? I tell you that he isn't guilty. It's because I'm convinced of that ...

BOULGER.

[_Interrupting._] But have you asked him?

LUCY.

No.

BOULGER.

He might give you the truth.

LUCY.

I couldn't do that.

BOULGER.

Why not?

LADY KELSEY.

It's very strange that he should insist on this silence.

LUCY.

Do you believe that story too?

LADY KELSEY.

I don't know what to believe. It's so extraordinary. If the man's innocent, why doesn't he speak?

LUCY.

He knows I trust him. I couldn't cause him the great pain of asking him questions.

BOULGER.

Are you afraid he couldn't answer them?

LUCY.

No, no, no!

BOULGER.

Well, just try. After all, you owe as much as that to the memory of George.

LADY KELSEY.

I think it's very unreasonable, Lucy. He knows we're his friends. He can count on our discretion.

LUCY.

I believe in him implicitly. I believe in him with all the strength I've got.

BOULGER.

Then, surely it can make no difference if you ask him. There can be no reason for him not to trust you.

LUCY.

Oh, why don't you leave me alone?

BOULGER.

Ask him point blank. If he refuses to answer you ...

LUCY.

[_Hastily._] It would mean nothing. Why should he answer? I believe in him absolutely. I think he's the greatest and most honourable man I've ever known. I care more for his little finger than for the whole world. I love him with all my heart. And that's why he can't be guilty of this horrible crime. Because I've loved him for years, and he's known it. And he loves me. And he's loved me always.

[ALEC _and_ DICK _stroll in from the garden_.

LUCY.

Alec, Alec, I want you! Thank God, you've come!

ALEC.

[_Going to her quickly._] What is it?

LUCY.

Alec, you must tell them now about you and me.

[ALEC _looks at_ LUCY _for a moment_, _and then turns to_ LADY KELSEY.

ALEC.

I think perhaps we ought to have told you before, Lady Kelsey. But we wanted to enjoy our little secret by ourselves.

LADY KELSEY.

I'm afraid to understand.

ALEC.

I have asked Lucy to be my wife, and she....

LUCY.

[_Interrupting him._] She said she would be honoured and deeply grateful.

LADY KELSEY.

[_Greatly embarrassed._] I hardly know what to say.... How long have you been engaged?

LUCY.

Won't you tell me you're pleased, my aunt? I know you want me to be happy.

LADY KELSEY.

Of course, I want you to be happy. But I--I....

[BOULGER _turns on his heel and walks out_.

DICK.

[_Offering his arm to_ LADY KELSEY.] Wouldn't you like to go back to the drawing-room?

[_She allows herself to be led away, helplessly._
ALEC _and_ LUCY _are left alone_.

ALEC.

[_With a smile._] I don't think our announcement has been received with enthusiasm.

LUCY.

You're not angry with me, ALEC?

ALEC.

Of course not. Everything you do is right and charming.

LUCY.

I shall really think I'm a wonderful person if I've taught you to pay compliments.

ALEC.

I'm so glad to be alone with you. Now, at all events, people will have the sense to leave us by ourselves.

LUCY.

[_Passionately._] I want your love. I want your love so badly.

ALEC.

[_Taking her in his arms._] My darling!

LUCY.

[_Clinging to him._] The moment I'm with you I feel so confident and happy.

ALEC.

Only when you're with me? [LUCY _looks at him for an instant. He repeats the question in a caressing voice._] Only when you're with me, darling?

LUCY.

Why d'you think I made you tell them we were engaged?

ALEC.

You took me by surprise.

LUCY.

I had to tell them. I couldn't keep it back. They made me suffer so dreadfully.

ALEC.

The brutes! Tell me what they did.

LUCY.

Oh, they said horrible things about you.

ALEC.

No more than that?

LUCY.

It's nothing to you. But to me.... Oh, you don't know what agony I endure. I'm such a coward! I thought I was so much braver.

ALEC.

I don't understand you.

LUCY.

I wanted to burn my ships behind me. I wanted to reassure myself. [ALEC _makes a slight movement away from her, but she holds him back anxiously_.] Forgive me, dear. You don't know how terrible it is. I stand so dreadfully alone. Every one is convinced that you caused poor George's death--every one but me. [ALEC _looks at her gravely, without speaking_.] I try to put the thoughts out of my head, but I can't--I can't. That letter in the _Times_ looks so dreadfully true. Don't you see what I mean? The uncertainty is more than I can bear. At the first moment I felt so absolutely sure of you.

ALEC.

And now you don't?

LUCY.

I trust you just as much as ever. I know it's impossible that you should have done a shameful thing. But there it stands in black and white, and you have nothing to say in answer.

ALEC.

I know it's very difficult. That is why I asked you to believe in me.

LUCY.

I do, Alec--with all my soul. But have mercy on me. I'm not so strong as I thought. It's easy for you to stand alone. You're iron, but I'm a weak woman.

ALEC.

Oh, no, you're not like other women. I was proud of your unconquerable spirit.

LUCY.

It was easy to be brave where my father was concerned, and George, but you're the man I love, and it's so different. I don't know any more how to stand alone.

[ALEC _looks at her, thinking, but does not reply
for a moment_.

ALEC.

Do you remember that only an hour ago I told you that I'd done nothing which I wouldn't do again? I gave you my word of honour that I could reproach myself for nothing.

LUCY.

Oh, I know. I'm so utterly ashamed of myself. But I can't bear the doubt.

ALEC.

Doubt! You've said the word at last.

LUCY.

I tell every one that I don't believe a word of these horrible charges, and I repeat to myself: I'm certain, I'm certain that he's innocent. And yet at the bottom of my heart there's a doubt, and I can't crush it.

ALEC.

Is that why you told them we were engaged to be married?

LUCY.

I wanted to kill that gnawing pain of suspicion. I thought if I stood up before them and cried out that my trust in you was so great, I was willing to marry you notwithstanding everything, I should at least have peace in my own heart.

[ALEC _walks up and down. Then he stops in
front of_ LUCY.

ALEC.

What is it precisely you want me to do?

LUCY.

I want you to have mercy on me because I love you. Don't tell the world if you choose not to, but tell me the truth. I know you're incapable of lying. If I only have it from your own lips I shall believe, I want to be certain, certain!

ALEC.

Don't you realise that I would never have asked you to marry me if my conscience hadn't been quite clear? Don't you realise that the reasons I have for holding my tongue must be of overwhelming strength?

LUCY.

But I am going to be your wife, and I love you, and you love me.

ALEC.

I implore you not to insist, Lucy. Let us remember only that the past is gone and we love one another. It's impossible for me to tell you anything.

LUCY.

Oh, but you must now. If any part of the story is true, you must give me a chance of judging for myself.

ALEC.

I'm very sorry, I can't.

LUCY.

But you'll kill my love for you. The doubt which lurked at the bottom of my soul now fills me. How can you let me suffer such maddening torture?

ALEC.

I thought you trusted me.

LUCY.

I'll be satisfied if you'll only tell me one thing: only tell me that when you sent George on that expedition you didn't know that he'd be killed. [ALEC _looks at her steadily_.] Only say that, Alec. Say that's not true, and I'll believe you.

ALEC.

[_Very quietly._] But it is true.

[LUCY _does not answer, but stares at him with
terrified eyes_.

LUCY.

Oh, I don't understand. Oh, my dearest, don't treat me as a child. Have mercy on me! You must be serious now. It's a matter of life and death to both of us.

ALEC.

I'm perfectly serious.

LUCY.

You knew that you were sending George into a death-trap? You knew he couldn't escape alive?

ALEC.

Except by a miracle.

LUCY.

And you don't believe in miracles?

ALEC.

No.

LUCY.

Oh, it can't be true. Oh, Alec, Alec, Alec! Oh, what shall I do?

ALEC.

I tell you that whatever I did was inevitable.

LUCY.

Then if that's true, the rest must be true also. Oh, it's awful. I can't realise it. Haven't you anything to say at all?

ALEC.

[_In a low voice._] Only that I've loved you always with all my soul.

LUCY.

You knew how much I loved my brother. You knew how much it meant to me that he should live to wipe out my father's dishonour. All the future was centred on him, and you sacrificed him.

ALEC.

[_Hesitatingly._] I think I might tell you this. He had committed a grave error of judgment. We were entrapped by the Arabs, and our only chance of escape entailed the almost certain death of one of us.

[_An inkling of the truth seizes_ LUCY, _and her
face is suddenly distorted with horror. She
goes up to him impulsively. Her voice
trembles with emotion._

LUCY.

Alec, Alec, he didn't do something--unworthy? You're not trying to shield him?

ALEC.

[_Hoarsely._] No, no, no!

LUCY.

[_With a gasp of relief, almost to herself._] Thank God! I couldn't have borne that. [_To_ ALEC, _hopelessly_.] Then I don't understand.

ALEC.

It was not unjust that he should suffer for the catastrophe which he had brought about.

LUCY.

At those times one doesn't think of justice. He was so young, so frank. Wouldn't it have been nobler to give your life for his?

ALEC.

Oh, my dear, you don't know how easy it is to give one's life. How little you know me! Do you think I should have hesitated if my death had been sufficient to solve the difficulty? I had my work to do. I was bound by solemn treaties to the surrounding tribes. It would have been cowardly for me to die. I tell you, my death would have meant the awful death of every man in my party.

LUCY.

I can only see one thing, that you took George, George of all others.

ALEC.

I knew at the time that what I did might cost me your love, and though you won't believe this, I did it for your sake.

[_At this moment_ MRS. CROWLEY _enters with_
SIR ROBERT BOULGER. _She has a cloak on._

MRS. CROWLEY.

I was just coming to say good-night. Bobby is going to drive me home. [_She suddenly notices_ LUCY'S _agitation_.] What on earth's the matter?

[LADY KELSEY _and_ DICK LOMAS _come in_. LADY
KELSEY _looks at_ LUCY _and then goes up to
her impulsively_.

LADY KELSEY.

Lucy, Lucy!

LUCY.

[_Brokenly._] I'm no longer engaged to Mr. Mackenzie. He can't deny that what is said about him is true.

[_They look at him in astonishment, but he makes
no movement._

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_To_ ALEC.] Haven't you anything to say at all? You must have some explanation to offer?

ALEC.

No, I have none whatever.

DICK.

Alec, old man, have you realised all that this means?

ALEC.

Quite. I see now that it was inevitable.

LUCY.

[_With a sudden burst of furious anger._] You killed him! You killed him as surely as if you'd strangled him with your own hands.

[ROBERT BOULGER _goes to the door and flings
it open_. ALEC _gives_ LUCY _a look, then
slightly shrugs his shoulders. He walks
out without a word. The moment he has
gone_ LUCY _sinks down and bursts into
passionate tears_.

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

THE FOURTH ACT

SCENE.--_A library in the house of_ DICK LOMAS _in Portman Square_.

DICK _and his_ VALET. DICK _is putting flowers into a vase_.

DICK.

Has Mr. Mackenzie come in?

CHARLES.

Yes, sir. He's gone to his room.

DICK.

I expect Mrs. Crowley and Miss Allerton to tea. If any one else comes I'm not at home.

CHARLES.

Very well, sir.

DICK.

And if a caller should ask at what time I'm expected back, you haven't the least idea.

CHARLES.

Very well, sir.

DICK.

We shall want breakfast at eight to-morrow. I'm going down to Southampton to see Mr. Mackenzie off. But I shall be home to dinner. How about those cases in the hall?

CHARLES.

Mr. Mackenzie said they were to be sent for this afternoon. They're only labelled Zanzibar. Is that sufficient, sir?

DICK.

Oh, I suppose so. Mr. Mackenzie will have given the shippers all directions. You'd better bring the tea at once. Mrs. Crowley is coming at four.

CHARLES.

Very well, sir.

[_He goes out._ DICK _continues to arrange the
flowers, than goes to the window and looks
out. He comes back. The door is opened by_
CHARLES, _who announces_ MRS. CROWLEY.

CHARLES.

Mrs. Crowley.

DICK.

[_Going towards her eagerly and taking both her hands._] Best of women!

MRS. CROWLEY.

You seem quite glad to see me?

DICK.

I am. But where is Lucy?

MRS. CROWLEY.

She's coming later.... I don't know why you should squeeze my hands in this pointed manner.

DICK.

What an age it is since I saw you!

MRS. CROWLEY.

If you bury yourself in Scotland all the summer, you can't expect to see people who go to Homburg and the Italian lakes.

DICK.

Heavens, how you cultivate respectability!

MRS. CROWLEY.

It's a sensitive plant whose vagaries one has to humour.

DICK.

Aren't you delighted to be back in town?

MRS. CROWLEY.

London's the most charming place in the world to get away from and to come back to. Now tell me all you've been doing, if I can hear it without blushing too furiously.

DICK.

My behaviour would have done credit to a clergyman's only daughter. I dragged Alec off to Scotland after that horrible scene at Lady Kelsey's, and we played golf.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Was he very wretched, poor thing?

DICK.

He didn't say a word. I wanted to comfort him, but he never gave me a chance. He never mentioned Lucy's name.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Did he seem unhappy?

DICK.

No. He was just the same as ever, impassive and collected.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Really he's inhuman.

DICK.

He's an anomaly in this juvenile century. He's an ancient Roman who buys his clothes in Savile Row. An eagle caged with a colony of canaries.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Then he's very much in the way in England, and it's much better for him that he should go back to Africa.

DICK.

This time to-morrow he'll be half-way down the channel.

MRS. CROWLEY.

I'm really beginning to think you're a perfect angel, Mr. Lomas.

DICK.

Don't say that, it makes me feel so middle-aged. I'd much sooner be a young sinner than an elderly cherub.

MRS. CROWLEY.

It was sweet of you to look after him through the summer and then insist on his staying here till he went away. How long is he going for this time?

DICK.

Heaven knows! Perhaps for ever.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Have you told him that Lucy is coming?

DICK.

No. I thought that was a pleasing piece of information which I'd leave you to impart.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Thanks!

DICK.

She's only coming to indulge a truly feminine passion for making scenes, and she's made Alec quite wretched enough already. Why doesn't she marry Robert Boulger?

MRS. CROWLEY.

Why should she?

DICK.

Half the women I know merely married their husbands to spite somebody else. It appears to be one of the commonest causes of matrimony.

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_With a quizzical look at him._] Talking of which, what are you going to do when Mr. Mackenzie is gone?

DICK.

Talking of the weather and the crops, I propose to go to Spain.

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_Opening her eyes wide._] How very extraordinary! I thought of going there, too.

DICK.

Then, without a moment's hesitation, I shall go to Norway.

MRS. CROWLEY.

It'll be dreadfully cold.

DICK.

Dreadfully. But I shall be supported by the consciousness of having done my duty.

MRS. CROWLEY.

You don't think there would be room for both of us in Spain?

DICK.

I'm convinced there wouldn't. We should always be running against one another, and you'd insist on my looking out all your trains in Bradshaw.

MRS. CROWLEY.

I hope you remember that you asked me to tea to-day?

DICK.

Pardon me, you asked yourself. I keep the letter next to my heart and put it under my pillow every night.

MRS. CROWLEY.

You fibber! Besides, if I did, it was only on Lucy's account.

DICK.

That, I venture to think, is neither polite nor accurate.

MRS. CROWLEY.

I don't think I should so utterly detest you, if you hadn't such a good opinion of yourself.

DICK.

You forget that I vowed on the head of my maternal grandmother never to speak to you again.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Oh, I'm always doing that. I tell my maid that time she does my hair badly.

DICK.

You trifled with the tenderest affection of an innocent and unsophisticated old bachelor.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Is that you by any chance?

DICK.

Of course, it's me. D'you think I was talking of the man in the moon?

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_Looking at him critically._] With the light behind, you might still pass for thirty-five.

DICK.

I've given up youth and its vanities. I no longer pluck out my white hairs.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Then how on earth do you occupy your leisure?

DICK.

For the last three months I've been laboriously piecing together the fragments of a broken heart.

MRS. CROWLEY.

If you hadn't been so certain that I was going to accept you, I should never have refused. I couldn't resist the temptation of saying "No" just to see how you took it.

DICK.

I flatter myself that I took it very well.

MRS. CROWLEY.

You didn't. You showed an entire lack of humour. You might have known that a nice woman doesn't marry a man the first time he asks her. It's making oneself too cheap. It was very silly of you to go off to Scotland as if you didn't care.... How was I to know that you meant to wait three months before asking me again?

DICK.

I haven't the least intention of asking you again.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Then why in heaven's name did you invite me to tea?

DICK.

May I respectfully remind you, first, that you invited yourself ...

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_Interrupting._] You're so irrelevant.

DICK.

And, secondly, that an invitation to tea is not necessarily accompanied by a proposal of marriage.

MRS. CROWLEY.

I'm afraid you're lamentably ignorant of the usages of good society.

DICK.

I assure you it's not done in the best circles.

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_With a little pout._] I shall be very cross with you in a minute.

DICK.

Why?

MRS. CROWLEY.

Because you're not behaving at all prettily.

DICK.

D'you know what I'd do if I were you? Propose to me.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Oh, I couldn't do anything so immodest.

DICK.

I have registered a vow that I will never offer my hand and heart to any woman again.

MRS. CROWLEY.

On the head of your maternal grandmother?

DICK.

Oh no, far more serious than that. On the grave of my maiden aunt, who left me all my money.

MRS. CROWLEY.

What will you say if I do?

DICK.

That depends entirely on how you do it. I may remind you, however, that first you go down on your bended knees.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Oh, I waived that with you.

DICK.

And then you confess you're unworthy of me.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Mr. Lomas, I am a widow. I am twenty-nine and extremely eligible. My maid is a treasure. My dressmaker is charming. I am clever enough to laugh at your jokes, and not so learned as to know where they come from.

DICK.

Really you're very long-winded. I said it all in four words.

MRS. CROWLEY.

So could I if I might write it down.

DICK.

You must say it.

MRS. CROWLEY.

But what I'm trying to make you understand is that I don't want to marry you a bit. You're just the sort of man who'll beat his wife regularly every Saturday night.... You will say yes if I ask you, won't you?

DICK.

I've never been able to refuse a woman anything.

MRS. CROWLEY.

I have no doubt you will after six months of holy matrimony.

DICK.

I never saw any one make such a fuss about so insignificant a detail as a proposal of marriage.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Dick. [_She stretches out her hands, smiling, and he takes her in his arms._] You really are a detestable person.

DICK.

[_With a smile, taking a ring from his pocket._] I bought an engagement ring yesterday on the off chance of its being useful.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Then you meant to ask me all the time?

DICK.

Of course I did, you silly.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Oh, I wish I had known that before. I'd have refused you again.

DICK.

You absurd creature.

[_He kisses her._

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_Trying to release herself._] There's somebody coming.

DICK.

It's only Alec.

[ALEC _comes in_.

ALEC.

Hulloa!

DICK.

Alec, we've made friends, Mrs. Crowley and I.

ALEC.

It certainly looks very much like it.

DICK.

The fact is, I've asked her to marry me, and she....

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_Interrupting, with a smile._] After much pressure--

DICK.

Has consented.

ALEC.

I'm so glad. I heartily congratulate you both. I was rather unhappy at leaving Dick, Mrs. Crowley. But now I leave him in your hands, I'm perfectly content. He's the dearest, kindest old chap I've ever known.

DICK.

Shut up, Alec! Don't play the heavy father, or we shall burst into tears.

ALEC.

He'll be an admirable husband because he's an admirable friend.

MRS. CROWLEY.

I know he will. And I'm only prevented from saying all I think of him and how much I love him, by the fear that he'll become perfectly unmanageable.

DICK.

Spare me these chaste blushes which mantle my youthful brow. Will you pour out the tea ... Nellie?

MRS. CROWLEY.

Yes ... Dick.

[_She sits down at the tea-table and_ DICK _makes
himself comfortable in an arm-chair by
her side_.

ALEC.

Well, I'm thankful to say that everything's packed and ready.

MRS. CROWLEY.

I wish you'd stay for our wedding.

DICK.

Do. You can go just as well by the next boat.

ALEC.

I'm afraid that everything is settled now. I've given instructions at Zanzibar to collect bearers, and I must arrive as quickly as I can.

DICK.

I wish to goodness you'd give up these horrible explorations.

ALEC.

But they're the very breath of my life. You don't know the exhilaration of the daily dangers--the joy of treading where only the wild beasts have trodden before. Oh, already I can hardly bear my impatience when I think of the boundless country and the enchanting freedom. Here one grows so small, so despicable, but in Africa everything is built to a nobler standard. There a man is really a man; there one knows what are will and strength and courage. Oh, you don't know what it is to stand on the edge of some great plain and breathe the pure keen air after the terrors of the forest. Then at last you know what freedom is.

DICK.

The boundless plain of Hyde Park is enough for me, and the aspect of Piccadilly on a fine day in June gives me quite as many emotions as I want.

MRS. CROWLEY.

But what will you gain by it all, now that your work in East Africa is over, by all the dangers and the hardships?

ALEC.

Nothing. I want to gain nothing. Perhaps I shall discover some new species of antelope or some unknown plant. Perhaps I shall find some new waterway. That is all the reward I want. I love the sense of power and mastery. What do you think I care for the tinsel rewards of kings and peoples?

DICK.

I always said you were melodramatic. I never heard anything so transpontine.

MRS. CROWLEY.

And the end of it, what will be the end?

ALEC.

The end is death in some fever-stricken swamp, obscurely, worn out by exposure and ague and starvation. And the bearers will seize my gun and my clothes and leave me to the jackals.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Don't. It's too horrible.

ALEC.

Why, what does it matter? I shall die standing up. I shall go the last journey as I have gone every other.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Without fear?

DICK.

For all the world like the wicked baronet: Once aboard the lugger and the girl is mine!

MRS. CROWLEY.

Don't you want men to remember you?

ALEC.

Perhaps they will. Perhaps in a hundred years or so, in some flourishing town where I discovered nothing but wilderness, they will commission a second-rate sculptor to make a fancy statue of me. And I shall stand in front of the Stock Exchange, a convenient perch for birds, to look eternally upon the various shabby deeds of human kind.

[_During this speech_ MRS. CROWLEY _makes a sign
to_ DICK, _who walks slowly away and goes
out_.

MRS. CROWLEY.

And is that really everything? I can't help thinking that at the bottom of your heart is something that you've never told to a living soul.

[_He gives her a long look, and then after a
moment's thought breaks into a little smile._

ALEC.

Why do you want to know so much?

MRS. CROWLEY.

Tell me.

ALEC.

I daresay I shall never see you again. Perhaps it doesn't much matter what I say to you. You'll think me very silly, but I'm afraid I'm rather--patriotic. It's only we who live away from England who really love it. I'm so proud of my country, and I wanted so much to do something for it. Often in Africa I've thought of this dear England, and longed not to die till I had done my work. Behind all the soldiers and the statesmen whose fame is imperishable, there is a long line of men who've built up the Empire piece by piece. Their names are forgotten, and only students know their history, but each one of them gave a province to his country. And I, too, have my place among them. For five years I toiled night and day, and at the end of it was able to hand over to the Commissioners a broad tract of land, rich and fertile. After my death England will forget my faults and my mistakes. I care nothing for the flouts and gibes with which she has repaid all my pain, for I have added another fair jewel to her crown. I don't want rewards. I only want the honour of serving this dear land of ours.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Why is it, when you're so nice really, that you do all you can to make people think you utterly horrid?

ALEC.

Don't laugh at me because you've found out that at heart I'm nothing more than a sentimental old woman.

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_Putting her hand on his arm._] What would you do if Lucy came here to-day?

[ALEC _starts, looks at her sharply, then answers
with deliberation_.

ALEC.

I have always lived in polite society. I should never dream of outraging its conventions. If Miss Allerton happened to come, you may be sure I should be scrupulously polite.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Is that all? Lucy has suffered very much.

ALEC.

And do you suppose I've not suffered? Because I don't whine my misery to all and sundry, d'you think I don't care? I'm not the man to fall in and out of love with every pretty face I meet. All my life I've kept an ideal before my eyes. Oh, you don't know what it meant to me to fall in love. I felt that I had lived all my life in a prison, and at last Lucy came and took me by the hand and led me out. And for the first time I breathed the free air of heaven. Oh God! how I've suffered for it! Why should it have come to me? Oh, if you knew my agony and the torture!

[_He hides his face, trying to master his emotion._
MRS. CROWLEY _goes to him and puts her
hand on his shoulder_.

MRS. CROWLEY.

Mr. Mackenzie.

ALEC.

[_Springing up._] Go away. Don't look at me. How can you stand there and watch my weakness? Oh God, give me strength.... My love was the last human weakness I had. It was right that I should drink that bitter cup. And I've drunk its very dregs. I should have known that I wasn't meant for happiness and a life of ease. I have other work to do in the world. And now that I have overcome this last temptation, I am ready to do it.

MRS. CROWLEY.

But haven't you any pity for yourself, haven't you any thought for Lucy?

ALEC.

Must I tell you, too, that everything I did was for Lucy's sake? And still I love her with all my heart and soul....

DICK _comes in_.

DICK.

Here is Lucy!

[CHARLES _comes in and announces_ LUCY.

CHARLES.

Miss Allerton!

[_She enters, and_ DICK, _anxious that the meeting
shall not be more awkward than need be,
goes up to her very cordially_.

DICK.

Ah, my dear Lucy. So glad you were able to come.

LUCY.

[_Giving her hand to_ DICK, _but looking at_ ALEC.] How d'you do?

ALEC.

How d'you do? [_He forces himself to talk._] How is Lady Kelsey?

LUCY.

She's much better, thanks. We've been to Spa, you know, for her health.

ALEC.

Somebody told me you'd gone abroad. Was it you, Dick? Dick is an admirable person, a sort of gazetteer for polite society.

DICK.

Won't you have some tea, Lucy?

LUCY.

No, thanks!

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_Trying on her side also to make conversation._] We shall miss you dreadfully when you're gone, Mr. Mackenzie.

DICK.

[_Cheerfully._] Not a bit of it.

ALEC.

[_Smiling._] London is an excellent place for showing one of how little importance one is in the world. One makes a certain figure, and perhaps is tempted to think oneself of some consequence. Then one goes away, and on returning is surprised to discover that nobody has even noticed one's absence.

DICK.

You're over-modest, Alec. If you weren't, you might be a great man. Now, I make a point of telling my friends that I'm indispensable, and they take me at my word.

ALEC.

You are a leaven of flippancy in the heavy dough of British righteousness.

DICK.

The wise man only takes the unimportant quite seriously.

ALEC.

[_With a smile._] For it is obvious that it needs more brains to do nothing than to be a cabinet minister.

DICK.

You pay me a great compliment, Alec. You repeat to my very face one of my favourite observations.

LUCY.

[_Almost in a whisper._] Haven't I heard you say that only the impossible is worth doing?

ALEC.

Good heavens, I must have been reading the headings of a copy-book.

MRS. CROWLEY.

[_To_ DICK.] Are you going to Southampton to see Mr. Mackenzie off?

DICK.

I shall hide my face on his shoulder and weep salt tears. It'll be most affecting, because in moments of emotion I always burst into epigram.

ALEC.

I loathe all solemn leave-takings. I prefer to part from people with a nod and a smile, whether I'm going for ever or for a day to Brighton.

MRS. CROWLEY.

You're very hard.

ALEC.

Dick has been teaching me to take life flippantly. And I have learnt that things are only serious if you take them seriously, and that is desperately stupid. [_To_ LUCY.] Don't you agree with me?

LUCY.

No.

[_Her tone, almost tragic, makes him pause
for an instant; but he is determined
that the conversation shall be purely conventional._

ALEC.

It's so difficult to be serious without being absurd. That is the chief power of women, that life and death are merely occasions for a change of costume: marriage a creation in white, and the worship of God an opportunity for a Paris bonnet.

[MRS. CROWLEY _makes up her mind to force a
crisis, and she gets up_.

MRS. CROWLEY.

It's growing late, Dick. Won't you take me round the house?

ALEC.

I'm afraid my luggage has made everything very disorderly.

MRS. CROWLEY.

It doesn't matter. Come, Dick!

DICK.

[_To_ LUCY.] You don't mind if we leave you?

LUCY.

Oh, no.

[MRS. CROWLEY _and_ DICK _go out. There is a
moment's silence._

ALEC.

Do you know that our friend Dick has offered his hand and heart to Mrs. Crowley this afternoon?

LUCY.

I hope they'll be very happy. They're very much in love with one another.

ALEC.

[_Bitterly._] And is that a reason for marrying? Surely love is the worst possible foundation for marriage. Love creates illusions, and marriages destroy them. True lovers should never marry.

LUCY.

Will you open the window? It seems stifling here.

ALEC.

Certainly. [_From the window._] You can't think what a joy it is to look upon London for the last time. I'm so thankful to get away.

[LUCY _gives a little sob and_ ALEC _turns to the
window. He wants to wound her and yet
cannot bear to see her suffer._

ALEC.

To-morrow at this time I shall be well started. Oh, I long for that infinite surface of the clean and comfortable sea.

LUCY.

Are you very glad to go?

ALEC.

[_Turning to her._] I feel quite boyish at the very thought.

LUCY.

And is there no one you regret to leave?

ALEC.

You see, Dick is going to marry. When a man does that, his bachelor friends are wise to depart gracefully before he shows them that he needs their company no longer. I have no relations and few friends. I can't flatter myself that any one will be much distressed at my departure.

LUCY.

[_In a low voice._] You must have no heart at all.

ALEC.

[_Icily._] If I had, I certainly should not bring it to Portman Square. That sentimental organ would be surely out of place in such a neighbourhood.

LUCY.

[_Gets up and goes to him._] Oh, why do you treat me as if we were strangers? How can you be so cruel?

ALEC.

[_Gravely._] Don't you think that flippancy is the best refuge from an uncomfortable position. We should really be much wiser merely to discuss the weather.

LUCY.

[_Insisting._] Are you angry because I came?

ALEC.

That would be ungracious on my part. Perhaps it wasn't quite necessary that we should meet again.

LUCY.

You've been acting all the time I've been here. D'you think I didn't see it was unreal when you talked with such cynical indifference. I know you well enough to tell when you're hiding your real self behind a mask.

ALEC.

If I'm doing that, the inference is obvious that I wish my real self to be hidden.

LUCY.

I would rather you cursed me than treat me with such cold politeness.

ALEC.

I'm afraid you're rather difficult to please.

[LUCY _goes up to him passionately, but he draws
back so that she may not touch him_.

LUCY.

Oh, you're of iron. Alec, Alec, I couldn't let you go without seeing you once more. Even you would be satisfied if you knew what bitter anguish I've suffered. Even you would pity me. I don't want you to think too badly of me.

ALEC.

Does it much matter what I think? We shall be so many thousand miles apart.

LUCY.

I suppose that you utterly despise me.

ALEC.

No. I loved you far too much ever to do that. Believe me, I only wish you well. Now that the bitterness is past, I see that you did the only possible thing. I hope that you'll be very happy.

LUCY.

Oh, Alec, don't be utterly pitiless. Don't leave me without a single word of kindness.

ALEC.

Nothing is changed, Lucy. You sent me away on account of your brother's death.

[_There is a long silence, and when she speaks
it is hesitatingly, as if the words were
painful to utter._

LUCY.

I hated you then, and yet I couldn't crush the love that was in my heart. I used to try and drive you away from my thoughts, but every word you had ever said came back to me. Don't you remember? You told me that everything you did was for my sake. Those words hammered at my heart as though it were an anvil. I struggled not to believe them. I said to myself that you had sacrificed George coldly, callously, prudently, but in my heart I knew it wasn't true. [_He looks at her, hardly able to believe what she is going to say, but does not speak._] Your whole life stood on one side and only this hateful story on the other. You couldn't have grown into a different man in one single instant. I came here to-day to tell you that I don't understand the reason of what you did. I don't want to understand. I believe in you now with all my strength. I know that whatever you did was right and just--because you did it.

[_He gives a long, deep sigh._

ALEC.

Thank God! Oh, I'm so grateful to you for that.

LUCY.

Haven't you anything more to say to me than that?

ALEC.

You see, it comes too late. Nothing much matters now, for to-morrow I go away.

LUCY.

But you'll come back.

ALEC.

I'm going to a part of Africa from which Europeans seldom return.

LUCY.

[_With a sudden outburst of passion._] Oh, that's too horrible. Don't go, dearest! I can't bear it!

ALEC.

I must now. Everything is settled, and there can be no drawing back.

LUCY.

Don't you care for me any more?

ALEC.

Care for you? I love you with all my heart and soul.

LUCY.

[_Eagerly._] Then take me with you.

ALEC.

You!

LUCY.

You don't know what I can do. With you to help me I can be brave. Let me come, Alec?

ALEC.

No, it's impossible. You don't know what you ask.

LUCY.

Then let me wait for you? Let me wait till you come back?

ALEC.

And if I never come back?

LUCY.

I will wait for you still.

ALEC.

Then have no fear. I will come back. My journey was only dangerous because I wanted to die. I want to live now, and I shall live.

LUCY.

Oh, Alec, Alec, I'm so glad you love me.

THE END

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_A MAN OF HONOUR_

_A TRAGEDY_

_In Four Acts_

_By W. S. MAUGHAM_

_LONDON: WILLIAM HEINEMANN_

_MCMXII_

_Copyright: London William Heinemann 1912_

_TO
GERALD KELLY_

"Ich übersah meine Sache und wusste wohin ich wollte."

ECKERMANN, _Gespräche mit Goethe_.

GENERAL PREFACE

...For Clisthenes, son of Aristonymus, son of Myron, son of Andreas, had a daughter whose name was Agarista: her he resolved to give in marriage to the man whom he should find the most accomplished of all the Greeks. When therefore the Olympian games were being celebrated, Clisthenes, being victorious in them in the chariot race, made a proclamation; "that whoever of the Greeks deemed himself worthy to become the son-in-law of Clisthenes, should come to Sicyon on the sixtieth day, or even before; since Clisthenes had determined on the marriage in a year, reckoning from the sixtieth day." Thereupon such of the Greeks as were puffed up with themselves and their country, came as suitors; and Clisthenes, having made a race-course and palæstra for them, kept it for this very purpose. From Italy, accordingly, came Smindyrides, son of Hippocrates, a Sybarite, who more than any other man reached the highest pitch of luxury, (and Sybaris was at that time in a most flourishing condition;) and Damasus of Siris, son of Amyris called the Wise: these came from Italy. From the Ionian gulf, Amphimnestus, son of Epistrophus, an Epidamnian; he came from the Ionian gulf. An Ætolian came, Males, brother of that Titormus who surpassed the Greeks in strength, and fled from the society of men to the extremity of the Ætolian territory. And from Peloponnesus, Leocedes, son of Pheidon, tyrant of the Argives, a decendant of that Pheidon, who introduced measures among the Peloponnesians, and was the most insolent of all the Greeks, who having removed the Elean umpires, himself regulated the games at Olympia; his son accordingly came. And Amiantus, son of Lycurgus, an Arcadian from Trapezus; and an Azenian from the city of Pæos, Laphanes, son of Euphorion, who, as the story is told in Arcadia, received the Dioscuri in his house, and after that entertained all men; and an Elean, Onomastus, son of Agæus: these accordingly came from the Peloponnesus itself. From Athens there came Megacles, son of Alcmæon, the same who had visited Croesus, and another, Hippoclides, son of Tisander, who surpassed the Athenians in wealth and beauty. From Eretria, which was flourishing at that time, came Lysanias; he was the only one from Euboea. And from Thessaly there came, of the Scopades, Diactorides a Cranonian; and from the Molossi, Alcon. So many were the suitors. When they had arrived on the appointed day, Clisthenes made inquiries of their country, and the family of each; then detaining them for a year, he made trial of their manly qualities, their dispositions, learning, and morals; holding familiar intercourse with each separately, and with all together, and leading out to the gymnasia such of them as were younger; but most of all he made trial of them at the banquet; for as long as he detained them, he did this throughout, and at the same time entertained them magnificently. And somehow of all the suitors those that had come from Athens pleased him most, and of these Hippoclides, son of Tisander, was preferred both on account of his manly qualities, and because he was distantly related to the Cypselidæ in Corinth. When the day appointed for the consummation of the marriage arrived, and for the declaration of Clisthenes himself, whom he would choose of them all, Clisthenes, having sacrificed a hundred oxen, entertained both the suitors themselves and all the Sicyonians; and when they had concluded the feast, the suitors had a contest about music, and any subject proposed for conversation. As the drinking went on, Hippoclides, who much attracted the attention of the rest, ordered the flute-player to play a dance; and when the flute-player obeyed, he began to dance: and he danced, probably so as to please himself; but Clisthenes, seeing it, beheld the whole matter with suspicion. Afterwards, Hippoclides, having rested awhile, ordered some one to bring in a table; and when the table came in, he first danced Laconian figures on it, and then Attic ones; and in the third place, having leant his head on the table he gesticulated with his legs. But Clisthenes, when he danced the first and second time, revolted from the thought of having Hippoclides for his son-in-law, on account of his dancing and want of decorum, yet restrained himself, not wishing to burst out against him; but when he saw him gesticulating with his legs, he was no longer able to restrain himself, and said: "Son of Tisander, you have danced away your marriage." But Hippoclides answered: "Hippoclides cares not." Hence this answer became a proverb. (HERODOTUS VI. 126, _Cary's Translation_.)

This play was first performed by the Stage Society at the Imperial Theatre on February 22, 1903, with the following cast:

BASIL KENT H. GRANVILLE BARKER
JENNY BUSH WINIFRED FRASER
JAMES BUSH O. B. CLARENCE
JOHN HALLIWELL DENNIS EADIE
MABEL GERTRUDE BURNETT
HILDA MURRAY MABEL TERRY-LEWIS
ROBERT BRACKLEY NIGEL PLAYFAIR
MRS. GRIGGS HENRIETTA COWEN
FANNY GERTRUDE DE BURGH
BUTLER A. BOWYER

_A MAN OF HONOUR_

_CHARACTERS_

BASIL KENT
JENNY BUSH
JAMES BUSH
JOHN HALLIWELL
MABEL
HILDA MURRAY
ROBERT BRACKLEY
MRS. GRIGGS
FANNY
BUTLER

TIME: _The Present Day_.