Chapter III: Act II

MRS. REACH HASLAM'S _study. A large apartment, richly and suitably
furnished. The retreat of one of the most successful, most
wealthy, and most majestic novelists in the world. Large and
splendid desk (for two people, sitting opposite each other) about
the middle of the room. Door back leading to hall, etc. Door_,
L., _leading to drawing-room. Down stage, left, a sofa, which is
partly hidden by a screen from the view of anyone entering by
door_, L. _Date calendar on desk. Telephone._

_All the_ HASLAMS _except_ CHARLES _are in evening dress_. FLORA
_is elaborately attired, with a light Egyptian shawl on her
shoulders, and a fan._

TIME: _Same evening. Immediately after dinner._

_The_ BISHOP _is waiting, alone. Enter to him, from door back_,
MRS. REACH HASLAM _followed by_ MR. REACH HASLAM.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_As she enters._) Ah! Bishop. How good of you!
(_Shakes hands._)

BISHOP. (_Shaking hands with_ _Mr. Reach Haslam_.) My dear Mrs.
Reach Haslam. Not at all! I blush for my diocese--that such a
deplorable and distressing accident should have occurred in it.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Then it really is true?

BISHOP. But I told you on the telephone.

MRS. R. HASLAM. I know, I know! I was only hoping against hope that
perhaps after all you might have found that the marriage was
legal.

BISHOP. (_Shaking his head._) No. His late father was undoubtedly
in orders, his late brother also. But he himself was no more
ordained than you are. (_To_ MR. REACH HASLAM, _who recoils_.) He
presumed on his relationships.... In fact, his sole qualification
seems to have been two old suits of his brother's.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, after all, it is perhaps better so.

BISHOP. Better, dear lady?

MRS. R. HASLAM. I mean that you have _not_ brought good news at the
eleventh hour. Really---- (_Looking at_ MR. REACH HASLAM.)

MR. R. HASLAM. (_To whom the_ BISHOP, _puzzled, turns for an
explanation_.) My wife, with her novelist's instinct, perceives
the situation that would be created if we had to go into the
drawing-room now and say to them suddenly, "Well, you are
married, after all."

MRS. R. HASLAM. Excessively delicate. They would naturally have to
leave the house at once.

BISHOP. Quite so. I cannot tell you how relieved I was to get your
wire saying that you had overtaken them in time. Young people
make such a mystery of the honeymoon nowadays that often they
don't even leave a postal address. A dangerous innovation!

MR. R. HASLAM. Evidently.

BISHOP. I gather that you have brought them both here, poor things!

MRS. R. HASLAM. It seemed the wisest course. I consulted my
husband, and he quite agreed with me that in view of the unusual
circumstances we ought to act with the greatest prudence--for
_their_ sakes! And so we motored quietly back to town and got
here just in time for dinner. My son drove. I sat by his side.
There wasn't room for their heavy luggage, and so Charlie is
bringing that up by train. Charles is my other son.... (_Sighs._)
And here we are!

BISHOP. Admirable! It's a case of----

MR. R. HASLAM. As you were.

BISHOP. Just so! Really a terrible blow to them--must have been!
And to you, and to you! An appalling shock! How have they borne
it?

MRS. R. HASLAM. Well--(_turning to_ MR. R. HASLAM). Father, how
should you say they have borne it?

MR. R. HASLAM. Grimly. That is--on the grim side.

BISHOP. Ah!

MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course, my Lord, we are taking it for granted
that the matter can be put right to-morrow, without fail, and
beyond question. I have tried to comfort them with that absolute
assurance.

BISHOP. My dear lady. Without fail! At any hour! _any_ hour ... up
to three o'clock. That is why I have come specially to town--to
convince you by my presence of my horror at the--er--crime, my
sympathy with its innocent victims, and my utter determination
that the ceremony shall be performed again to-morrow morning
under my personal supervision and guarantee. I feel that I cannot
do too much.

(_During the last words enter_
CUTHBERT, _back, with salver
of letters and press cuttings,
followed by parlour-maid with a
tray of newspaper packets_.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Will you excuse my husband while he deals with the
post?

BISHOP. I beg---- (MR. REACH HASLAM _sits down to desk and takes
the post. Exeunt_ SERVANTS.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. I ought to apologise for receiving you in my study,
but I thought--my husband thought--we had better see you first
alone. Are those the press cuttings, father?

(MR. REACH HASLAM, _nodding, opens
press cuttings_.)

BISHOP. But for this unfortunate _contretemps_, what a charming
coincidence that your new book should be published to-day of all
days!

MRS. R. HASLAM. So you find time in your busy life, Bishop, to keep
abreast of modern literature--even novels?

BISHOP. _Even_ novels! My dear lady, there is no greater force for
good.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Or for evil--alas!

BISHOP. Quite so! I have often thought--I have indeed said so from
the platform--that the two most truly important influences for
good in our generation are your novels and the leaflets of the
National Society for Promoting the Education of the Poor in the
Principles of the Established Church.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Indeed! Father, do you recall that press-cutting?

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Busy._) No.

BISHOP. It was reported in our Diocesan Magazine.

MRS. R. HASLAM. And yet, my dear Bishop, I have more than once felt
it my duty to criticise the Church rather sharply in my work.

BISHOP. I know, I know. We bow the head, we kiss the rod.

MRS. R. HASLAM. In my new novel I am back in politics again. Have
you seen it yet?

BISHOP. No, not yet. But I have already ordered it from Boot's.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Boot's?

BISHOP. Yes, the cash chemists. I find their circulating library
the most economical of all. And I have to be particular. As
you know, I publish every year a detailed account of all my
expenditure, personal and otherwise, and too large a sum for
books might be misconstrued as self-indulgence, especially in a
bachelor.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Ah, yes. (_Handing him a book._) Here is a copy.

BISHOP. Pretty cover.

MR. R. HASLAM. (_To his wife, in a low tone._) Twenty-one columns.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Pleased._) Really!

BISHOP. (_Looking up._) Twenty-one columns?

MRS. R. HASLAM. We are treating you without ceremony, my dear
Bishop. My husband has just calculated the total length of the
reviews of my book that have appeared in the London papers on the
first day. Of course we attach no value whatever to the actual
opinions expressed--the critics have to work in such a hurry--and
they are so sadly unfitted for their work, poor dears--but the
amount of space given is an excellent indication of the public
importance ascribed to the book.

BISHOP. (_Who has been inspecting the book._) How true!

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_To_ Mr. REACH HASLAM.) Anything special?

MR. R. HASLAM. No. "Surpassed herself," seven or eight times.
"Masterpiece," fourteen times. The "Piccadilly Gazette" is
unfavourable.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Very?

MR. R. HASLAM. Yes.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Better tell me.

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Deprecating gesture, reads._) "The book is of
course admirable in workmanship, knowledge and insight, but
Mrs. Reach Haslam has not, if the truth must be told, surpassed
herself."

MRS. R. HASLAM. If I'd known about that when I saw their lady
reporter this morning!...

BISHOP. (_Putting the book down._) Enthralling narrative!
Enthralling! Now, my dear lady (_rising_).

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Interrupting him._) Please sit down. As you are
having a glimpse of me in my profession to-night, I want to ask
you one or two professional questions--about the psychology of
that false curate.

BISHOP. (_Sitting down again._) Yes, yes. Psychology. Just so.

MRS. R. HASLAM. I never lose an opportunity of gathering material.
Father, will you mind taking down? My husband is good enough to
act as my stenographer.

BISHOP. Touching!

MRS. R. HASLAM. Now I noticed nothing remarkable about that curate.

BISHOP. (_Agreeing._) No. And yet, you know--curious thing--he's a
gentleman, quite! Oh, quite! And I even remember once meeting his
father, when I was Court Chaplain, at a garden party in aid of
the Additional Curates Society.

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Repeating what he has written._) Curates Society.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But why should he choose to personate a curate?
That is what is so interesting to a novelist. Why a curate? It
couldn't have been for the money, or the glory.

MR. R. HASLAM. Glory.

BISHOP. The case is highly peculiar. He is certainly not without
means, or brains. My opinion is that his action was due to
excessive intellectual curiosity. He told me he wanted to feel
what it was like to be a curate.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Yet he looked quite sane.

BISHOP. Oh, quite! Astonishing story! His brother, through the
influence of the Primate, had been engaged as curate, by the
Vicar of St. Saviour's, Chelmsford, subject to an interview. This
brother had been doing some chaplaining in Switzerland--just
rough winter work. On the way home he died suddenly in Paris.
Well, our friend of this morning calmly took up the dead man's
identity. Came to Chelmsford, conquered the simple Vicar, and was
at once accepted. That was two months ago.

MR. R. HASLAM. Ago.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But how dangerous.

BISHOP. So I pointed out to him. His reply was that it was just
the danger that had attracted him--coupled with the desire to
understand why the members of his family had had such a passion
for curacy. It seems that two of his sisters have espoused
curates. This will be a grievous blow for all of them.

MR. R. HASLAM. All of them.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But why should the man be struck with remorse just
now?

BISHOP. Well, his explanation is that he was so moved by the
bride's beauty.

MR. R. HASLAM. Duty.

BISHOP. Beauty. (_Gesture of mild triumph from_ MR. REACH HASLAM
_to_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.) He could not bear to think that any
action of his should cause--er--inconvenience to a woman so
beautiful. Hence he came to me at once. Fortunately I happened to
be at the Palace.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Had he performed any other marriages?

BISHOP. Happily none; but he had celebrated ten funerals and four
baptisms. However these did not seem to trouble him in the
least, I regret to say. It was the wedding alone that roused his
conscience.

MR. R. HASLAM. Conscience.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course you sent for the police.

BISHOP. I trust and believe that he is now in prison. But I did
not send for the police. The Church has its dignity to maintain
against the civil judicature in these modern days. Also with so
much irreligion--shall I say?--flaunting in the very air, She
must avoid scandal--particularly local scandal. London scandal
is less deleterious. Accordingly I brought the young man up to
town with me, and I put him into a cab for the police-station,
where he will surrender himself of his own free will to the law.
I prefer that way. It is, perhaps, original; but nowadays we
Bishops have to be original.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But do you really suppose he has surrendered?

BISHOP. I am sure of it. I cannot pretend to your skill in reading
character, dear lady, but I know a gentleman at sight.

MR. R. HASLAM. Sight.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course, if one put such a story into a novel, it
would never be believed. That's the worst of real life.

BISHOP. And yet this distressing affair reminded me strongly of the
false archdeacon in "The Woman of Kent."

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Pleased._) Ah! You remember my early book?

BISHOP. (_Protestingly._) My dear lady! You have no more earnest
student! And may I add that from the first I found that episode
of the false archdeacon entirely convincing. Its convincingness
was one of the very few points on which I shared the opinions
of the late Mr. Gladstone. "The Woman of Kent" has always been
a favourite of mine among your novels. It must have had a vast
circulation.

MRS. R. HASLAM. How many copies, father?

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Without looking up from the desk._) One hundred
and seventy-two thousand.

BISHOP. Wonderful memory!

MRS. R. HASLAM. Is it not? He knows more about my books than I do
myself, far more.

BISHOP. Touching. (_Rising._) I must go--reluctantly. Now what
time shall we say for to-morrow morning? I am absolutely at your
disposal.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But do we understand that you mean to conduct the
ceremony in person?

BISHOP. I do. I wish particularly to show by my presence at the
altar my sense of what complete reparation is due to you--due to
you all.

MRS. R. HASLAM. I think we had better consult Flora herself.
(_Rings bell._) As you know, my original intention was that you
should be asked to preside at the ceremony. But the young people
insisted on a simple curate--doubtless from modesty, my dear
Bishop.... Would that I had been firm in the first instance!

(_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _back_.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Is Mrs. Lloyd in the drawing-room?

CUTHBERT. Yes, ma'am.

MRS. R. HASLAM. With Mr. Cedric?

CUTHBERT. No, ma'am. She is alone.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Will you tell her that I should be very much
obliged if she could join us here for a moment.

CUTHBERT. Yes, ma'am.... A representative of the "Piccadilly
Gazette" has just called, ma'am--for information. A male
representative.

MRS. R. HASLAM. "The Piccadilly"! (_To_ MR. R. HASLAM.) The
audacity! (_To_ CUTHBERT.) About what? (CUTHBERT _makes a gesture
of embarrassment_.) You told him to call again to-morrow?

CUTHBERT. No, ma'am. He's waiting.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Father, would you mind going out to him? (_Exit_
CUTHBERT.) I really wonder at Cuthbert! (_To_ BISHOP.) We have
an absolute rule against seeing journalists after dinner. As
you know, Bishop, I detest notoriety. Hence our rule. And yet
Cuthbert allows this man to wait!

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Going to door._) Cuthbert is not himself. Cuthbert
has been staggered by the events of the day. The strain of
pretending that nothing in the least unusual has happened must be
tremendous. Allowance should be made for Cuthbert. How shall I
treat this invader?

(_The_ BISHOP _dips into the novel_.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, without actually mentioning their review,
perhaps you might just indicate by your manner----

MR. R. HASLAM. These journalists are so obtuse, but still----

MRS. R. HASLAM. I think perhaps if you said that we cannot
understand how a purely private matter can interest the public,
but that if they _must_ know, the Bishop is here in person,
and---- (MR. REACH HASLAM _nods_.) You think that will be
judicious?

MR. R. HASLAM. Quite. (_Exit back._)

BISHOP. (_Putting down the book._) Enthralling!

(_Enter_ FLORA, L.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, darling, this is the Bishop of
Chelmsford--Mrs. Lloyd, my--er--prospective daughter-in-law.

FLORA. (_Stiffly._) My lord.

BISHOP. My dear young lady, I have already tried to express to Mrs.
Haslam my consternation, my shame, at the----

FLORA. (_Smiling coldly._) I am sure that is sufficient.

MRS. R. HASLAM. The Bishop has come to town specially to see us,
Flora. In order to guard against any possibility of further
accident, he has kindly suggested that he should officiate
himself to-morrow morning.

FLORA. (_To_ BISHOP.) It's really very good of you.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Relieved._) Is it not?

BISHOP. At what hour? I am entirely at your disposal.

FLORA. Oh, any time!

BISHOP. Noon? If you come down by the nine-fifteen train----

FLORA. That will do perfectly.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Where is Cedric, dear?

FLORA. I have no idea. Shall I see? (_Exit_, L.)

BISHOP. The dear child has evidently been much upset.

MRS. R. HASLAM. We all have.

BISHOP. Ravishing creature! Who was Mr. Lloyd?

MRS. R. HASLAM. He seems to have been on the Stock Exchange. He was
a Chelmsford man, and had a house just outside the town.

BISHOP. Indeed! I never met him. Did he leave a large fortune?

MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no! The house--not much else, I believe.

BISHOP. Probably an admiration for your work was the original basis
of the--er----

MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, no! I was first introduced to Mrs. Lloyd by
Charlie, my second son. In fact, quite confidentially, Bishop; we
thought it was a match between _them_.

BISHOP. But heaven decided otherwise?

MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric decided otherwise.

(_Enter_ MR. R. HASLAM, _back_.)

MR. R. HASLAM. Flora tells me that it is arranged for to-morrow.

BISHOP. Yes. I have just been hearing from Mrs. Haslam how this
beautiful young lady has attracted both your sons.

MR. R. HASLAM. Very catching. Ran through the family.

BISHOP. Ha, ha! (_Seriously._) Ravishing creature!

MRS. R. HASLAM. Has Charlie come yet?

MR. R. HASLAM. No.

MRS. R. HASLAM. If he isn't here soon I fear he'll be late for the
office. And he's had no sleep to-day, poor boy. (_To_ BISHOP.)
Charles is the assistant manager of the circulation department of
the "Daily Sentinel," and his hours are from 9.30 at night till
three in the morning.

BISHOP. How trying! I'm afraid we little think when we open our
newspaper at breakfast--I always read the "Sentinel"--we little
think what an immense amount of endeavour----

(_Enter_ CHARLES, _back._)

CHARLES. Hullo! Mater. No trace of any dinner for me in the
dining-room. Here you stick me up with the luggage and all the
dirty work----

MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles, the Bishop of Chelmsford.

BISHOP. We have met once before, I think. (_Shaking hands._) Now,
dear Mrs. Haslam (_looking at his watch_), I have half an hour to
get to Liverpool Street.

MRS. R. HASLAM. You return to Chelmsford to-night?

BISHOP. Essential! I have a midnight procession of drunkards. You
know they call me "the drunkards' Bishop." I am proud of the
title.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Shaking hands._) Exceedingly good of you to have
come.

BISHOP. Not at all. The obligation is mine for your forbearance.
Now--may I presume on our slight acquaintanceship? If at any time
you should think of adding a Bishop to your wonderful gallery of
contemporary portraits, and I could be of assistance--need I say
more?

MRS. R. HASLAM. I have already drawn two.

BISHOP. Really?

MR. R. HASLAM. Suffragans, my dear.

BISHOP. Ah! Suffragans! I thought I could not have forgotten two
Bishops. Till to-morrow then, at noon. Young man, till to-morrow.
(_Shakes hands with_ CHARLES.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_As_ BISHOP _and_ MR. R. HASLAM _go out_.) Father,
would you mind speaking firmly to Cuthbert about Charlie's
dinner?

(_Exeunt_ BISHOP _and_ MR. REACH HASLAM, _back_.)

CHARLES. Why the Bishop?

MRS. R. HASLAM. He came up specially to arrange for to-morrow.
Certainly it was the least he could do.

CHARLES. To-morrow?

MRS. R. HASLAM. The wedding.

CHARLES. Oh yes, of course, I was forgetting.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Really, Charlie, you get more and more
absent-minded as you grow older. I'm not sorry Cedric won't
let you meddle with aeroplanes. The wedding will be at noon
to-morrow. We go down by the nine-fifteen.

CHARLES. With all that luggage again! It would have been simpler
to leave it where it was. Seven trunks! What with cabs, tips,
fares, excess, and a special omnibus, somebody owes me one pound
thirteen, not to speak of compensation for the total loss of tea,
dinner, and temper.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, you are always enthusiastic about Flora's
clothes. We acted for the best. We couldn't tell exactly what
would happen. Fortunately the Bishop saw at once that it was his
duty to take things in hand himself.

CHARLES. I should say that what the Bishop saw was a chance of
getting himself into one of your books, mater.

MRS. R. HASLAM. That also is possible.

CHARLES. (_Imitating the_ BISHOP.) "Need I say more?" What a cuckoo!

MRS. R. HASLAM. Charles!

(_Enter_ CEDRIC, L.)

CEDRIC. Has that dashed Bishop actually departed? I began to think
he was going to spend the night here.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric! I am ready to make great allowances, but I
_really_ do not know what has come over my sons.

CEDRIC. Sorry, mother. (_To_ CHARLES.) Hello! You back?

MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora's told you it's all arranged for noon
to-morrow?

CEDRIC. No. Haven't seen her.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Well, it is. And now, my boys, you can't stay any
longer in your mother's study. My article for "Harper's" must
absolutely be finished to-night. Your father and I had been
expecting a placid afternoon and evening of work.

CHARLES. By the way, Rick. About that Klopstock business. Of course
you've seen the papers. (CEDRIC _nods_.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Oh, yes. I quite intended to mention that, Cedric;
but really one has had so many things to think about--and my
article, too! How very awkward it is, isn't it?

CHARLES. I met one of our johnnies at Liverpool Street, and he was
a little excited about it. And I may inform you it isn't often
our johnnies do get excited.

CEDRIC. Oh! (_Sits down on sofa._)

CHARLES. He told me they'd received a later wire at the office,
from Breslau, saying that Klopstock has had a private trial over
a mountain near there--I forget the name--and done it, my boy!
Done it on his head!

CEDRIC. Has he, indeed?

CHARLES. And he'll be over here in a week or ten days, it seems.
They want to know at the office exactly what you're going to do.
So I told the johnnie I should be seeing you to-night, and I'd
bring an official message. I had to explain to him a bit what had
happened--couldn't help it. I suppose you'll be forced to cut the
honeymoon next week and begin to get things into shape at once.

MRS. R. HASLAM. It _is_ annoying for you, dear, and for Flora, too!

CEDRIC. I shan't do any such thing.

CHARLES. You surely won't let him----

CEDRIC. I shan't do anything for a full month.

CHARLES. Do you mean to say you'll let Klopstock get in first.

CEDRIC. If Klopstock chooses to try during my honeymoon, I can't
help that, can I? Let somebody else have a shot. I'm not the only
aviator in England, confound it!

MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric!

CHARLES. You're the only aviator in England that can get in front
of Klopstock over Snowdon.

CEDRIC. I can't help that.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But, Cedric--surely your duty----

CEDRIC. Oh! d---- (_stopping himself_).

(_Enter_ FLORA. _As soon as she
perceives_ CEDRIC, _who has been
hidden from her by the screen,
she makes as if to leave the room
again_.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Recalling her._) Flora.

FLORA. (_With false simplicity._) So you _are_ back, Charlie. What
an angel you've been to worry yourself with all that big luggage.

CHARLIE. Oh! That's all right (_surveying her_). I see you had at
least one frock in the portmanteau. We were just discussing the
Snowdon flight. So you two have decided----

FLORA. No, we really settled nothing. Cedric alone settles that, of
course. All questions relating to aeroplanes should be addressed
to the head of the flying department and not to the firm.

CEDRIC. (_Rising, with restrained savageness._) I tell you I shall
do nothing whatever for a full month. (_Exit_, L.)

CHARLES. (_Trying to break the extreme awkwardness caused by_
CEDRIC'S _behaviour, in a bantering but affectionate tone_.)
I suspect the fact is that the bones of a husband are doubly
precious in her sight.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But you don't really think there is any special
danger, do you, Flora dear?

FLORA. Of course not. If I wasn't convinced that Cedric in his
aeroplane is a great deal safer than Charlie in a motor-car, or
Paderewski at the end of a concert, or a cabinet minister at a
public meeting, should I have gone as far as marrying him?

MRS. R. HASLAM. Then, seeing how serious it is for the country,
why----

FLORA. My dear, you must ask Cedric. I don't interfere with
business.

(_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _back_.)

CUTHBERT. A Mr. Frampington, to see the Bishop, ma'am. I told him
his Grace had gone, and now he asks to see either you or Mr.
Haslam.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Mr. Frampington? Where is your master?

CUTHBERT. I believe he's in the kitchen at the moment, ma'am.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Frampington?

CHARLES. Wasn't that the name of our young hopeful this morning?

FLORA. (_Brightening again._) The imitation curate? Of course it
was!

MRS. R. HASLAM. But surely----

CUTHBERT. He bears no resemblance to a curate, ma'am.

FLORA. Then it is he! Oh! if it is, do let's see him! In private
life he must be extremely interesting. (_To_ CUTHBERT.) Show him
in, will you, please?

(_Exit_ CUTHBERT.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora--really I don't know what's come over you all!

FLORA. It seems to me that the curate has come over us all.

(_Enter_ CUTHBERT, _and_ FRAMPINGTON _in
tourist attire_.)

(_Exit_ CUTHBERT.)

FRAMPINGTON. (_In a quite natural, easy tone._) We meet again.
I'm so sorry to disturb you, Mrs. Haslam, but I'm in a slight
difficulty, and I hoped to find the Bishop here.

MRS. R. HASLAM. The Bishop left a few minutes ago.

FLORA. Won't you sit down? (_Outraged glance from_ MRS. R. HASLAM.
FRAMPINGTON _sits down calmly_.) May one inquire what this slight
difficulty is?

FRAMPINGTON. (_After a little hesitation._) I suppose the Bishop
has explained everything?

MRS. R. HASLAM. So far as everything is capable of explanation, yes.

FRAMPINGTON. I'm glad of that. It makes the situation so much
easier. No doubt the Bishop gave you all the messages of apology
and regret that I asked him to deliver on my behalf.

FLORA. (_To_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.) Did he?

MRS. R. HASLAM. No. He only spoke for himself.

FRAMPINGTON. That was not nice of him.

MRS. R. HASLAM. He told us you were a gentleman----

FRAMPINGTON. Generous!

MRS. R. HASLAM. And that you had promised to go to the
police-station and give yourself up of your own accord.

FRAMPINGTON. Quite correct. And as soon as I'd got something to eat
I took a cab and went to Vine Street. Well, they refused to take
me in.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Refused to take you in!

FRAMPINGTON. Wouldn't even take my name.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But did you tell them clearly what you'd done--your
crime?

FRAMPINGTON. I was most explicit.

FLORA. I suppose it _is_ a crime.

FRAMPINGTON. Oh, yes! It's a crime all right. As far as the Bishop
and I could make out, it means anything up to three years; but I
must say the episcopal library at Chelmsford isn't very strong
in criminal law. It seems to deal chiefly with vegetarianism and
drunkenness.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Brushing all this aside._) I may be dull, Mr.----

FRAMPINGTON. Frampington.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But I don't yet understand why you've come here.

FLORA. Mr. Frampington was going to explain how it was the
police-station was so inhospitable.

FRAMPINGTON. The Inspector wouldn't believe my story. He thought I
was a practical joker.

FLORA. And don't you think you are?

FRAMPINGTON. (_Judicially._) Depends how one looks at it. I feel
sure I should have been more convincing if I hadn't changed my
clothes. But the Bishop insisted on me doing that, and so I put
on the only suit I had. And then I found I'd chosen a bad night.
Owing to these vivisection riots, they were doing a big business
in medical students at Vine Street. In fact, my suspicion is
that all their cells were engaged. And there's another thing--I
don't think I ought to have gone to Vine Street. Vine Street
specialises in what you may call West End cases--pocket-picking,
confidence tricks, murder, aristocratic inebriety, and so
on. It runs in a groove. But then Vine Street was the only
police-station that I was personally acquainted with--a youthful
souvenir of Boatrace night--and so I went there. It was a mistake.

MRS. R. HASLAM. I'm afraid you didn't insist.

FRAMPINGTON. Yes. I did. I insisted so much that at last the
Inspector got cross and said that if I didn't clear he _should_
lock me up.

MRS. R. HASLAM. And wasn't that enough for you, my man?

FRAMPINGTON. (_Starting slightly at the appellation._) It was too
much. I naturally wanted to be locked up for the right thing. The
truth is the Inspector thought I was drunk--probably because I
was so calm. One of the constables said I--er--smelt of drink.

MRS. R. HASLAM. And did you?

FRAMPINGTON. Certainly not. Beyond half-a-pint of Bordeaux at the
Ritz, I assure you I had had nothing whatever.

FLORA. The Ritz?

FRAMPINGTON. Why not, madam?

FLORA. As you say, why not!

FRAMPINGTON. It was handy for Vine Street, and this being my last
night of freedom, you see---- As a novelist, Mrs. Haslam, you
will understand I had a natural desire to do myself well.

MRS. R. HASLAM. The only thing I understand is that you seem to
have come here for the pleasure of hearing yourself talk.

FRAMPINGTON. (_Rising simply._) I beg your pardon. I came here
to ask the Bishop to accompany me to the police-station as
corroborative evidence. When your servant told me he wasn't here,
the idea occurred to me that perhaps some member of your family
wouldn't mind going with me--just to identify me.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Charlie, you'd better go on your way to the office.

CHARLES. That's all very well, but----

FRAMPINGTON. It would be very good of you. But I really think
we ought to try another police-station. Bow Street would be
better--more classical--if it isn't too much off your beat.

FLORA. Why don't you go to Liverpool Street?

FRAMPINGTON. But Liverpool Street is not a police-station.

FLORA. No. But it's a railway station. Chelmsford isn't the
only place it leads to. There's Harwich, for instance, the
continent---- (_Smiles._)

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_In a low voice._) Really, Flora! Christianity can
be carried too far.

FRAMPINGTON. (_To_ FLORA.) I should be caught. And, honestly, I
prefer the new experience which lies before me. It can't last
long. And new experiences are my hobby.

FLORA. But this is serious. You mayn't get a long sentence, but
when you're discharged from prison you'll be a social outcast.

FRAMPINGTON. Oh, no, I shan't. In two years time I come into twenty
thousand pounds.

FLORA. I see.

FRAMPINGTON. (_To_ CHARLES.) May I count on your help? (_Bowing
adieu to_ MRS. R. HASLAM.) Madam. (_To_ FLORA.) Mrs. Lloyd, your
sympathy is very remarkable, and I appreciate it. Please accept
my sincerest apologies for any temporary inconvenience I may have
caused you. I assure you, this morning I didn't realise until
afterwards the awful seriousness of what I'd done.

FLORA. Neither did I. Well, good luck! (_Shakes hands with him to
the deep astonishment of_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)

(FRAMPINGTON _goes towards door_.
CHARLES _uncertainly goes in the
same direction, then stops_.)

CHARLES. (_To_ FRAMPINGTON.) Just wait in the hall a moment, will
you?

FRAMPINGTON. Certainly. (_Exit back._)

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Turning to_ FLORA.) Well, it's not often that I'm
left speechless----

CHARLES. Look here, mater. You send me off with this lunatic, but
it doesn't seem to have occurred to you that I've had no dinner.
I haven't even had time to wash.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Before he has finished._) Why _did_ you shake
hands with him, dear? You were almost effusive.

FLORA. I felt almost effusive.

CHARLES. But don't you think he's off his nut?

FLORA. Whatever he is, he's saved me from something that's rather
awful to think about.

MRS. R. HASLAM. He's what?

FLORA. I may as well tell you now--Cedric and I aren't going to get
married to-morrow.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Not going to---- (_stops_). But you've just
arranged with the Bishop!

FLORA. I know. But that was simply my cowardice. The truth is
I hadn't the heart to tell him. I felt that we could express
ourselves more comfortably in a telegram than by word of mouth.

MRS. R. HASLAM. _We!_ But--but what's wrong with to-morrow, Flora?

FLORA. Nothing. It's no worse than any other day. Only we aren't
going to get married at all.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But you _are_ married--practically. I mean----

FLORA. (_Shakes her head._) Not even theoretically.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_With a certain dignified appeal._) Flora, I'm
not as young as you are. I'm a hard working woman. My work is
terribly in arrear. But I've never broken a contract yet, and I
must finish to-night that article of mine for "Harper's" on "A
Remedy for the Decline of the Birthrate in London Society." The
subject is delicate for a popular magazine, and I need to have
my mind free. May I beg you to tell me exactly what you mean,
without being too witty?

FLORA. I'm really very sorry. Very sorry. If I'm witty, I honestly
assure you it's an oversight. All I can tell you is that Cedric
and I have had an extremely serious difference of opinion, on a
vital matter, and there's no hope of our views being reconciled,
and so we aren't going to get married.

CHARLES. Not really!

FLORA. Yes.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Half to herself._) And this is all you can find
to do, to help me with my article! (_To_ FLORA.) I suppose I must
imitate your calmness.

FLORA. (_Winningly._) Oh! please do.

MRS. R. HASLAM. When did you and Cedric settle this?

FLORA. We haven't settled it. Have we had a moment alone together
since we left Pixton? _I've_ settled it. One person can settle
these things.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Do you mean to say that Cedric doesn't know what
you're telling me?

FLORA. Not unless he's listening behind the door. I inform you
before anyone.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Of course father and I both noticed that you were
far from being yourselves. But we put it down to the shock and
disappointment.

FLORA. To the Frampington accident? Oh, no! A Frampington accident
might happen to any unmarried couple. I'm afraid our gloom was
caused by nothing but a terrible fear.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Terrible fear?

FLORA. Terrible fear lest neither of us would have the audacity to
profit by Mr. Frampington's revelation.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Audacity! Your audacity astounds me.

FLORA. Yes, it rather startles even me. Now, will you mind telling
Cedric?

MRS. R. HASLAM. I! (_Looks at her. Then exit_, L.)

FLORA. Are you also struck dumb?

CHARLES. I suppose the kick-up was about--Snowdon versus honeymoon.

FLORA. Charlie, how penetrating you are, really! And you put it in
a nutshell.

CHARLES. Well, when we burst into that hotel this morning I could
have sworn something was wrong. Don't you remember I enquired
what was the matter? And just now when I was asking Rick what he
meant to do, it didn't want any very powerful penetration to see
that there must have been a hades of a rumpus between him and you.

FLORA. (_Puzzlingly._) Oh! Didn't it? And what's your opinion? Do
you think Snowdon ought to win?

CHARLES. Well, it's fiendishly important.

FLORA. I know. But don't you think a honeymoon's somehow more
important?

CHARLES. _Some_ honeymoons might be.

FLORA. What should you have done in Cedric's place?

CHARLES. But look here, Flo, he _has_ given way, you know.

FLORA. Yes, but against his judgment.

CHARLES. Well, he couldn't help that.

FLORA. You're wrong, Charlie.

CHARLES. Am I?

FLORA. Couldn't help it? If Cedric can't control his judgment
better than that, in a serious matter, at the very start of the
marriage, so much the worse for him and for me.

CHARLES. Perhaps so.

FLORA. Charlie, there are some things that you understand better
than Cedric.

CHARLES. That's what I always say, but no one believes me.

FLORA. It's true. Do you know I'm simply shaking?

CHARLES. Fright? (FLORA _nods_.) I can believe you are, but
nobody'd guess it.

(_Half-enter_ CEDRIC, L.)

CEDRIC. (_Stopping at half-opened door. To somebody outside the
room._) What's that you say? (_Exit again, leaving door ajar._)

FLORA. You'd better go. Don't forget the imitation curate's waiting
for you.

CHARLES. Frizzle the imitation curate.

FLORA. You'll be in the way here--don't you see?

CHARLES. But you're sending me off just at the interesting part.
And you'll all be gone to bed before I get back from the office.

FLORA. Yes, but I hope we shall all still be alive to-morrow.
Now--there's a dear, before Cedric comes.

CHARLES. But--is it really serious? (FLORA _nods_.) Then we shan't
have to go to Chelmsford to-morrow? (FLORA _shakes her head_.)
Nor any other day? (FLORA _shakes her head_. CHARLES _moves
reluctantly towards the door_.) Well, I can't realise it, and
that's flat. I say----

FLORA. Yes?

CHARLES. Would you mind telling father or mother to see that my
supper is set for me in the garden to-night? And something solid,
too!

(_Enter_ CEDRIC.)

FLORA. I will.

(_Exit_ CHARLES, _back_.)

FLORA. I see your mother's told you. Well, what can I say to you?

CEDRIC. (_Sitting down._) You might congratulate me on the way I'm
keeping calm under stress.

FLORA. But why do you come in like this and look at me like this?

CEDRIC. Idle curiosity! Having received the news from the mater, I
was absurdly curious to hear any remarks you might have to make
to me. So I came in--like this.

FLORA. Cedric, I did it the best way I could. I thought I would
imitate the blandness of the sham curate. You haven't seen him
to-night, but I may tell you he carries blandness further than
it has ever been carried before.... I was afraid if I didn't do
it at once it might never be done. I could see the time going on
and going on, and me preparing myself to do this thing in a nice,
kind, tactful, proper way, exactly as it should be done--and
never doing it--never beginning to do it! And at last finding
myself at Chelmsford to-morrow, and hypnotised by your mother and
the Bishop. Cedric, I'm sure it's a mistake to _prepare_ to do a
thing like this, leading up to it, and so on. The best plan is to
let it go off with a frightful _bang_, anyhow, as I've done! Then
the worst happens at the start instead of at the finish.

CEDRIC. I quite see the argument.

FLORA. (_With a nod of the head towards the door_, L.) You've told
her the reason?

CEDRIC. She'd half guessed it. I made it seem as plausible as I
could, in my taciturn way. But you know it would need a course of
lectures to explain it properly.

FLORA. I suppose I ought to depart hence. Where is your mother now?

CEDRIC. She's briefly stating the facts to the head of the family.

FLORA. Cedric, don't you feel as if I'd lifted an enormous weight
off your chest? Candidly!

CEDRIC. No; but I feel as if we'd been sitting all day in a stuffy
railway carriage with a window that wouldn't open, and there'd
been a collision that had pitched us clean through it. I've got
oxygen, but I'm dashed if I can feel my legs.

FLORA. My dear Cedric, if you were seriously injured you couldn't
talk like that.

(_Enter_, L., _during the last
words_, MRS. REACH HASLAM _and_
MR. REACH HASLAM, _very solemn_.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Has Charlie gone?

FLORA. Yes. By the way, he wants his supper set in the garden--he
asked me to tell you.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Thank you.

FLORA. Something solid, he said.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Sitting down._) Cedric, I wish your father to
hear for himself exactly what the situation is. I naturally turn
to him and leave everything _to_ him.... Now, father.

MR. R. HASLAM. So far as I've gathered, there seems to be some
slight difficulty as to dates. To-day's the 20th--to-morrow will
be the 21st (_looking at date calendar_). Yes, the 21st. Flora
thinks the honeymoon ought to end on the 21st _prox._, whereas
Cedric thinks the honeymoon ought to end in about ten days' time,
say 1st _prox._ The difference of opinion (_ironical stress_) on
this highly important matter, this fundamental matter, is final.
Hence Flora has absolutely decided to break off the marriage.

FLORA. That's it.

MR. R. HASLAM. Nothing could be simpler.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, how can you sit there and trifle with our
deepest feelings, in this utterly cynical manner?

FLORA. (_Persuasively._) I hope we aren't going to converse as if
we were characters in a powerful novel of modern society. This is
real life, you know, let's talk as if we were real people--do you
mind?

MRS. R. HASLAM. Personally, I am not aware of being unreal. But
_you_ seem to be unaware that you are playing with tragic things.

FLORA. As I told Cedric in the first act----

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Staggered beyond measure._) In the first act!

FLORA. My dear. I'm only trying to fall in with your wish to turn
this affair into a tragedy. If it is a tragedy, the first act
occurred this morning. As I told Cedric this morning, we've
stumbled across a question of vital principle. Is our marriage to
be the most important thing in our lives, or isn't it? If it is,
then nothing less than an earthquake could possibly disturb the
honeymoon, because I suppose you'll admit the honeymoon is the
most urgent part of matrimony. If our marriage is _not_ to be the
most important thing in our lives--all right! That's a point of
view that I can understand; only--I don't want to get married.
And I won't! (_Pause._)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric, why don't you speak?

CEDRIC. Nothing to say.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Your silence is excessive.

FLORA. (_Still persuasively._) We solemnly arrange our honeymoon.
Then Cedric happens to see a newspaper and he as good as
says, "Here's something more important than our honeymoon.
Our honeymoon must give way to this." And after all, this
terrific something is nothing whatever but a purely business
matter--something to do with the works.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Something to do with England, with Cedric's career,
with Cedric's duty.

FLORA. (_Turning to_ MR. REACH HASLAM.) Supposing Cedric one day
said he couldn't attend his father's funeral because his career
called him elsewhere, because England wanted him, what should you
say?

MR. R. HASLAM. I probably shouldn't open my mouth.

MRS. R. HASLAM. A funeral is different----

FLORA. It is. But I can't help thinking that if circumstances
oughtn't to prevent a man from going to a funeral, they oughtn't
to prevent him from going to his own honeymoon.

CEDRIC. I hope you won't lose sight of the fact that I gave way to
you absolutely about five hours ago.

MR. R. HASLAM. That's the trouble.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Father!

MR. R. HASLAM. Yes, that's the trouble, because his giving way to
her is a proof that he didn't share her views. What Flora objects
to in Cedric is not what he does, but what he thinks. She seems
to me to have no use for free-thinking in a husband.

FLORA. I won't argue any further.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But why not? Surely that is unreasonable.

FLORA. Because in an argument I always begin rather well, but in
the end I'm apt to get beaten. So I just stop, especially when
I know I'm right. I'm a short distance woman. All I say is--can
you imagine me--_me_, running off to Ostend with a man who had
sacrificed his career, and Snowdon, and all England, unwillingly,
in order to go ... what gay little suppers we should have
together!

MRS. R. HASLAM. One day, perhaps when it's too late, you'll realise
that a wife's first duty, and therefore her greatest joy, is to
help her husband. I know _I_ realised it, at once. When I was
married, Reach was only earning three hundred a year; he was a
solicitor's managing clerk--weren't you, father? I said to myself
that I ought to try to help him, and so I began to write. And as
a wife, I've been doing my best to help him ever since. After ten
years I thought it advisable for him to give up the law. How much
did I pay income-tax on last year, dear?

MR. R. HASLAM. Nineteen thousand four hundred pounds.

MRS. R. HASLAM. I don't boast, but you see what comes of trying to
do one's wifely duty!

FLORA. Some women can do nothing but earn money. (CEDRIC _begins
playing mechanically with an object on the table_.) I can only
spend it. Two different talents! If I had a hundred pounds to
throw away at this moment, I know what I should spend it on----
(_A pause. She looks round; exerting all her wayward charm._)
Come, why doesn't some one ask me what I should spend it on?

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Gloomily perfunctory._) What should you spend it
on?

FLORA. I should erect a statue to Mr. Frampington. It would be a
good thing if there were a few more Frampingtons about, just
to give people who've got as far as the vestry a chance of
reconsidering their position.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Upon my word, Flora (_cuttingly_), one would say,
from your sparkling wit, that you were quite in high spirits over
the situation.

FLORA. Well, my dear, in one way I could cry my eyes out, but
in another I _am_ rather uplifted when I think of what Mr.
Frampington has saved us from.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Saved you from! (_Very courteously and quietly._)
Really, I should have thought that any woman would have been
more than a little flattered at the prospect of marrying into the
Haslam family, of being the wife of Cedric. No house in London is
more sought after than ours. It isn't too much to say that Cedric
is now one of the most celebrated men in England----

CEDRIC. (_Crossly._) Look here, mater---- (_He keeps his head down;
he is still playing with the object on the table._)

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Sharply._) Cedric! (MRS. REACH HASLAM _looks at
her husband, as if expecting him majestically to reprove his
son_.) I wish you'd play with something else for a change.

MRS. R. HASLAM. I speak kindly, but I speak plainly, and I'm not
ashamed of doing so. I say one of the most celebrated men in
England. Indeed, it wouldn't surprise me to learn that among the
masses of the people Cedric is better known even than I am myself.

CEDRIC. Mater, I'm off!

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Severely to him._) You'll kindly stay where
you are. There are times when one ought to be frank. (_Still
very courteously and quietly to_ FLORA.) You know I was not at
first altogether in favour of this marriage--not what could
be described as uncontrollably enthusiastic about it. I have
appreciated your excellent qualities, but----

FLORA. (_Smiling._) Please don't expose me. Comfort yourself with
the thought of what Mr. Frampington has saved _you_ from.

(MR. REACH HASLAM _rises softly and
goes towards door, back_.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Where are you going, father?

MR. R. HASLAM. I thought I'd just make sure about Charlie's supper,
before it slipped my memory. (_Exit back._)

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Turning to_ FLORA _again, pained_.) You are
forgetting the terrible scandal that will ensue if you persist in
your present course, dear Flora. The honeymoon actually begun!
and then--this bombshell! How shall we break it to the Bishop?
How can I ever look the Bishop in the face again! How can I ever
look anybody in the face again?... To-day of all days, when my
new book has just come out! And with my article to finish, on the
decline of the birthrate among the well-to-do classes!... How
_can_ we explain to people that the marriage is broken off when
there's certain to be an account of the wedding in every paper
to-morrow morning?

FLORA. That, at any rate, isn't my fault. By-the-way, how
_did_ that paragraph get into the "Piccadilly Gazette"?
(_Mischievously._) I suppose it must have slipped in while you
were looking the other way.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_With controlled acerbity._) When you begin to
figure prominently in the life of your country, Flora, you'll
understand, perhaps, a little better than you do now that
newspaper reporters, whatever their sex, simply will not be
denied. They reside on the doorstep. One cannot be rude. At least
I can't.

FLORA. I hope I never shall figure prominently in the life of my
country. But I want to figure prominently in the life of my
husband.

MRS. R. HASLAM. The newspapers----

CEDRIC. Excuse me, mater, but isn't this right off the point?

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_To herself._) And I was looking forward to a
quiet half hour with my press-cuttings!

(_Silence._)

(_Enter_ MR. REACH HASLAM _cautiously, back_.)

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Mildly cheerful._) Well, where have you got to?

FLORA. I think we're gradually working back again to the importance
of marriage in the life of the husband.

MR. R. HASLAM. That's better! That's better! (_Sits._)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, you'll pardon me offering my opinion,
as an experienced student of human nature, but when you say
"the importance of marriage," I think you really mean your own
individual importance. Personal vanity is very misleading.

FLORA. Oh! It is.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Your attitude might be more defensible if you
were a different _kind_ of woman. I don't say it would be more
defensible, but it might be.

CEDRIC. Oh, look here, mater----

MRS. R. HASLAM. Cedric, may I venture to converse in my own study?

FLORA. (_To_ CEDRIC.) Don't you understand that this is not your
act? (_Rising._) How a different kind of woman?

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Quietly courteous._) I mean, if you brought more
to the marriage.

FLORA. Money? I'm not rich, but you see I'm rich enough to despise
ten thousand pounds.

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Protesting._) Flora! Please don't mention such a
thing! Have _I_ mentioned it? I think we Haslams are as capable
as anybody of despising ten thousand pounds. (_Very kindly._)
No, I mean, if you had more to show in the way of--shall I
say?--striking personal talent. You can have no _rôle_ except
that of wife, purely social and domestic. And yet your attitude
seems somehow to claim the privileges of a--a great singer, or a
great pianist, or----

FLORA. A great novelist?

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Imperturbable._) No, no. I was thinking more of
public performers.... Genius.... If you had genius, talents.
Mind, I'm not blaming you for not having them. I make no
reflection whatever.... Of course you are good, I hope, and
you're beautiful.

FLORA. So they say.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But beauty is a mere gift--from heaven.

FLORA. My dear, what's the difference between a talent, and a gift
from heaven? I remember not very long since you were really quite
annoyed because the "Saturday Review," I think it was, referred
to you as "Mrs. Reach Haslam, the talented novelist." Whereas you
are constantly being called the "gifted novelist," and you like
it. (_She begins to sit down._)

MR. R. HASLAM. Pardon me. "Like" is too strong a word. My wife
prefers to be mentioned as "Mrs. Reach Haslam," simply--don't
you, dear? One doesn't expect to read in the papers "Mr. Balfour,
the talented statesman," "Lord Northcliffe, the talented
statesman." One expects only "Mr. Balfour," "Lord Northcliffe."

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Waving him graciously into silence._ _To_
FLORA.) I willingly admit, dear, that in its origin a
talent--like mine, if you insist--_is_ a gift from heaven. But
what years of study are necessary to perfect it! Whereas mere
beauty, charm----

FLORA. (_Having sat down, and finally arranged her fan and shawl,
etc._) It's taken me at least seven years of intense study to
learn to sit down like that--and in another two years I shall do
it even better. (_With a delightful smile._)

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Graciously lenient._) But seriously----

FLORA. Seriously? (_Stopping, in a different tone._) My dear, did
the Bishop say anything when I left the room?

MRS. R. HASLAM. Say anything! About what?

FLORA. About me.

MR. R. HASLAM. He remarked that you were a ravishing creature.

FLORA. Jokingly?

MR. R. HASLAM. No. He was quite serious.

FLORA. That's just it. If it was only frivolous, empty-headed boys
who were serious about it, but it isn't. The most high-minded,
middle-aged men are serious about it. Why, even chaffeurs and
policemen are serious about it. There must be _something_ in
it. Wherever I go people are more serious about me than about
anybody else--even if singers and pianists happen to be present.
If I arrive late at the theatres I'm the play for at least two
minutes. And I assure you in the streets it often occurs that men
I don't know hurry after me very seriously about it--even if I'm
veiled. And yet you and I have the same dressmaker! It's always
been like that--ever since my first marriage. And it's getting
more and more marked. I don't mind telling you, my dear, that my
own secret view of my importance is perhaps as modest as yours
is of yours--but what can you and I do against the universal
opinion? I've begin to bow before the storm. It's the wisest
course. You talk about what I bring to the marriage (_proudly_).
I bring to the marriage the gift of heaven, cultivated by the
labour of a lifetime, and, as to its value, there's only one
estimate, except yours (_with a catch in her voice_)--and
Cedric's! Cedric puts an aeroplane higher.

CEDRIC. I beg your pardon----

FLORA. (_With emotion._) Yes, you do! Yes, you do! When there came
a conflict between my honeymoon and your aeroplane, you decided
instantly against the honeymoon, before I'd even been asked! You
didn't even consult me.

CEDRIC. Aeroplane! Aeroplane! You keep on saying aeroplane, but----

FLORA. (_Calmer._) Listen. I know you've given way. I know you've
offered not to sacrifice the honeymoon, but don't you really
think still in your own mind that the honeymoon _ought_ to be
sacrificed? (CEDRIC _does not answer--pause_.) You know perfectly
well it's a relief to you that I've cried off! Come, honestly now?

MR. R. HASLAM. (_Warningly, under his breath._) Not _too_ honestly.

CEDRIC. (_Quietly._) Yes, I _do_ think part of the honeymoon ought
to be sacrificed. And I never dreamed that you would think
otherwise. It's a difference of opinion that simply staggers
me. It doesn't only stagger me--it frightens me. It makes one
reflect, you know.

FLORA. Then you _are_ relieved? You're grateful.

CEDRIC. (_Moved and stammering._) I ought to be. Of course you're
the only person who could cry off.

FLORA. What do you mean?

CEDRIC. Some things a man can't do.

FLORA. Do you sit there and say that if I hadn't cut the knot,
you'd have gone on, and you'd have let me go on, with a marriage
you didn't believe in? Because you're a man, and there are some
things a man can't do! Can't a man show as much pluck as a woman?
That _does_ settle it! (_Controlling herself._)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Flora, you'll regret you've thrown Cedric over.
You'll certainly want to come back to him.

FLORA. (_Disdainfully._) Shall I! (_Politely._) Good-night, Mrs.
Haslam.

MRS. R. HASLAM. But where are you going?

FLORA. I don't know. How can I stay here? My official connection
with this house is ended. I shall go to a hotel. Good-night. _So_
many thanks!

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Rising and going to her; firmly._) I'm sure
you'll oblige me by not scandalising the servants. You can choose
a hotel to-morrow morning. I'll go with you to your room, if I
may. All your trunks will be up there by this time.

(_Exeunt_ FLORA, _submissive, and_
MRS. REACH HASLAM, _back_.)

(MR. REACH HASLAM _slowly prepares
for work at desk_.)

CEDRIC. I'm off into the garden. (_Pulls out his cigarette case._)
(_Exit_, L.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Aside as_ CEDRIC _goes_.) Nincompoop!

(_Enter_ MRS. REACH HASLAM.)

MRS. R. HASLAM. Dear, before I go on with that article, I should
like to make a few notes on Flora's demeanour, while the thing's
fresh in my mind. One never knows when that kind of stuff won't
come in useful.

MRS. R. HASLAM. Where's the boy?

MR. R. HASLAM. In the garden. (_Half to himself._) Of all places!

MRS. R. HASLAM. (_Collecting her thoughts and beginning to
dictate._) "Essentially hysterical in a crisis, but does not pull
a face before weeping, probably owing to advice from toilette
specialist." Yes, full stop.

(CURTAIN.)