Chapter II: Act II (1)

SCENE.—_Same room, and same arrangement, except that tea-table is up
back to r., and the easy-chair l. is down centre._ MRS. W. _sits
chair c. sewing._ ROSE _sits on arm of easy-chair r._ AMY _walking
up and down at back._ HELEN _sits chair r. of fireplace._

_Amy (restlessly)._ I am so excited I can’t keep still. If Jack hadn’t telegraphed when he did, I could never have survived the nervous strain—but weren’t the men’s faces lovely when you read the despatch at luncheon! Sly dogs!

_Helen._ I hope it will take the boys so long to clear the snow off Silverspoon that we can have your cousin alone for a few minutes.

_Rose._ No such luck as that! Our evening’s skating will hardly weigh with them, compared to the danger of our greeting the supposed Mr. Parker without their moral support to carry him through.

_Helen._ I almost wish it were Mr. Parker instead of Mr. Williams who is coming. How we could torture them all by awkward questions!

_Rose._ I don’t think I ever appreciated before how deliciously the Indian must feel when he takes his enemy’s scalp.

_Mrs. W._ Why, you blood-thirsty little wretch!

_Helen._ Mama, we must make our arrangements so that they will have no chance to interview him this evening. Then, to-morrow, we will either fully coach him, or let them find out the trick—according to our wishes.

_Mrs. W._ Let me see,—I will meet him at the front door; the moment the carriage drives up—

_Helen._ Yes, and you must bring him in here to tea. We won’t let him go till the bell rings for dressing. Then we will all see him upstairs.

_Mrs. W._ But you can’t watch him after he is once in his room, and any of the men can go to him.

_Rose._ “Not if the court understand himself, and he thinks he do.” We will spell each other, so that one of us shall sit in the upper hall till Mr. Williams comes downstairs. The boys would never dare to run such a battery without a better excuse than they can invent for going to the room of an entire stranger.

_Mrs. W._ That makes it safe till we leave them to their cigars.

_Helen (coming down, and sitting on the arm of Mrs. W.’s chair)._ Mama, you will have to tell the boys that for a particular reason, cause unspecified, you want to let the servants clear the dining-room early, so as to set them free. Tell them to smoke in the library; we will sit with them and put up with the smoke for once.

_Rose._ That will do, and you must break up the party at our usual bed-time with the excuse that Lord Ferrol, after his journey, will want to retire early. Take no denial, and we will escort him upstairs. Then we girls will sit on the divan in the hall and gossip till we feel sure that all is safe.

_Amy._ And we’ll write a note making an early appointment with him in the valley summer-house; and then—(_Sounds of laughter outside._) Hush!

_Enter_ GEORGE, STEVEN, _and_ DENNIS, _r. d., and cross over to
fireplace, where they stand and warm their hands._

_Mrs. W._ Ah, what a breath of winter freshness you bring in with you!

_Steven._ It is a simply glorious afternoon. How you girls could stay indoors and roast over a fire is a puzzle to me!

_Dennis._ You forget, Steve, that telegram which came at luncheon. They were afraid they might lose a few moments of his society!

_George._ If his ludship isn’t afraid of a little frost, we will show him how to spend an evening on the ice.

_Dennis._ I’ll bet a box of chocolates that he doesn’t know how to skate. (_Aside to men._) They don’t have ice in Southern California.

_Amy._ Ten pounds and taken. (_Aside to girls._) Jack is a superb skater!

_Steven._ Two to one that Dennis wins.

_Rose._ I suppose you think you are betting on a certainty, so I shall take you up, just to make you feel ashamed when I lose.

_Steven._ Mrs. Wycherly, can’t we have our tea without waiting for his giblets? I am simply famished!

_Helen (crossing to l.)._ I wonder if men ever really think of anything besides eating.

_George._ If you think that clearing the drifts off that lake is a light and ornamental position under the government, try it.

_Mrs. W. (rising and reseating herself at desk chair r.)._ Well, Helen, you may make it now, only save a cup for Lord Ferrol.

[GEORGE _pulls easy-chair c. back to r., while_ DENNIS _and_ STEVEN
_bring tea-table to former position by chair._ ROSE _exits l. d._

_Helen (coming to tea-table and holding cup up)._ Lord Ferrol’s cup.

_Steven._ Oh, no!

_Dennis._ Never!

[_They try to obtain possession of it._

_Helen (going round table and sitting, still holding cup)._ Not for you.

_Enter_ ROSE _with hot water pot. Men return to fireplace._ AMY _sits
easy-chair l. of tea-table._

_Rose (rubbing teapot against Dennis’s hand as she passes)._ Hot water.

_Dennis (jumping and looking at his hand)._ Not the least doubt of it.

_Helen._ Make the most of it, boys: it’s the last time our tea will be sweet to you!

_Dennis._ Why is Helen like a “P. & O.” steamer?

_Helen (indignantly)._ I’m not!

_Steven._ Because she’s steaming the tea?

_Dennis._ No.

_Amy._ Don’t keep us in suspense.

_Steven._ Because she’s full of tease.

_George._ You make me tired.

_Steven._ Is that why you sat down so often on the ice?

_Helen._ Isn’t that just like George,—sitting round, while the rest do the work.

_George._ If you think there’s any particular pleasure in sitting in a snowdrift, there’s one outside, right against the verandah.

_Steven._ That would never do at present. It might result in a cold, and so destroy our little plan of winning the maiden affections of—well, I won’t give him a name till I have seen him!

_Helen._ It is hard to put up with foreign titles, but as long as our government will not protect that industry, the home product is so rude, _boorish_, VULGAR, and YOUNG, that we cannot help—

_Rose (interrupting)._ Listen! (_Pause._) There’s the carriage.

[_All rise and start toward r. door._

_Mrs. W. (rising and intercepting them at door)._ Now, don’t all come running out to frighten the poor man. (_Men return to fireplace; girls reseat themselves._) Let his first greeting be with me, and then I will bring him in and let him see you and get a cup of tea.

[_Exit r._

_Dennis (stalking down stage)._

Fe, Fo, Fi, Fum,
I smell the blood of an Englishman;
Be he alive, or be he dead,
I’ll grind his bones to make me bread.

_Rose (pointing at Dennis)._

Ping Wing, the pieman’s son,
Was the very worst boy in all Canton,
He stole his mother’s—

_Mrs. W. (outside)._ No, I’m sure—

_Enter_ MRS. W. _and_ LORD F. _(in goggles and wig) r. d. and come down
c._

_Mrs. W._ You are chilled by your ride, so you must have a cup of tea before going to your room. Helen, this is Lord Ferrol. My daughter, Miss Wycherly, Miss Newcome, Miss Sherman, Lord Ferrol—.

_Lord F. (bowing)._ Charmed, I assure you!

_Mrs. W._ My nephews, Mr. George and Steven Harold, and Mr. Grant. There! the formidable host is reviewed, and you can now make yourself as comfortable as possible.

_Lord F._ Er, thanks, but if you will allow me, I will go to my room first,—I am so filthy.

_Mrs. W._ Oh, but you really must have tea first.

_Lord F._ You’re awfully good, I’m sure. Er, will you pardon my glasses, but I burned my eyes shooting alligators, and, er! that was why I couldn’t make a more positive date, for I was in the hands of an oculist.

_Amy (aside)._ Oh! Jack, what a lie!

_Steven (aside)._ Didn’t I tell you the old fellow would come out strong? I shouldn’t know him myself?

_Amy (rising from easy-chair l.)._ Here, Lord Ferrol, I have been sitting in the easiest chair to prevent the others from taking it, so that you should have it when you came.

_Lord F._ Er, thanks, awfully!

[_Sits._ AMY _stands in devoted attitude just at back of his chair._

_Rose (rising and bringing hassock)._ Let me give you this hassock—one is so uncomfortable in these deep chairs without one.

_Lord F._ Er, Thanks! You’re very kind.

_Helen (tenderly)._ Lord Ferrol, will you tell me how you like your tea?

_Lord F._ Strong, please, with plenty of cream and sugar.

_Amy (admiringly)._ Ah, how nice it is to find a man who takes his tea as it should be taken! (_looking at men scornfully_). It is really a mental labor to pour tea for the average man.

_Dennis._ Average is a condition common to many; therefore we are common. Yet somebody said the common people were never wrong.

_Helen._ Well, they may never be wrong, but they can be uncommonly disagreeable!

_Lord F._ Yes, that’s very true. You know, at home we don’t have much to do with that class, but out here you can’t keep away from them.

_Amy (turning to men)._ There! I hope you are properly crushed?

_Lord F. (turning to Amy)._ Eh!

_Amy (leaning over Lord F. tenderly)._ Oh, I wasn’t speaking to you, dear Lord Ferrol!

_Mrs. W._ I fear that you have had some unpleasant experiences here, from the way you speak.

_Lord F._ Rather. (_Helen hands cup with winning smile._) Thanks, awfully!

_George._ Perhaps Lord Ferrol will tell us some of them; we may be able to free him from a wrong impression.

_Lord F._ The awful bore over here is, that every one tries to make jokes. Now, a joke is very jolly after dinner, or when one goes to “Punch” for it.

_Steven._ To what?

_Lord F._ To “Punch,” don’t you know,—the paper.

_Steven._ Oh! Excuse my denseness; I thought we were discussing jokes.

_Lord F._ I beg pardon?

_Amy._ Don’t mind him, Lord Ferrol.

_George._ No, like “Punch,” he’s only trying to be humorous.

_Lord F._ Er, is that an American joke?

_Dennis._ I always thought Punch was a British joke!

_Lord F._ Er, then you Americans do think it funny?

_George._ Singularly!

_Lord F._ What I object to in this country is the way one’s inferiors joke. It’s such bad form.

_Rose (horrified)._ Surely they haven’t tried to joke you?

_Lord F._ Yes. Now to-day, coming up here, I took my luggage to the station, and got my brasses, but forgot your direction that it must be re-labelled at the Junction, so they wer’n’t put off there. I spoke to the guard, and he was so vastly obliging in promising to have them sent back that I gave him a deem.

_Omnes._ A what?

_Lord F._ A deem—your small coin that’s almost as much as our sixpence, don’t you know.

_Omnes._ Oh, yes!

_Lord F._ Well, the fellow looked at it, and then he smiled, and said loud enough for the whole car to hear: “My dear John Bull, don’t you sling your wealth about in this prodigal way. You take it home, and put it out at compound interest, and some day you’ll buy out Gould or Rockefeller.”

_Helen._ How shockingly rude! What did you do?

_Lord F._ I told him if he didn’t behave himself, I’d give him in charge. (_Men all laugh._) Now, is that another of your American jokes?

_Dennis (aside)._ Oh! isn’t this rich?

_Amy (aside to Lord F.)._ Oh, you are beautiful!

_Lord F. (bewildered and starting)._ Thanks awfully,—if you really mean it!

_Steven (coming down to back of Lord F.’s chair)._ What did she say, Lord Ferrol? You must take Miss Sherman with a grain of allowance.

_Amy._ I’m not a pill, thank you.

_Lord F._ Why, who said you were?

_Dennis._ Only a homœopathic sugarplum.

_Lord F._ I don’t understand.

_Steven (aside to Lord F.)._ Keep it up, old man. It’s superb!

_Lord F._ I beg pardon,—did you speak to me?

_Steven (retreating to fireplace)._ Oh, no! only addressing vacancy.

_Mrs. W._ I hope, Lord Ferrol, that there has been enough pleasant in your trip to make you forget what has been disagreeable.

_Lord F._ Er, quite so. The trip has been vastly enjoyable.

_Rose._ Where have you been?

_Lord F._ I landed in New York and spent the night there, but it was such a bore that I went on to Niagara the next day. From there I travelled through the Rockies, getting some jolly sport, and then went to Florida.

_Mrs. W._ Why, you have seen a large part of our country; even more than your father did. I remember his amazement at our autumn foliage. He said it was the most surprising thing in the trip.

_Amy._ What did you think of it, Lord Ferrol?

_Lord F._ It struck me as rather gaudy.

_Rose._ Why, I had never thought of it, but perhaps it is a little vivid.

_Dennis (aside to men)._ Oh, how I should like to kick him!

_Steven (aside to Dennis)._ Hush! You forget that “Codlin’s your friend—not Short.”

_George._ Didn’t you ever see a Venetian sunset?

_Lord F._ Oh, yes. Why do you ask?

_George (sarcastically)._ I merely thought it might be open to the same objection!

_Lord F._ It might—I don’t remember. I’ll look it up in my journal when I get home, and see if it impressed me at the time.

_Helen._ Do you keep a journal? (_Rises and sits on footstool at Lord F.’s feet._) How delightful! (_Beseechingly._) Oh, won’t you let me look at what you have with you?

_Rose._ Please, Lord Ferrol!

_Amy._ Ah, do!

_Lord F._ It would bore you, I’m sure.

_Dennis (aside)._ I don’t care if he isn’t a double-barrelled earl, I should like to kick him all the same!

_Helen._ Lord Ferrol, you must let us hear some of it.

_Rose._ If you don’t we shall think you have said something uncomplimentary of the American women.

_Lord F._ No, I assure you I have been quite delighted.

_Amy._ Then why won’t you let us see it?

_Lord F._ Er, I couldn’t, you know; but if you really are in earnest, I’ll read you some extracts.

_Omnes._ Oh, do!

_Lord F._ I ought to explain that I started with the intention of writing a book on America, so this (_producing book_) is not merely what I did and saw, but desultory notes on the States.

_Rose._ How interesting!

_Lord F._ After your suggestion of what I have written of the American women, I think it best to give you some of my notes on them.

_Mrs. W._ By all means!

_Lord F. (reading)._ “Reached Washington, the American capital, and went direct to Mrs. ——. Cabman charged me sixteen shillings. When I made a row, butler sent for my host, who, instead of calling a constable, made me pay the fellow, by insisting on paying it himself. Mr. —— is a Senator, and is seen very little about the house, from which I infer the American men are not domestic—presumably, because of their wild life—”

_Mrs. W. (with anxiety)._ Their what?

_Lord F._ Their wild life,—spending so much of their time on the plains, don’t you know.

_Mrs. W. (relieved)._ Oh! Excuse my misapprehension.

_Lord F. (reading)._ “The daughter is very pretty, which Mrs. —— tells me is unusual in Washington society—as if I could be taken in by such an obvious Dowager puff! (_Men all point at Mrs. W. and laugh. Mrs. W. shakes her finger reprovingly._) Miss —— says the Boston girls are plain and thin, due to their living almost wholly on fads, which are very unhealthy.” (_Speaking._) I couldn’t find that word in the dictionary.

_Steven._ Sort of intellectual chewinggum, Lord Ferrol.

_Dennis._ Yes, and like gum, you never get beyond a certain point with it. It’s very fatiguing to the jaw.

_Lord F. (reading)._ “She says the New York girls are the best dressed in the country, being hired by the dressmakers to wear gowns, to make the girls of other cities envious, and that this is where they get all the money they spend. Very remarkable!”

_Helen._ Something like sandwich men, evidently.

_Lord F. (reading)._ “The Philadelphia girls, she says, are very fast, but never for long at a time, because the men get sleepy and must have afternoon naps.”

_Amy._ Did she tell you that insomnia is thought to make one very distinguished there?

_Lord F. (making note in book)._ Er, thanks, awfully. (_Reading._) “She says that the Baltimore girls are great beauties, and marry so quickly that there is generally a scarcity. It is proposed to start a joint stock company to colonise that city with the surplus from Boston, and she thinks there ought to be lots of money in it! Another extreme case of American dollar worship! The Western girls, she told me, are all blizzards.” (_Speaking._) I don’t think I could have mistaken the word, for I made her spell it. Yet the American dictionary defines blizzard as a great wind or snow storm.

_George._ That is it, Lord Ferrol. They talk so much that it gives the effect of a wind storm.

_Lord F._ Ah! much obliged. (_Reading._) “Went to eight receptions in one afternoon, where I was introduced to a lot of people, and talked to nobody. Dined out somewhere, but can’t remember the name. Took in a Miss ——, a most charming and lovely—”

_Dennis (interrupting)._ Ah, there!

_Lord F._ I beg pardon.

_Rose._ You must forgive his rude interruption, Lord Ferrol.

_Lord F._ Oh, certainly! You’re sure you’re not bored?

_Omnes._ By no means. Do go on.

_Lord F._ “A most charming and lovely girl from New York. She thinks Miss —— characterised the cities rightly, except her own. Asked me if I thought she was only a dressmaking advertisement? As scarcely any of her dress was to be seen, I replied that as I couldn’t look below the table, I was sure it was the last thing one would accuse her of being. She blushed so violently that I had to tell her that I had seen much worse dresses in London; but that didn’t please her any better, and she talked to the man next her for the rest of the evening. (_All have difficulty in suppressing their laughter._) I met a Boston girl afterwards who—”

[_Bell rings._

_Mrs. W._ Lord Ferrol, there is our summons to the upper regions. We will not make a formal guest of you, but will all guide you to your room.

[_All rise._

_Lord F._ Er, thanks.

_Mrs. W. (taking Lord F.’s arm)._ Your trunks not having arrived (_exit r. d. with Lord F._) we will none of us—

[_Exit_ AMY _and_ HELEN _r. d., evidently laughing_. ROSE _exits l. d.
Men all go off into paroxysms of laughter._

_Steven (suddenly)._ Well, I must go and coach him.

_Dennis._ My dear fellow! you can’t paint the lily.

_Enter_ ROSE, _quietly, l. d. Men all check their laughter_.

_Rose._ I came back for my skates. Why, what are you laughing about! And pray what lily are you going to paint?

_George._ My dear cousin, when a person enters a room already occupied, without due warning, she must not ask questions relative to the subject under discussion.

_Rose (talking down stage to conceal her laughter)._ I know very well what you were talking about. You were making fun of Lord Ferrol.

_Steven._ Give you my solemn word we were not making fun of _Lord Ferrol_.

_Men._ No! How suspicious you girls are!

[_All laugh._ HELEN _tries to suppress her laughter, and then rushes out
r. d., followed by_ STEVEN.

_Dennis._ That journal was a mighty clever dodge of Parker’s. It staved off all dangerous questions till Steve could coach him.

_George._ There were some capital notions in it, too. If he will only give us a few more risqué anecdotes, none of the girls will dare talk to him.

_Dennis._ Did you see Mrs. Wycherly’s horrified expression when he alluded to the wild life of the American men? I am sure she thought he was going to give us some “exposures in high life.”

_Enter_ STEVEN _hurriedly, r. d._

_Steven._ Look here, fellows, you’ve got to help me. The girls have planted themselves on the divan upstairs, and I can’t go to Ferrol’s room without their seeing me. Come up and occupy them, while I slip in.

_Dennis._ Decoy ducks, eh?

_Stuart._ That’s it. Come along, George.

[_All exit r. d.,—slight pause._

_Enter_ LORD F. _l. d., dressed as before_.

_Lord F. (looking about)._ I must have made a mistake in the door, for I got into the butler’s pantry; but this is right, I am sure. Queer place and queer manners! Will make interesting reading, though. Ah, a good chance to fill up my journal. (_Seats himself at desk, takes out book, and writes, speaking aloud and soliloquising as he does so._) “At 5.15 reached some unpronounceable and unspellable place. Was met by Mrs. Wycherly at front door”—curious fashion that! It made me take her for the housekeeper at first. “She insisted, in spite of my protests,”—I suppose it was an American idea of hospitality,—“in taking me at once into the drawing-room and presenting me to the house-party, and giving me a cup of tea. I felt very disagreeable, both from the condition I was in, and the fact that all of them kept making remarks which were entirely unintelligible to me. The young ladies were very kind, but more forward even than they are in England, though in a different way.”—I confess I rather liked it.—“Read some of my journal aloud and had no corrections. Blizzard applied to Western girls means that they talk a great deal. Was shown to my room by Mrs. Wycherly and the young ladies, which was rather embarrassing, especially as they seemed inclined to linger, and only hurried out on the appearance of the gentlemen. On leaving, one of the girls slipped her hand into mine and gave it a distinct squeeze, at the same time asking in a whisper, ‘Did your sister send her love?’”—Now the idea of Sappho sending her love to a girl of whom she had never heard!—“I pretended not to hear, but she evidently knew that she had been too free, for as she left she jerked her head towards the gentlemen and said, ‘They didn’t see.’ Could not change my travelling suit, my boxes having gone astray. Found a letter pinned to my pin-cushion, and when the valet brought the hot water, he gave me another. Both, judging from the hand-writing and paper, seem to be written by ladies and gentlemen.”—I should like to know what they mean? I wonder if it’s good form in America to play jokes on guests? (_Produces notes and reads._) “Dear F.”—(_Rises and comes to c._) Now the idea of the fellow writing to me in that way on the acquaintance of a single afternoon—why, even my best friends only say “Dear Ferrol.”—“You were simply marvellous. I would have staked my bottom dollar on your identity, if I had not known who you were.”—Now what does he mean by that, I wonder?—“You were so real that Dennis wanted to kick you, and nothing but the presence of the ladies prevented him.”—Gad! I wonder if these fellows can be gentlemen, and if so, whether they are a fair specimen—kick me! (_Pause._) Well, I suppose they’re jealous.—“So don’t be too hard on us. Now as to the future. If we do not see each other this evening, you must get up before breakfast, go out of the side door, and strike across the lawn toward the river. Three minutes’ walk will bring you in sight of a little summer-house. Come to it, and some of us will be there prepared to instruct you as to yourself, and put you on your guard as to the girls, who, you see, are making a dead set at you.”—You know, that’s just what I thought.—“Remember, in the bright lexicon, etc., etc., Steve.”—Now what does he mean by “bright lexicon?” And does he think I’m going to tramp through the snow, when it’s so evidently a joke? (_Opens other note._) “You dear love of a snob”—Now I should vastly like to know how that is meant. I don’t think it’s a nice way of beginning a letter, I’m sure. Yet she evidently means it as a compliment—“You were so perfectly delicious that I could scarcely forbear from giving you a kiss.”—Extraordinary!—“Indeed I think I will to-morrow, just to make the boys desperate. I only hope your life is insured, for Dennis will probably chuck you out of the window, when I do, and it’s too cold for the window to be opened. Fortunately there is plenty of soft snow to break the fall.”—Now isn’t that a nasty way of joking! One would actually think she enjoyed the prospect of seeing me thrown out the window.—“I have given directions that you are to be called early, and as soon as you can, I want you to come to the valley summer-house. Turn to your right, and walk straight towards the river, and you can’t miss it. There you will find a bevy of maidens waiting to metaphorically hug and kiss you, and instruct you so that you may play the part of George Augustus Guelph Dunstan, Earl of Ferrol and Staunton, with sufficient stupidity and vanity. Amy”—Now I should like to know what all that means. (_Reflectively._) Amy—she’s the one who told me I was beautiful the first time she spoke to me. I should like to know what she means!

_Enter_ MRS. W. _r. d._

_Mrs. W. (crossing to c.)._ Why, I didn’t know you had come downstairs, Lord—I hardly know whether to call you Lord Ferrol, but I suppose it is safer.

_Lord F. (surprised)._ Eh?

_Mrs. W. (confidentially)._ I was immensely amused just now in coming down. There are all the boys and girls sitting in the upper hall, each intent on getting a few words with you, or of preventing the others.

_Lord F._ I suppose I ought to be vastly flattered. Yet I thought the gentlemen disliked me.

_Mrs. W. (laughing)._ Oh, they will probably kill you before the end of your visit.

_Lord F._ Good gracious, Mrs. Wycherly, you’re not speaking seriously!

_Mrs. W._ You play your part so well that I myself should think that you were to the manner born.

_Lord F. (aside)._ I wonder if it is the fashion of the house to speak in innuendoes. (_Aloud._) Er! Mrs. Wycherly, I am so new to your ways that I should really like to ask you about one or two questions of etiquette. You know that it differs so in countries, and I never want to seem cold or rude. Now, over here, is it customary for young ladies to say that they want to kiss fellows (_voices outside_) who are no relations of theirs?

_Mrs. W._ Why, I never heard—

_Enter all, r. d._ HELEN, GEORGE, _and_ STEVEN _cross to l._ ROSE _comes
down r. to writing-desk_. DENNIS _and_ AMY _stand at fireplace_.

_Amy (to Lord F.)._ Oh, here you are! We’ve all been waiting upstairs for you.

_Lord F._ Er, thanks.

_Rose._ I hope we are not late, Mrs. Wycherly.

_Mrs. W. (going up stage to fireplace)._ Oh, it doesn’t matter in the least. You will simply have grieved Seymour over the dinner.

_Rose._ I know I shall grieve him by my appetite. (_Over desk to Lord F._) Why, Lord Ferrol, I am hungry enough to eat you.

_Lord F. (half turning)._ Er, thanks, awfully. (_Aside._) Now, what does she mean?

_Amy._ Oh, I wouldn’t eat Lord Ferrol, for you can’t eat your cake and have it. (_Coming down center to Lord F._) But I should like to kiss him, if he will let me.

_Lord F._ Er, charmed,—if Mrs. Wycherly thinks it proper.

_Dennis (seizing paper-knife from desk and rushing down between them)._ This is too much, Parker! You are getting more than your share. (_Turning to Amy._) Avaunt, woman! you have raised the savage in me, and behold the consequences!

[_Uses the knife as a scalping knife, and then tears off_ LORD F.’S
_wig, revealing a perfectly bald head_.

_Lord F._ Gad, sir! what do you mean?

_Omnes._ Why, who are you?

[AMY _crosses to l. as if bewildered_.

_Lord F._ Who am I?

_Mrs. W. (with horror)._ You are not really Lord Ferrol?

_Lord F._ Who else should I be?

[_Pause._

_Amy (sinking faintly into chair)._ And I asked leave to kiss him!

_Mrs. W. (coming down to c. and speaking with great anxiety)._ Lord Ferrol, my young people here were each trying to play a joke on the other, and by a horrible coincidence you have been the victim. (_Imploringly._) Will you not try to forgive us now, and let me explain at dinner?

[_All come down stage and seem to plead._

_Lord F._ Well, really, if it’s a mistake, of course I can’t cut up rough. (_To Amy._) Then you don’t think I’m a dear love of a snob, eh?

_Amy (faintly)._ Oh, no, Lord Ferrol.

_Lord F._ And you don’t want to kiss me?

_Amy (more faintly)._ No, indeed, Lord Ferrol.

_Lord F._ Then, Miss Sherman, I will try to make you do both.

_Steven (coming down c.)._ There, didn’t I tell you the real English swells were very jolly, gentlemanly fellows?

[_Shakes hands with Ferrol._

_Lord F._ And didn’t I tell you the Americans were always joking in the wrong place? (_To Dennis._) Er, I’ll thank you for my hair.

CURTAIN

“MAN PROPOSES”

IN

SEVERAL DECLARATIONS

AND

ONE ACT

PLACE

_Morning room at the Wortleys._

TIME

_After dinner, and before the masked ball._

CHARACTERS

MISS AGNES WORTLEY
(_A winner of hearts_).

MRS. VAN TROMP
(_A widow to be won_).

POLLY
(_A serving maid who serves_).

MR. STUART
(_A theoretical bachelor_).

MR. REGINALD DE LANCEY VAN TROMP
(_A man with ancestors_).

MR. CHARLIE NEWBANK
(_A man with money_).

MR. FREDERICK STEVENS
(_A man with neither_).

SCENE.—_Morning room in city house,—doors l. and b. Fireplace with
fire l. c. Writing-desk, with matches, pens, ink, paper, and
handbell back centre—chair at desk. Down stage l., easy-chair, and
an ottoman or light chair c. At extreme down stage r. corner, a bay
window, with practical curtains, and a divan seat. On mantel a clock
which strikes ten as soon as curtain rises._

_Enter_ POLLY _l. d._

_Polly (coming down wearily)._ Mercy, how tired I am! And no chance of rest for at least six hours (_drops into chair c._). Dinners and balls may be fun for those who do the eating and dancing, but it’s death on us poor servants. I’m worked hard enough usually, in all conscience’ sake, but Miss Agnes has given me just the hardest day I’ve ever seen! (_Imitates Agnes giving orders._) “Polly, is my bath ready?” “Polly, give me my dressing-gown.” “Polly, bring me my coffee.” “Now dress my hair, Polly.” “Get me my habit, Polly.” (_Rises._) “While I’m in the park, Polly, sew the ribbons on my two dominos.” “Oh, and I’ll be too busy to-day to write acknowledgments for the bouquets, Polly, so you may write to Mr. Stevens and Mr. Van Tromp and Mr. Newbank, and any others that come, thanking them for their lovely flowers, which are now filling my room with sweetness!” From seven till eight it’s been nothing but “Polly, do this,” and “Polly, do that,” and “Where’s Polly?” And no one so much as said “Polly, want a cracker?” I haven’t had a chance to sit down since I got up. I even had to eat my dinner off the laundry tubs (_mimics eating with pen and paper-cutter at desk_) standing, because the caterers were everywhere, getting the dinner and ball supper ready. Miss Agnes says she’s all “worn out.” I wish she could try my work once in a while. How I should enjoy telling the rich and sought-after Miss Agnes Wortley to (_mimicking_) “button my shoes,” (_sticks out foot_) or (_waves her hand_) “fetch me my gloves!” I would give a month’s wages if I could only take her place just for to-night at the masked ball. (_Speaking with excitement._) When she decided that she must have two dominos, so that she could change in the middle of the ball, I thought to myself: ‘What’s to prevent your slipping on the domino she isn’t wearing, and going downstairs?’ (_Muses._) If I only dared! I could easily slip out before she wanted to change! (_Pause._) No! I mustn’t even think of it or the temptation will be too great.

[_Goes to fireplace, and sitting on rug pokes the fire._

STUART _appears b. d. and looks in_.

_Polly._ It would be such fun! Think of being Miss Agnes for one evening and dancing with all her admirers! Oh, my! Supposing one should propose! Mr. Newbank! (_Laughs._) Or Mr. Van Tromp! (_Laughs again._) I’d know what I’d say to them! Mr. Stevens? I wonder if she cares for him.

_Stuart._ And how about Mr. Stuart?

_Polly (springing up, flustered)._ Oh, Jiminy! Oh—I beg your pardon, Mr. Stuart, I was—I—

[_Hesitates._

_Stuart (laughing)._ Poking the fire, eh? Is this room free territory?

_Polly._ Yes, Mr. Stuart. It’s Miss Wortley’s boudoir, but she thought it would be a nice place for people to come when they were tired of dancing downstairs.

[_Curtsey's_ _and exits l. d._

_Stuart (calling out r.)._ This way, Fred. Here’s a quiet nook saved from the universal ruin and bareness of downstairs.

[_Comes down._

_Enter_ FRED, _b. d., slowly_.

_Stuart._ Isn’t this luck?

_Fred (gloomily)._ There isn’t any such thing! Or if there is, I never get any.

_Stuart._ Now, Fred, you can’t say that after this. You and I don’t want to stay and smoke with the men. Neither do we want to join the ladies. The other rooms are as bare and uncomfortable as waxed floors and camp-chairs can make them. I suggest trying upstairs, and when I discover and pilot you to this oasis in the desert, you at once begin to grumble.

_Fred._ I’m sorry I’m bad company, Mr. Stuart; but if I’m so to you, just think what I must be to myself.

_Stuart._ There is something in that.

_Fred._ And you only see me occasionally, and I’m with myself day and night.

_Stuart (laughing)._ Pity you can’t hire some one to kill your disagreeable companion. I wonder if a jury wouldn’t bring in a verdict of justifiable homicide, if you drowned or hung him.

_Fred._ I’d like to!

_Stuart._ Curious. Such a dinner, even when I know it’s to be followed by a ball, always puts me in a beatific state of mind.

_Fred (wearily)._ I thought it very long and tedious.

_Stuart._ And what is worse, you looked it. You looked as glum all through as if you were waiting for the last trump.

_Fred (crossly)._ It wasn’t the last trump I was waiting for. I was—

_Stuart (interrupting)._ No, I misworded my sentence. You were waiting for the last of Van Tromp.

_Fred._ Oh, pshaw!

[_Rises and crosses to r. angrily._

_Stuart (laughing)._ You don’t seem to enjoy my pun?

_Fred._ Oh, if it pleases you, go ahead.

[_Goes up and sits on desk._

_Stuart._ Fred, you make a mistake to go into society while you are in this mood. Take a friend’s advice and cut it till you are better tempered.

_Fred (impatiently)._ I don’t go because I enjoy it.

_Stuart (sarcastically)._ Ah! You go to make it pleasant for others.

_Fred._ No, I go because _she_ goes.

_Stuart (laughing)._ Will you tell me why a woman’s reason is always a “because,” and a man’s is always a “she”?

_Fred._ _She_‘s an excuse for anything!

_Stuart._ Even for Charlie Newbank?

_Fred (rising angrily)._ Look here, Mr. Stuart, I’ll take a good deal from you; but there is a limit.

_Stuart (soothingly)._ Excuse me, my boy. It is brutal in me, but I am trying to see if I can’t laugh you out of it.

_Fred (sits chair l. as if discouraged)._ No use! As they say out West, it’s come to stay and grow up with the country.

_Stuart._ Oh, I didn’t mean your love for Miss Wortley. She’s a sweet, unspoiled girl, in spite of her own and her papa’s money, and I hope you’ll win her. I was only trying to cheer you out of your dumps, and make you look at the golden side of things.

_Fred._ That’s just what I see all the time, and what comes between us. I can’t forget her money.

_Stuart (springing to his feet)._ There! That goes to prove a pet little theory of mine, that it is rather hard for a rich girl to marry well.

_Fred._ I should think you needed a confirmatory evidence.

_Stuart._ You are just like the rest! You take the conventionally superficial view of it.

_Fred._ Very well, turn lawyer and argue your case before referee Mr. Frederick Stevens, junior member of the celebrated firm of Mary, Green and Hart.

_Stuart._ You fire my ambition. Well, (_rising and imitating legal style_) your honour, and gentlemen of the jury, _a priori_ and _imprimis_ we start with the postulate that the party of the first part, otherwise the girl with money, is usually so spoiled that most fellows won’t care for her. But we will leave that out of the argument and say that she is a nice girl. Well, by her parents, her friends, and her reading, she is taught to think that every man who is attentive to her may be a fortune-hunter. The consequence is that she is suspicious, and may say or do something to wound or insult a fellow who cares for her, and so drive him off.

_Fred._ That’s one point for your side.

_Stuart._ But even if she is not made suspicious by her money, (_points at Fred_) he is. A decent man dreads to have his motives misjudged. He’s afraid that the girl, or her father, or her mother, or her friends, or his friends, will think he is fortune-hunting.

_Fred._ I should think he did!

_Stuart._ Finally, her money draws about her a lot of worthless fellows. As a consequence, she is always beset and engaged. You must remember that in this country a man, if he amounts to a row of pins, is a worker, and not a drone. He cannot, therefore, dance the continual attendance that is necessary to see much of a society girl nowadays. This can only be done by our rich and leisured young men, who are few and far between; by foreign titles, who are quite as scarce; and by the idlers and do-nothings, who, if the girl is worth winning, are as distasteful to her as they are to the rest of mortal kind. (_Sits chair c._) I submit my case.

_Fred._ Mr. Stuart, you entirely missed your vocation. Allow me to congratulate you on your _maiden_ argument. But at the same time the referee would call your attention to the fact that you have failed to take the relatives into account. They can overcome all this by heading off the undesirables and encouraging their choice.

_Stuart._ But that’s just what they won’t do, and which I don’t think they could to any extent, even if they tried. How much can Mr. Wortley and Mrs. Van Tromp control Miss Agnes’ companions at the dinners and dances and other affairs, which are practically the only places where she meets men?

_Fred._ Here they can.

_Stuart._ But they don’t. You say Mr. Wortley favours Newbank and Mrs. Van Tromp encourages her brother-in-law. Naturally, then, they don’t approve your very evident liking for Miss Agnes. Yet I see you here quite as often as either of the favoured ones. Do you think if this system of exclusion were possible, it would not have been practised long ago?

_Fred._ If you ask it as a conundrum I give it up. But I know that neither of them want me to marry Miss Wortley. Mr. Wortley wishes Newbank’s millions to add to the family. Mrs. Van Tromp hopes to graft Miss Wortley on the fine old stock of Van Tromps.

_Stuart._ And what does the person most concerned want? In this glorious country of ours, where children always know more than parents, the girl’s consent is really the only requisite. What does Miss Wortley want?

_Fred._ I only wish I knew!

_Stuart._ Well, how does she treat you compared with the other men?

_Fred._ At first she was very nice and friendly, but latterly she’ll have nothing to do with me.

_Stuart._ A girl of taste!

_Fred._ I’m in the mood to enjoy such friendly jokes.

_Stuart._ It was meant kindly, Fred, as you will see in a moment. Now, my boy, I’m going to give you a talking to, and if you resent it, it will only be further confirmation of another little theory of mine, that a man’s an ass who concerns himself in other people’s affairs.

_Fred._ Go ahead. I’m blue enough to like anything sour or disagreeable.

[_Sits, desk chair, and leans on desk._

_Stuart._ Now, there at once you give me the text to preach from. (_Walks behind chair l. and leans on back, speaking over it down r._) About a year ago a certain gentleman named Fred meets a certain lady named Agnes. We’ll say he met her at a dance—

_Fred._ No, it was yachting.

_Stuart._ Ah!—excuse my lack of historical accuracy. Well, on a yacht—he met her; then at a ball—he met her; then at a cotillion—he met her; then at a dinner—he met her. In short, he met her, and met her, and met her.

_Fred (gloomily)._ Yes, and what is more, he spent hours trying to.

_Stuart._ Well, she was pretty and charming and—I’m short of an adjective, Fred.

_Fred._ Of course you are! There isn’t one in Webster’s Unabridged which would do her justice!

_Stuart._ That should have been said to her and not wasted on me. Well, we’ll say the girl is plu-perfect. The fellow is rather good looking—eh, Fred?

_Fred._ I don’t know.

_Stuart._ He talks and dances well; and is, in fact, quite a shining light among her devotees.

_Fred (irritably)._ Oh, cut it, for heaven’s sake!

[_Rises impatiently._

_Stuart (laughing)._ Excuse me,—the story-teller never cuts; it’s the editor who does that.

_Fred (angrily)._ Oh, go on.

_Stuart._ Well, at first this masculine paragon whom I have so meagrely described seems to be doing well. She likes his society and shows it. (_To Fred._) Right?

_Fred._ I thought so.

_Stuart._ But as he gets more interested, he changes. He makes his attentions and feelings too marked—something no girl likes. Then he is cross and moody when she does not give him most of her time and dances. He is inclined to be jealous of every Tom, Dick, and Harry who comes near her, and absurdly tries to dictate what she shall do and not do; which she resents. In short, the very strength of his love makes him an entirely different kind of a man. He is neither companionable nor entertaining; he is both surly and passionate. Do you blame her for repulsing him?

_Fred._ No, you are right. I know I’ve given her reason for turning me the cold shoulder.

_Stuart._ Then if you’ve known this, why haven’t you behaved yourself?

_Fred._ I’ve tried to, over and over again; but when I see such cads as Van Tromp and Newbank and the rest of the pack around her, I get perfectly desperate.

_Stuart._ And why? Now, Van Tromp is not only a fool, which I suppose is the fault of his ancestors, but he is so impecunious that every girl who has money must suspect his motives. Newbank is wealthy, but is the kind of man who makes one think of Wendell Phillips’ remark, that “the Lord showed his estimate of money by the people he gave it to.” Why should you be jealous of such rivals? You stand at least as good a chance as they.

_Fred._ No I don’t. Look here, I’ve just been made a member of the firm. That will give me something like $4,000 a year at first. How can I ask a girl living as she does to try and get along on that?

_Stuart._ You forget her own income.

_Fred._ That’s just what I can’t do. I’ve tried to tell her that I love her, but her money makes the words stick in my throat.

_Stuart._ And yet Van Tromp, who hasn’t a cent in the world, and never will have, if he has to make it himself, will say it as glibly as need be.

_Fred._ It’s that makes me desperate. I try to be good company, but I feel all the time as if it weren’t an even race, and so I can’t.

_Stuart._ My dear boy, no race in this world is even. If it were anything but a woman’s heart in question, I would bet on you as the winner; but as that commodity is only to be represented by the algebraic _x_, I never wager on it.

_Fred (scornfully)._ How learnedly a bachelor does talk of women’s hearts! One would think he had broken a lot in order to examine their contents.

_Stuart (a little angrily)._ I never lost a girl through faint heart,—or lost my temper with both her and my best friend.

_Fred (apologetically)._ There! Of course you are right and I am a fool.

_Stuart (looking at watch)._ There being no dissent to that opinion, and the ladies being now ready to see us, you had better go downstairs and show Miss Wortley that the Fred Stevens of a year ago is still in the flesh.

_Fred (going to b. d.)._ And you?

_Stuart._ I’ll stay here and have a cigar.

[_Exit_ FRED, _b. d._

_Stuart (taking out cigar-case)._ How that poor fellow does carry his heart in view! (_Takes match from desk._) No wonder Miss Wortley keeps hers to herself, with such an example!

[_Strikes match._

_Enter_ POLLY, _l. d._, _carrying black domino and lace mask_.

_Stuart._ Hello! One minute, please. Whose domino is that?

_Polly (halting)._ I mustn’t tell, sir.

_Stuart._ No, of course not. Quite right. (_Tosses away match and jingles coins in his pocket._) Perhaps, though, you can tell me to whom you are carrying it.

_Polly (coming down)._ Perhaps I might, sir.

_Stuart (taking out money)._ Well?

_Polly._ I was carrying it to Mrs. Van Tromp’s room, sir.

_Stuart (giving money)._ Thank you. (_Takes domino and mask from her._) Mr. Stuart told you Miss Wortley wanted you to come at once to her, and so you left these in this room—understand? (_Gives more money_) Now be off to your mistress.

_Polly._ Yes, sir.

[_Exit_ POLLY _l. d._

_Stuart._ It’s better to be born lucky than rich. (_Pats domino tenderly, and arranges it neatly in chair c._) You’re luckier, though, for you belong to the dearest and most heartless woman in this world. (_Looks at mask._) And you! She doesn’t need you to mask her feelings, confound and bless her inscrutable face! You’ll be pressing against it ere long. (_Kisses mask._) Take that to her.

_Mrs. V. T. (outside)._ No, I sent Polly for my domino, but she hasn’t brought it.

_Stuart._ Speaking of angels— And she mustn’t discover that I know.

[_Hurriedly seizes mask and domino and tosses them behind curtains of
bay window; then strikes match as if about to light cigar._

MRS. VAN TROMP _appears at b. d. and looks in_.

_Mrs. V. T._ Shall it be a cigar or my society? “Under which king, Bezonian? Speak or die.”

_Stuart (throwing match in fire)._ That goes without saying. The cigar is my slave; I am Mrs. Van Tromp’s!

_Mrs. V. T._ Was that impromptu?

_Stuart._ Coined for the occasion, and needing only the approval of your majesty to make it gold in my eyes.

[_Bows._

_Mrs. V. T._ I am too good a queen to help stamp worthless money, and that’s what a compliment is. As the French say, “Fine words cost nothing and are worth just what they cost.”

_Stuart._ Anglisé in “Fine words butter no parsnips.” You know, I’ve always wanted to send that proverb to Delmonico. He takes something uneatable, and by giving it a sauce and a high-sounding French title, deludes the public into ordering it. You pay five cents for the basis, ten for the sauce, and the other thirty-five for the French, which no man can understand or pronounce.

_Mrs. V. T._ He didn’t serve this evening’s dinner.

_Stuart._ Far be it from me to suggest that there was anything wrong in the cuisine to-night. The only criticism I could possibly make on the dinner was that there were twenty-four too many people.

_Mrs. V. T. (counting on fingers)._ Twenty-four from twenty-six—that leaves two?

_Stuart._ Let me congratulate you on your mental arithmetic.

_Mrs. V. T._ Have you actually reached that time of life when one ceases to enjoy dinners?

_Stuart._ I hope not. I was even flattering myself that my tastes were becoming more juvenile.

_Mrs. V. T._ In what does that show itself?

_Stuart._ In wanting something I can’t have. I believe it’s considered infantile to want the moon.

_Mrs. V. T._ You want the moon? Then you must be in love! I’m so sorry I can’t stay and let you tell me all about her. I came upstairs for my domino and mustn’t tarry.

[_Starts up back._

_Stuart (standing between her and the door)._ One moment, Mrs. Van Tromp. I’ll not bore you with my own love affair, but I should like to ask your help in another.

_Mrs. V. T. (turning and coming down l.)._ I promise my assistance. I love to help on—other people’s love affairs.

_Stuart._ There is a poor fellow downstairs who is eating his heart out with love for your cousin Agnes. He thinks you are against him.

_Mrs. V. T._ You mean Mr. Stevens?

_Stuart._ Yes.

_Mrs. V. T._ Why, Mr. Stuart, I like Mr. Stevens, and he would be my second choice—

_Stuart (interrupting)._ For yourself?

_Mrs. V. T. (laughing)._ No, for Agnes. But surely you don’t expect me to work against my brother-in-law?

_Stuart._ But Agnes is your cousin. Do consider her!

_Mrs. V. T._ Mr. Stuart, I married Alexander Van Tromp without caring that (_snaps her fingers_) for him. Yet we hit it off together very nicely. He obtained income and I won social position. By it I have been able to introduce my uncle into good society, and give Agnes her pick of the best. Do you think I do her wrong in planning the same kind of a marriage for her?

_Stuart._ Has Cupid no rights?

_Mrs. V. T._ He can come later. The Van Tromps are too old a family for the members to live long. So I am only giving Agnes a few years of matrimony, like my own; and then—well, you know whether my life is gloomy or otherwise.

_Stuart._ Mostly otherwise, I should say.

_Mrs. V. T._ No girl of nineteen knows enough to pick out the man she can breakfast with three hundred and sixty-five days in the year for half a century. Moreover, a young girl cannot have a large enough choice. She can only say “yes” or “no” to those who ask her. On the contrary, a woman of—we’ll say twenty-eight—picks out her man and fascinates him. To quote the French again: “A girl of sixteen accepts love; a woman of thirty incites it.”

_Stuart._ As you have been doing?

_Mrs. V. T._ Agnes shall sample matrimony with Regie; see just what it is like; and then be prepared to select a second time with wisdom and discrimination—like her aged and venerable cousin.

_Stuart (hesitatingly)._ Will you pardon the question,—but was Mr.—was, ah, the brother of Reginald anything like, ah, his brother?

_Mrs. V. T. (laughing)._ Very!

_Stuart (confidentially)._ What did you do with him?

_Mrs. V. T._ On the day we married, he put a ring on my finger; I put one through his nose. Then he led very nicely.

_Stuart._ And is that your ideal of a husband?

_Mrs. V. T._ Unless I find a man capable of not merely doing the leading, but by whom I shall wish to be led.

_Stuart._ And how is this man to prove his capacity?

_Mrs. V. T._ Oh, it’s merely a matter of cleverness or mastery. Let a man outwit me, and I will (_curtseys_) ever after sign myself, “Your obedient, humble servant.”

_Stuart._ Don’t you see that you are bribing your own undoing?

_Mrs. V. T._ How so?

_Stuart._ Why, your conditions are almost in the nature of a challenge. Now you know, of course, Mrs. Van Tromp, that I don’t love you, yet you make me want to enter the rather formidable competition just to see if I couldn’t get the better of you.

_Mrs. V. T. (laughing)._ Well, I have no wish to balk you. But it must be a game of forfeits. If you fail, you must pay a penalty.

_Stuart._ Isn’t failure to win Mrs. Van Tromp penalty enough?

_Mrs. V. T._ Not to so confirmed a bachelor as Mr. Stuart. Come, if you beat me, I will do any one thing you wish; if you are beaten, you must do the one thing I wish. Is it a bargain?

_Stuart._ Done! (_Kissing Mrs. V. T.’s hand._) Perdition have my soul!

_Mrs. V. T._ And now for my domino.