Chapter III: Act III: Downstairs Again

_A week later. MR. and MRS. FREEMAN have just finished tea. She is
sewing; he is moving about._

MR. FREEMAN: There’s going to be a first-class row in this house this afternoon. A first-class _row_.... Is he up there?

MRS. FREEMAN: I think so.

MR. FREEMAN: Having tea?

MRS. FREEMAN: It’s Florence’s day out. He has his tea down here on Thursdays.

MR. FREEMAN (_at the speaking-tube_): Hullo!... John! _Is that you?_ Are you up there!... What d’you mean “_No!?_”... I want a word with you.... When you’ve had your tea.... Yes; it’s waiting. (_He comes away from the tube._) I’ll teach him to be funny!

MRS. FREEMAN: Is he coming down?

MR. FREEMAN: Yes. (_He paces again_) ... came like a thunderbolt; this afternoon was absolutely the first I’d heard of it.... I’ve a good mind to pop round and see Frankie, or her father; shouldn’t stay; be back here before he’s finished his tea; ... a week ago; never a word to anyone; a week--I didn’t tell you all about that evening; that girl up in his room; when I went in there she was ... well, never mind--and then this morning, he walks into my office, as calm as you like, and informs me, if you please, he does not intend to marry Frankie.... And that’s not all. Oh no. Not by any means. He’s going to leave the business.... Leave it ... throw the whole thing up.

MRS. FREEMAN: What did _you_ say?

MR. FREEMAN: I’m not quite sure. But whatever I said, it’s nothing to what I’m going to say! I’ve had about as much as I’m going to put up with!... It’s such a dam’ bad influence on Gwen, too.... D’you realise she’s only been in to dinner once this week?

MRS. FREEMAN: Twice.

MR. FREEMAN: Once.

MRS. FREEMAN: Wednesday and Sunday.

MR. FREEMAN: Oh yes. Sunday. Well, twice.... Where’s she been?

MRS. FREEMAN: Out with Mr. ... Mr. ... John’s friend.

MR. FREEMAN: The playwriting feller.

MRS. FREEMAN: Yes.

MR. FREEMAN: What! Every night?

MRS. FREEMAN: I think so.

MR. FREEMAN: I ask you!

MRS. FREEMAN: He seems a very nice man.

MR. FREEMAN: Does he?! I don’t care how nice he is, when it comes to taking my daughter out six times a week!

MRS. FREEMAN: Five times.

MR. FREEMAN: I’ve had enough. That’s what it amounts to. And my foot’s coming down--pretty hard. (_He goes to speaking-tube again._) Hullo.... I want to see you; when you’ve had your tea; ... you’re not going out? very well; when you’ve had your tea. (_He replaces the tube._) I think I _will_ just look round and see Frankie; and the old man, if he’s in; shan’t stay; because I’m coming back to talk to John ... a fine old rumpus; that’s what there’s going to be; back almost directly.

[_He goes out. Alone, MRS. FREEMAN sews a few stitches; then rises,
presses a bell, and returns to her sewing.... ROSIE enters._

MRS. FREEMAN: Make a fresh pot of tea for Mr. John.

[_ROSIE fetches the teapot from the tray, and is retiring with it.
At the door, she is stopped by MRS. FREEMAN’S voice._

Rosie!... Is anything the matter?

ROSIE: No’m.

[_She goes out. Alone, MRS. FREEMAN sews.... GWEN comes in._

GWEN: Is he having tea upstairs?

MRS. FREEMAN: No.

GWEN: Oh, it’s Thursday.

MRS. FREEMAN: Did you have a nice lunch?

GWEN: Yes.

MRS. FREEMAN: Was it with Mr. ... Mr. ... John’s friend?

GWEN: He’s got a good many friends.

MRS. FREEMAN: Yes; but you know the one I mean--his special one.

GWEN: I lunched with Colin Mackenzie.

MRS. FREEMAN: Oh yes; that’s it: Mackenzie. I never can remember. It’s such a difficult name. Nothing to get hold of. If it was Mackintosh ... rain or toffee; _Mackenzie_ ... Mackenzie ... he seems a very nice man.

GWEN: Not bad.

MRS. FREEMAN (_rising_): I’ve ordered some fresh tea. I’m going into the drawing-room. (_At the door._) You’ll be in to dinner to-night?

GWEN: Yes.

MRS. FREEMAN: You won’t be going out at all?

GWEN: No.

MRS. FREEMAN: I’m glad.

[_She goes.... GWEN crosses to the speaking-tube, and blows into
it; she gets no answer; while she is doing this, ROSIE returns with
the teapot. As she puts it down, she gives a sudden little sob._

GWEN (_gently; but without surprise_): Don’t cry.

ROSIE: I can’t ’elp it.

GWEN: Would you mind if I told Mr. John?

ROSIE: If you wants to.

[_JOHN comes in._

JOHN: Hullo, Gwen.... Have they had their tea, Rosie?

[_ROSIE, being unable to answer, nods, and then sobs. JOHN looks
enquiringly from her to GWEN._

ROSIE: Go on. Tell ’im.

GWEN: Rosie’s going to have a baby.

ROSIE (_utterly pitiful_): It’s about finished me.

GWEN (_to her brother_): We can help, can’t we?

JOHN: Of course.

ROSIE (_with sudden unexpected vigour; turning on him_): It’s all very well for _you_!

JOHN (_taken aback_): Rosie!

ROSIE: Standin’ there _talkin’_!

JOHN: But, Rosie.

ROSIE: It’s all _your_ fault, anyhow!

JOHN: _My_ fault!

ROSIE: Yes.

JOHN: _Mine?_

ROSIE: Yes, yours.

GWEN: Oh, John!

JOHN: Rosie, what _do_ you mean?

ROSIE: I’d never of done it, if it ’adn’t been for _you_. I’ve _’eard_ yer. _Talkin’!_... “What ’arm is there in it?” “Why shouldn’t a girl ’ave a good time?” Next time you tell her that, you tell ’er what’ll ’appen to ’er.

JOHN: ... Is he anybody you could marry?

ROSIE: ’E’s married.

JOHN: Oh!

ROSIE: I’m frightened. I am, straight. (_She stares at them, in vague terror._) You’re ’elpless; you know what I mean: you go into the next room, and it’s everywhere; you can’t get away from it. (_Her look seems to hypnotise them; they can find no words. She continues:_) It’s bad enough when you’re married, and ’ave a ’usband to look after yer; and yer mother’s pleased.... I can’t never tell my mother. I can’t tell nobody.

GWEN: You’ve told us.

ROSIE: Oh, it’s all right for _you_, miss--_you_ don’t know. You can’t do nothing. I went to a chemist w’ot ’e told me of--a long way off it was, on a tram--and they as good as kicked me out. Then I goes to a doctor; I ’as to go alone. I rings the bell, and the man w’ot opened the door, ’e looked at me--’e seemed to know; and the doctor said ’e couldn’t do nothing. It’s finished me.

JOHN: Let’s go upstairs. We’ll be quieter there.

ROSIE: I’ve got t’go and ’elp cook. That Florence is out.

JOHN: As soon as you can get off will you come upstairs?

ROSIE: Yes. (_She hesitates. Then:_) ... I’m sorry--what I said. It’s kind o’ yer; then, you’re _kind_ all right ... and if you’re a bit orf, you can’t ’elp it; I mean, you can’t really _know_--can yer?... It’s an awful thing to ’appen to anyone ... you gets to ’ate yerself.

GWEN: Oh no. (_She adds, rather lightly to help:_) After all, it might happen to any of us.

ROSIE (_fiercely_): Don’t you never let it ’appen to _you_, miss. You take care you _’as_ ’im, safe, ’e’ll marry yer, before you does anything. Me! I lied awake all last night. Throw myself in the river--that’s about what I’m fit for now.

GWEN: Rosie!

ROSIE: Well, other girls do, don’t they? Nobody couldn’t blame me then; p’r’aps they’d be sorry.... ’Ere, I must get. That old cook’ll be after me. She’s a one. Work’s something; stops yer thinkin’.

JOHN: As soon as you’re finished, you’ll come back.

ROSIE: Yes, sir.

JOHN (_gently but firmly_): Now, look here, Rosie; you’ve told us and you’re not alone any more. And we’re going to stand by you and see you safe. See? Whatever happens, we’ll see you safe right through and out the other side.

ROSIE: It’s kind o’ yer.

JOHN: ’Tisn’t. We’re just all in the world together; that’s all.... You’re coming back as soon as you can get away from cook.

ROSIE (_with a ghost of a smile, as she goes_): That cook! She’s a one!

[_When she is gone, there is a short silence. Then:_

GWEN: It must be awful.

JOHN: Does this frighten you?

GWEN: It’s a bit of a red light.

JOHN: How?

GWEN: Well ... you’ve got to remember when you talk about all this, it _does_ happen to people. It happened to the eldest Gillingham girl.... I didn’t know much about it; but she had the most terrible time.... You can imagine ... what Rosie said--_helpless_ ... awful. (_She thinks for a while; then her eyes, wandering, light on the tea-things._) Do you want some tea?

JOHN: Yes ... thanks.

[_GWEN pours out his tea and gives it to him; and pours out her own
and, sitting, stirs it, reflectively. These two are very fond of one
another, and at ease together; there is a quality of gentleness in
their bearing to each other._

GWEN: ... It doesn’t frighten me ... really ... not if you stop to think ... you needn’t have a baby, need you?

JOHN: Nearly everybody, in our class, limits their families.

GWEN: If you make up your mind it’s not wrong to love without having children, it’s awfully _weak_ to change your mind just because someone else has one by mistake, isn’t it?

JOHN: That’s true.

GWEN: But, Jacko ... you know ... all the same ... the people who are against you would pick on Rosie; they’d say, there’s a girl with her life ruined, and her baby’s life ruined; and if you had your way, there’d be more and more like her....

JOHN: Fools!!

GWEN: Yes, but what’s the answer, Jacko?

[_She speaks, and listens, always, with a simple direct eagerness for
understanding, and points of view._

JOHN: The answer!

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: ... Well ... in the first place: there are plenty of Roses, now, aren’t there?

GWEN: I suppose so.

JOHN: Thousands. The streets are strewn with their petals; and the winds that strew them, blow out of unhappy homes.

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: Out of unsuccessful marriages; and lonely separations. They can’t boast such a success with their Roses, as things _are_.

GWEN: No.

JOHN: And in the second place, if Rosie’d been _your_ daughter, or mine, she’d have had a different education about it all.... Wouldn’t she?

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: What Rosie knows, she knows from cinemas, and giggling talks with other girls and occasional young men. Whatever “teaching” she’s had, has been just _Don’t_.

GWEN: Yes. Just “Don’t. Don’t. Don’t; it’s wicked,” all the time.

JOHN: Exactly; about its real possibilities, and its real dangers, she knew nothing; and along comes this man; and over she goes!... If she’d belonged to us, she’d have known what she was doing; either she wouldn’t have had an affair with this man at all--he’s apparently left her in the lurch--or, if it was a thing of real value in their lives, she wouldn’t have had a child; unless she wanted it; and was prepared to face up to the whole business.

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: And in the third place, now that it _has_ happened, half her trouble is her _fear_; the disgrace of it. If instead of cursing her, and blaming her, and pushing her away, people would help her, it wouldn’t be so very terrible.

GWEN: There’s her baby....

JOHN: Gwen; an epileptic woman in a slum can have twelve children by a confirmed drunkard. Which is worse? That; or this baby of Rosie’s? But as long as it’s in “holy matrimony,” people can have dozens of children with no earthly chance of looking after them--and your moralists make no objection; but they’ll torture young Rosie till she thinks of suicide.... The whole question of children--I’m sure it’s a matter of _clear thinking_. It’s so damned important we should think clearly.... Love between two people is a personal relationship.

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: I can’t see that anybody has a right to interfere.

GWEN: No.

JOHN: But as soon as you have a child, it’s more than personal; it’s a social relationship.

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: And the Law oughtn’t to be concerned with the personal side of it at all; but with the social--with the obligations to the children.

GWEN: Yes.... What would you do about children in your trial marriages?

JOHN: There oughtn’t to be any; not until they’ve set out to be permanent.

[_Up to this point the talk has been quiet; they have been helping
themselves, and each other, to their teas._

[_Now, JOHN is impelled from within to move. His own convictions,
with the sense of a world in opposition, trouble him; his sentences
jerk out: all underlined, as it were._

JOHN: But it’s just because as many permanent happy marriages as possible seems the best way it’s so damned important for people to make a good choice ... with full knowledge ... and so, with a real hope of being lasting and happy; and to help them _out_ when they’ve made a mistake ... it wouldn’t be so difficult if people would be open-minded and sane about it ... people just point out difficulties and dangers, and think they’ve smashed our case ... of course there’d be difficulties and unhappiness; love’s not simple ... but look at it all _now_. That’s what they forget. Look at it _now_....

When one thinks of the Prejudices, and Intolerance; of all the _Righteousness_ that stands between us and a happier world, it drives one mad.... Have you walked through a slum lately?

GWEN: No.

JOHN: I did; yesterday; ... thousands of babies rolling about in filth; and you only see them outside, where at least there’s a square inch of open sky above them.

Think of them inside. Whole families in one room. The mothers and fathers, growing brothers and sisters, and new-born babies; all together; day and night; in every city in the civilised world.... Think of it, for a moment ... _intimately_.... Good God! Talk about leading little children astray. A civilisation that tolerates it ought to have a millstone round its neck; ... as a matter of fact, it has; the thing itself is a millstone; dragging us down; fast.

GWEN: How?

JOHN: How! Why: if anybody has the quality to rise out of it, he gets on at his job, marries above him and doesn’t have children. The worst are pouring out children, the best are more or less barren.

GWEN: But, John, if the worst are increasing so much the fastest, things may get worse and worse.

JOHN: Of course.

GWEN: Then why doesn’t somebody _do_ something!

JOHN: For various reasons.

GWEN: What?

JOHN: Religion doesn’t do anything because it thinks Birth Control wicked. Big Business doesn’t do anything, because it wants cheap Labour; the Governments don’t do anything because they want soldiers for the next war.

GWEN: The next war!

JOHN: The next war.

GWEN: Jacko, do you think there is going to be a next war?

JOHN: Who’s going to stop it? We’re all arming again as fast as we can go. Submarines and aeroplanes; blockade and starvation; bombs and poison gas from the air that’ll exterminate whole cities at a go! (_He is speaking with great emphasis._) D’you realise one of the leading scientists of the world has said that the millions of London could be blotted out in three hours! You may say that’s an exaggeration; it may be; but at the rate science is going it won’t be in a few years. “Easy and inexpensive”--that’s what a Cabinet Minister said about poison gas; and they’re all making it; as fast as they can go; and fleets of aeroplanes to drop it.

GWEN: Do you mean that the children I may have, or you may have, may be just wiped out in another war, more terrible than the last?

JOHN: Why not? When nations are armed to the teeth, the arms go off, sooner or later. It always has been so; there’s no reason why it should be any different now; unless there was a change of spirit; and there’s no sign of that. Why should there be? The old ideas are still in power; all over the world; the very same men mostly; you see, _they_ survive wars!

GWEN: But can’t _we_ do something? Why should we have children for that?

JOHN: My dear, they laugh at _us_. And at anybody else who suggests they aren’t wisdom incarnate ... unless we ever became effective against them; then they’d find a way of downing us. You’ve only got to read the newspapers: speeches by generals, and admirals--and bishops; threatenings by politicians; in every country; the old financial interests at work under it all; and the great mass of the people, in every country, struggling all day just to exist, absolutely incapable of independent thought, and ready to believe what any newspaper tells them three days running.

GWEN: John! ... if it’s like that, what’s the good of anything! It doesn’t seem worth going on, or trying.

JOHN: Oh yes, it’s worth it. If the smash comes the few ideals that are left will float upward, and have some influence on what comes next. Something’s got to come next!... Men _could_ free themselves from war.

GWEN: Could they?

JOHN: And from all the other forces that make them suffer so. They’re not natural forces; they’re forces men have made.

GWEN: Then why don’t they?

JOHN: ... And it isn’t for want of courage or nobility.

GWEN: Then why?

JOHN: There’s no _will_ to do it, and that’s because there’s no understanding.... I often think, now, of being in the trenches.

GWEN: Do you?

JOHN: There was a joy in it; at first, anyhow.

GWEN: _You_ say that!

JOHN: Comradeship.

GWEN: The friends you made....

JOHN: No. The strangers on the road, day and night, at the same task; one’s rest and play only to give one strength for it; a _purpose_ that gave meaning to every moment.

GWEN: Oh, Jacko, something in me leaps to that.

JOHN: For five years the men under forty worked together, sacrificed everything they had in life, every hope, prospect, comfort; they underwent suffering, physical suffering and moral suffering, absolutely inconceivable to those who stayed at home, so that to give their lives at the end of it was often a relief ... and they won! By God, Gwen, if the men over forty with the money and the power would get together and work _one-twentieth_ as well, and sacrifice _one-hundredth_ of their personal comfort, what mightn’t they make of the victory--but they won’t! They won’t, because they see no reason why they should. They’ve got no _faith_ to make them. They’ve got nothing great to _believe in_.... To-day, the wisest of men are cynical, and the cleverest are rich, and none are happy.... There’s no great purpose outside our own lives to give them harmony and meaning. Ask the ordinary people, in the streets, and tubes, and ’buses ... what they’re living _for_; they don’t know.... All the old _duties_--our duty to our parents; to our country; to God; they’ve been prostituted; they demanded our blood; and took it; and gave us nothing in return but a dreadful sense of futility ... we’ve got to find something truer to believe in....

GWEN: Can we find something?

JOHN: I believe so.

GWEN: What?

JOHN: ... Why not, just ... our duty to our fellows.... Suppose we all started in with that as a _Religion_; with half the will we went to war; a common purpose so deeply felt that everybody was ready to spend their lives for it, and make any sacrifices that were called for; I’d be a parson if that was religion, teaching that common purpose--just to clear up the mess a bit; so that the generation that’s waiting just outside the doors of existence, should come in and find it a happier place; it ’ud be a dam’ sight happier place for those in it _now_, anyhow! and we’d soon do away with any fear of another war; that ’ud be something.

GWEN: John, do you think there’s a hope?

JOHN: There’s always hope--in the young people.

GWEN: Do you believe that?

JOHN: What other hope is there? There are millions and millions waiting to be born; they haven’t got all the prejudices and hatreds that cause the trouble; they get ’em from us; we’ve got to give ’em something better.

GWEN: And shall we?

JOHN: If we don’t, they’ll go through all the hell that we’ve been through, probably a worse hell than anything we’ve known yet--in this country, anyhow--and then their children, and their children’s children, will try again.

GWEN: But _now_! Can’t we do anything now?

JOHN: I don’t know.

GWEN: We ought to try.

JOHN: That’s what I feel. That’s why I’m chucking the business.

GWEN: What are you going to do?

JOHN: Follow my urge! That’s all I can do.

GWEN: What’s that mean?

JOHN: I’ve got a few hundred pounds in the bank; and I’m selling my piano, and everything else I can. I’m going to write; and think and read; and get into touch with any others I can, who feel as we do.

GWEN: Yes. What are you going to write?

JOHN: I want to try and write something for the ordinary sort of person, who’s just lost and discontented. There _are_ some.

GWEN: Heaps and heaps.

JOHN: That might be my job; it’s not much; when one talks of _doing_, what can one _do_, oneself, seems so inadequate. But it would have been a poor excuse before a tribunal: “I’m not going to join up.” “Why?” “I don’t see myself winning the war single-handed” ... plenty only stopped a bullet going into something else. I may only encourage somebody else to do something.

GWEN: You’re lucky having something you know you ought to do. I wish I had.

JOHN: You have!

GWEN: What?

JOHN: There’s one way all our lot can help: it’s probably the best way, too.

GWEN: What is it?

JOHN: To live by what you believe, which is difficult ... and not by what you don’t believe, which is easy.

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: If you can, you’re a fanatic! But I believe you’ve got to have something of a fanatic in you to do anything worth while these days. The thing is to keep one’s fanaticism, and to keep one’s humanity.

GWEN: Jacko! It _is_ important to live what you believe, isn’t it?

JOHN: _I_ think so; tremendously; I think, if this generation misses its opportunity, _which it may_, it’s because we’ve lost the old beliefs and haven’t taken the trouble to get a new one for ourselves.

GWEN: Yes. Oh, there are such heaps of people “lost and discontented”; I know such heaps of girls like that. They just don’t know where they are; they make an awful mess of things sometimes.

JOHN: You do, if you don’t know where you are. You know, if we’re not careful, there’ll be a period of aimless licence, and then reaction. It’s a critical time all right. A puritan reaction; and all the old inhibitions and denials and secrecies _clamped down_ on our children again.

GWEN: It makes everything seem unimportant except doing one’s bit; doesn’t it?

JOHN: Yes.

GWEN: It’s funny that just when I’m beginning to feel like that, there _is_ something in my life that’s important.

JOHN: What?

GWEN: You won’t laugh!

JOHN: Of course not.

GWEN: I only wish it didn’t seem so important ... you won’t laugh?

JOHN: You’ll get a clump on the head in a minute, if you keep on asking me not to laugh ... what is it?

GWEN: I’m in love.

JOHN: Colin?

GWEN: Oh damn! Is it so obvious?

JOHN: ’Tisn’t obvious a bit; up to a second ago I hadn’t a notion; but you’ve seen a good deal of him these last two weeks, haven’t you?

GWEN: He’s taken me out nearly every day; theatres and dinners; I’ve never had such a time.

JOHN: Does he love you?

GWEN: I don’t think so; I don’t think he cares a bit more for me than for all the others he takes about. I’m a fool! I dread every time I see him in case I should find out it’s no good; but every time he goes away, life’s just waiting for the next time I see him!

JOHN: Are you sure?

GWEN: _Sure?_ How?

JOHN: That you love him?

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: Enough to marry him?

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: By jove, Gwen, I’d like you to.

GWEN (_brokenly_): Oh, Jacko....

[_A knock at the door._

JOHN: Come in.... Hullo, Colin!

COLIN (_coming in_): Hullo.... Hullo, Gwen. Good afternoon.

JOHN: Have some tea? It’s quite cold.

COLIN: No, thanks.

GWEN: I’ll make some in a moment.

COLIN: You’ve had yours....

GWEN (_rising_): I’ll make some more.

COLIN: No. Don’t you go.... (_To JOHN._) Can _you_ make tea?

JOHN: Yes.

COLIN: I’ll have some if _you_ make it.

JOHN: I don’t make it in this house; I don’t know where the things are kept.

COLIN: Well, could you go and buy some cigarettes?

JOHN: I’ve got some!

COLIN: Could you run out and post a letter?

JOHN (_with a grin_): I haven’t got any to post!

COLIN: Then go out into the street, and go up to the first person you meet, and ask them to teach you to take a hint.

JOHN: You want to be left alone!

COLIN: You’re very bright this afternoon.

[_JOHN goes straight out of the room.... A sudden silence falls....
COLIN takes out his cigarette-case, and helps himself to one; and
puts it back ... and takes it out again._

I beg your pardon ... will you?

GWEN: No, thanks.

[_He puts it back, and lights his cigarette ... the silence grows
again._

GWEN: I think I will.

[_He takes out his case; she takes a cigarette, and he lights it for
her._

COLIN: ... lovely day it’s been.

GWEN: Yes.

COLIN (_suddenly_): _I say, Gwen!_----

[_A knock at the door._

Come in.

JOHN: Sorry! It’s raining! I’ll be upstairs. Give me a blow when I can come down.

COLIN: Seems a bit changeable!!

GWEN: Yes.

COLIN (_throwing away his cigarette, he starts again with the same suddenness of tone_): _Gwen!_... What would you say if I asked you to marry me?

GWEN: ... are you being serious?

COLIN: Yes.

[_He comes quickly to her where she is sitting; he speaks crisply._

I want to kneel down, but I can’t. Stand up.

[_She does. They are standing close ... they remain so for a moment,
and then kiss._

COLIN: Then it’s all right?

GWEN: Yes.

COLIN: Thank God. I wish I’d said this days ago.

GWEN: So do I.

COLIN: Do you?

GWEN: No I don’t. I don’t want anything to be different. Oh, Colin, you’ve taken such a load off my mind!...

COLIN (_roughly_): Come here!

[_He takes her and kisses her again; they part; he strides away from
her._

Oh my God! I am happy! (_His eyes fall on the tea-tray._) Have some cold tea?

[_She shakes her head; he pours himself out some._

My throat’s as dry as a bone. (_He drinks._) Come to dinner to-night?

GWEN: Yes.

COLIN: And to-morrow?

GWEN: Yes.

COLIN: And lunch?

GWEN: You’re lunching with someone.

COLIN: I’ll put ’em off.

GWEN: You oughtn’t to.

COLIN: Yes, I ought.

GWEN: I’m so glad you will.

COLIN: Oh, my dear!--it’s difficult to talk sense. Let’s try. I don’t want to wait. Do you?

GWEN: I don’t think I could.

COLIN: When shall we get married?

GWEN: Not yet.

COLIN: But we don’t want to wait.

GWEN: No.

COLIN: Then what do you mean?

GWEN: Don’t let’s get married yet.

COLIN: Oh don’t let’s have any more of that _rot_! (_And, because his nerves are on edge, he makes it sound more explosive than he meant. Realising, he adds, mitigatingly:_) I mean, it may be all right when you’re not serious, but when you are, it’s no good.

GWEN: It’s not “rot” to me.

COLIN: Well--perhaps not; but _we_ needn’t be mixed up in it.

GWEN: Leave it to somebody else.

COLIN: Yes! pray God, yes! Look here, I love you. Please understand that. Quite certainly. With everything in me, for always.

GWEN (_very gently, to herself_): Oh, Colin!

COLIN: I’ve been very lonely; with everything I wanted--unhappy. You’ve changed all that. I want everything now, for you.

GWEN (_softly_): It’s a miracle!

COLIN: It’s a fact. But I know what I want; d’you see? ... that’s going to give me the power to get it--for both of us. All this experimenting business. It’s no good. I’ve finished with it!

GWEN: You’ve _finished_ with it!

COLIN: Yes.

[_She gives a little laugh._

COLIN: Now, look here, Gwen; people who _shilly-shally_ round and get someone in their lives, and then look round and wonder whether someone else wouldn’t give them a fuller life! I’ve no use for it. I know a good deal about life.

GWEN: You mean you’ve had a lot of ... of lovers?

COLIN: You know that. I don’t want to pretend. Not an abnormal amount! Nothing out of the ordinary, but _because_ this isn’t new to me, I haven’t a doubt. This thing’s permanent. I _know_.

GWEN: It’s all new to me.

COLIN: Can’t you trust me?

GWEN: To teach me love. Yes.

COLIN: Gwen, I’ve seen my children in your eyes.

GWEN (_with a little cry_): Oh, why did you say that? You know I want them, too; but not yet.

COLIN: My dear love; if you want to see life, or the world, a bit first--of course--there’s nowhere you can’t go; nothing you can’t have for the asking; I’m going to give the rest of my life to give you everything you want.

GWEN: I only want you.

COLIN: That’s all right then. Now; when are we going to get married?...

[_She is silent._

Has John been putting you up to this?

GWEN: To what?

COLIN: This refusing-to-marry stunt!

GWEN: No.

COLIN: Yes; he has; you’ve been listening to him.

GWEN: Well, why not?

COLIN: Why not?

GWEN: Yes.

COLIN: Because ... because I won’t stand for it!

GWEN: You won’t stand for it?

COLIN: No. Why should I? Your head’s full of his stuff.

GWEN: It’s full of his stuff because I believe it’s true.

COLIN: Oh, damn it all, Gwen; what d’you believe’s true?

GWEN: I believe with all my soul to marry you now, straight off, would be a wrong thing to do. (_She is passionately sincere._) Really! Really! I don’t believe it would be _right_! If I did, it would only be to save bother. I want to do what’s right. Oh, I can’t talk; I can’t say what I mean; I feel it; it isn’t only myself ... it’s the others.

COLIN: The others?

GWEN: Yes; we’re supposed to; it isn’t easy to hold out; some girls are; I want to be on their side; I want to keep hold of my part in the future; if I give in right at the beginning, how can I ever take any part, or interest ever again, without being ashamed ... if that’s a “stunt”; if it’s all “rot” to you ... it’s no good; you’d better go!

COLIN: And you say you love me!

GWEN: Yes; I love you; make no mistake about that. I don’t know what I shall do, if you go.... I love you so much, I don’t want our first love to be spoiled by feeling I’m doing wrong.

COLIN: You’re obstinate.

GWEN: I can’t help it.... Oh, Colin, please, don’t you see ... if _you’re_ certain, it’ll make no difference in the end.

COLIN: Oh, it’ll make a difference all right!

GWEN: What difference?

COLIN: It’s going to be very unpleasant for me.

GWEN: If I’m not more important than unpleasantness----

COLIN: Suppose I’m obstinate too; and just as conscientious; and I don’t want it to be spoiled, and I think we _ought_ to get married.

GWEN: You don’t. You want to avoid unpleasantness.

COLIN: Thanks.

GWEN: It’s true.

COLIN: Suppose it’s a question of doing things my way, or saying good-bye?

GWEN: Oh no!

COLIN: Yes.

GWEN: Colin! ... if I gave in, I shouldn’t be any _good_ to you; something in me would die.

COLIN: I’ll risk that.

GWEN: I can’t give in.

COLIN: My way, or saying good-bye.

GWEN: Oh, Colin.

COLIN: ... Well?

GWEN: Colin!----

[_MR. FREEMAN enters. He has hurried and is in a temper anyhow,
which is not improved by finding “that feller” alone with his
daughter._

MR. FREEMAN: Oh!... Where’s John?

GWEN: He went out.

MR. FREEMAN: Where to?

GWEN: I don’t know.

MR. FREEMAN: He’s got no business to go out. I want to speak to him. I told him I wanted to speak to him.

[_A whistle from the speaking-tube._

That’s probably him.

[_GWEN has gone to answer. She takes the receiver and speaks._

GWEN: Hullo!

MR. FREEMAN (_taking it from her_): Here, give it to me. (_He listens._) ... Has he _“popped” what_? No. It’s me speaking. _Me._ I don’t know what you’re talking about. Come down. At once. (_He replaces the instrument._) ... What the devil did he mean?... Going off his chump! That’s what’s the matter with him. Off their chumps! That’s what’s the matter with the whole family.

[_A silence. COLIN and GWEN are hung in mid-air, as it were;
while MR. FREEMAN becomes more and more manifestly oppressed with
their presence._

COLIN: ... Well, I must be getting along.

MR. FREEMAN (_jumping at this_): I’m sorry I can’t ask you to stay. I’ve got some particular business to discuss with my son.

COLIN: Oh, of course. (_He hesitates awkwardly a moment, and then says, low, to GWEN:_) Will you come and have dinner to-night?

GWEN: Yes.

MR. FREEMAN (_catching this_): What’s that?

COLIN: I was asking your daughter if she’d dine with me to-night.

MR. FREEMAN: I’m afraid I can’t allow it.

GWEN: Father!

MR. FREEMAN: _That’s enough!_... You’ve been out with Mr. Mackenzie six times this week. I’m sure Mr. Mackenzie’s man-of-the-world enough to realise that’s unusual.

GWEN: I’m over twenty-one.

MR. FREEMAN: I can’t help that. You’re in my house; under my charge.

[_JOHN comes in._

Come in. I’ve just had to put my foot down. I’ve forbidden your sister to go out with Mr. Mackenzie.

JOHN: Forbidden!

MR. FREEMAN: Yes. _Forbidden!_ If I don’t take a strong line, goodness knows where we shall get to. You young people think you can play highty-tighty just as you please.... As I say, I’ve no wish to be offensive to Mr. Mackenzie. It’s very good of him to spend so much time on her.... Every now and again. Yes. Of course. But six times a week! The thing becomes ridiculous. (_To COLIN._) I hope you understand my position.

COLIN: I think perhaps you don’t quite understand _my_ position. I have asked your daughter to marry me.

MR. FREEMAN: This is the first I’ve heard of it.

COLIN: I only asked her a few minutes ago.

MR. FREEMAN: Well, of course, this does rather alter the aspect of things.... I don’t know what to say; ’pon my word, you’ve rather taken the wind out of my sails ... of course, it’s all got to be considered. I shall want to talk to you ... then, if I approve, and her mother ... the whole thing wants talking over.

GWEN (_she is very pale, and her teeth are set_): You needn’t talk it over, thank you. I’ve made up my mind.

MR. FREEMAN: Oh, you have.

GWEN: Yes. I’ve told him I won’t marry him yet. But I’ve told him I’ll go away with him; and we can get married later; when I know what I’m doing; if we want to.

MR. FREEMAN (_blankly_): You told him you’d go away with him!

GWEN: Yes.

MR. FREEMAN: I don’t understand! What d’you mean?

GWEN: What I said: I told him I’d go away with him. I’ll marry him afterwards when I’m sure.

JOHN (_almost to himself_): Gwen! That’s good!

MR. FREEMAN (_turning fiercely on him_): GOOD!!! What the devil do you mean--_good_?!!! Really, I don’t know whether I’m on my head or my heels! (_To COLIN._) What have _you_ got to do with this?

COLIN (_taken aback_): Me?

MR. FREEMAN: Is this the result of six dinners with you?

COLIN (_trying to be dignified_): Certainly not.

MR. FREEMAN: I suppose I can believe my ears. You heard what she said ... she’s already made this outrageous suggestion to you.

COLIN: Yes.

MR. FREEMAN: After any encouragement from you?

COLIN: No.

MR. FREEMAN: Do I understand then that you propose to behave like a gentleman?

COLIN: I’m not quite certain how a gentleman would behave under the circumstances.

MR. FREEMAN: I’m sorry to hear that.

COLIN: Well, how would _you_ behave?

MR. FREEMAN: Me?

COLIN: Yes. Supposing when you were single, the girl you loved, out of a sort of access of social duty, had proposed a sort of trial trip before you were----

MR. FREEMAN: Social fiddle-sticks! When I was a young man the thing was unthinkable.

GWEN}: But Father!---- } JOHN}: When you were young, but----

MR. FREEMAN (_turning on his children and shouting_): I _will_ not argue.

COLIN: I don’t want to argue either; but I think you might answer my question. What would you do in my place?

MR. FREEMAN: Do! Why, good God, sir, I should tell her to go to the devil.

COLIN: I’m rather thinking of telling her to do that.

MR. FREEMAN: I’m glad to hear it.

COLIN: Only if she does, I suppose I shall go with her.

[_A very tiny suspicion of a laugh from JOHN is immediately
quashed._

MR. FREEMAN: _Stop that noise!_ Is your sister’s _shame_ a laughing matter to you?

JOHN (_dangerously_): _Shame?!_

MR. FREEMAN: Yes; that’s what I said--_shame_. It’s time there was a little plain-speaking in this house!! I don’t know what’s come over you; both of you. You think you can treat us just as you like; push us on one side; me, and your mother, and the family; the traditions; trample on everything we hold sacred. You can’t.

[_The two stand silent, while he looses his wrath against them. To
JOHN:_

You think you can break faith just as you will: you can’t; you throw over the girl you’ve been engaged to since you were children; and the same with the business; and never a word ’till this afternoon ... and now this ... this cruel, insane, folly of Gwen’s. A cruel, thoughtless, insane _wickedness_ that I never thought I should find in a child of mine. Have you no thought for others--either of you? No consideration? (_To JOHN._) You’re lazy; that’s what’s the matter with you. No aim in life. No desire to get on. Dog lazy. And you. (_He turns on his daughter._) You’re worse. Are you mad? or are you wanton? You seem to have no thought but for your own pleasure----

JOHN (_going off suddenly, like a bomb_): BE QUIET!!!!

MR. FREEMAN: What the devil?

JOHN: I shall lose my temper in a moment.

MR. FREEMAN: Lose your temper?

JOHN: Yes. I have lost it. I’ve lost it now!! How _dare_ you talk like that? _How dare you?!?!_

MR. FREEMAN (_shouting_): John!

JOHN (_refusing to be stopped_): It’s no good. It’s got to come out now. _You_, who sat at home here in comfort all those five years of hell.

MR. FREEMAN (_bewildered_): Sat at home!

JOHN: You don’t know what I’m talking about! You’ve forgotten. I’ll tell you. (_He is possessed by an overwhelming rage._) Your generation has done ours in! Smashed it! Millions! If we were to stand at that window and they marched past us, they’d march all day, and all night, and all day again--for days and nights. Dead men. Dead. For what? They died to end war; to make a better world; and before their corpses have rotted into earth, new wars are preparing and the world’s a dam’ sight worse--and you? Is there one word of apology in you? One word of humility? No. The same old pride; and blindness; and intolerance. Because I don’t want to live as you’ve lived, I’m lazy; because Gwen wants to live, not exactly as her mother and grandmother lived, she’s mad or wanton! Good God in Heaven! if there’s one way that’s been proved wrong it’s your way! If we live exactly as you lived, it’ll all happen over again!...

[_He comes to a sudden stop. The silence in the room is complete.
He seems to have burnt himself out; and MR. FREEMAN to be knocked
mentally head-over-heels, and to be only partially conscious. JOHN
breaks the silence in a low voice:_

Sorry. I lost my temper. I’ve got it again now.... I was rude. I’m sorry.... We only ask that you should go your way: and leave us to find ours. I beg your pardon. There’s no reason why we shouldn’t be friends.

MR. FREEMAN: Friends!

JOHN: Yes.

MR. FREEMAN (_to GWEN_): Do you suppose your mother will ever lift up her head again?

GWEN: We could be far better friends when she knows.

MR. FREEMAN: Don’t be a fool.

GWEN: We lived in the same house; but we’re strangers.

MR. FREEMAN: Who’s fault’s that?

GWEN: What I believe is part of me, I can’t help that. I couldn’t be anything but a stranger with anyone from whom I had to hide it. We could be closer now. If _she_ will. I’ll do my best.

MR. FREEMAN: Rubbish. (_He makes for the door._) All I can say now is: I shall oppose you with every means in my power. If you persist, not another penny do you get from me--either of you. (_To COLIN._) And as for you, sir, you’re a damned scoundrel!

[_He goes._

GWEN (_at once, to COLIN_): Oh, I’m so sorry.

COLIN (_taking her roughly by the shoulders_): Look here; you’re going to love me; and I’m going to love you, and there’s going to be no one else. Do you understand?

GWEN: Yes.

COLIN: Good. Now I’m going to clear out; right out of it, for a bit.

GWEN: What do you mean?

COLIN: Where do you want to go to most in all the world?

GWEN: I only want to be where you are.

COLIN: I’m going to Rome. As soon as I can get a passport. I think you can get a passport quicker than you can get a licence. Shall I get two--passports?

GWEN: Colin!

COLIN: That’s all right. John, I’m going to marry your sister.

JOHN: When?

COLIN: As soon as I can get her away from you.

GWEN: No.

COLIN: Well, when we come back to England.

GWEN: Perhaps.

COLIN: Say yes.

[_She shakes her head._

You little devil. I’m only afraid of one thing.

GWEN: What?

COLIN: You’ll make me serious. Then we shall all starve.

GWEN: I shouldn’t care.

COLIN: I should.

JOHN: Well. I’ve had my telegram.

COLIN: What telegram?

JOHN: My man’s bought my piano and every other damned thing in the whole attic. So we’re in the soup, now, Gwen, both of us!

GWEN: Yes.

JOHN: Good luck to you. (_He stretches out his hand._)

GWEN (_taking it_): Thanks. And good luck to you.

JOHN: By God, life’s _good_, isn’t it?

COLIN: There’s someone knocking at the door.

JOHN: See who it is.

[_COLIN goes and opens the door._

COLIN: It’s Rosie.

GWEN: Rosie!... I’d forgotten!... (_With sudden misgiving._) John, this isn’t going to stop us.

JOHN (_very strongly_): No. Nothing’s going to stop us now.

GWEN: But we must help her.

JOHN: _Of course we must help her_; that’s part of our job.... Rosie!

[_As he goes to the door the CURTAIN FALLS._

END OF THE PLAY

Printed In Great Britain at _The Mayflower Press_, _Plymouth_. William Brendon & Son, Ltd.

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:

Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_.

Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.

Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.