Chapter I: Part 1

TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS"

A Comedietta in Four Acts

By Arthur W. Pinero

1899

This Play was produced at the Court Theatre, London, on Thursday, January 29th, 1898.

[_The Original Cast at the Lyceum Theatre, New York_]

[Ill 0000]

THEATRICAL FOLK

Tom Wrench Ferdinand Gadd

James Telfer of the

Augustus Colpoys Bagnigge-Wells

Rose Trelawny Theatre

Avonia Bunn

Mrs. Telfer, ( Miss Violet)

Imogen Parrott, of the Royal Olympic Theatre O' Dwyer, prompter at the Pantheon Theatre

Edward J. Morgan Wm. Courtleigh Geo. C. Boniface Charles W. Butler Mary Mannering Elizabeth Tyree Mrs. Chas. Walcot Hilda Spong Grant Stewart

Mr. Denzil Mr. Mortimer Mr. Hunston Miss Brewster of the Pantheon Theatre

Thos. Whiffen Louis Albion Mace Greenleaf Adelaide Keim

Hallkeeper at the Pantheon

Edward H. Wilkinson

NON-THEATRICAL FOLK

Vice-Chancellor Sir William Gower, Kt.

Arthur Gower 4

Clara de Foenix &

Charles Walcot

Henry Woodruff Helma Nelson

Miss Trafalgar Gower, Sir William's sister Ethel Hornick

Captain de Foenix, Clara's husband H. S. Taber

Mrs. Mossop, a landlady Mrs. Thos. Whiffen

Mr. Ablett, a grocer John Findlay

Charles, a butler W. B. Royston

Sarah, a maid Blanche Kelleher

THE FIRST ACT at Mr. and Mrs. Telfer's Lodgings in No. 2 Brydon Crescent, Clerkenwell. May

THE SECOND ACT at Sir William Gower's, in Cavendish Square. June.

THE THIRD ACT again in Brydon Crescent. December.

THE FOURTH ACT on the stage of the Pantheon Theatre. A few days later.

PERIOD somewhere in the early Sixties. (1860s)

NOTE:--Bagnlgge (locally pronounced Bagnidge) Wells, formerly a popular mineral spring in Islington, London, situated not far from the better remembered Sadler's-Wells. The gardens of Bagnlgge-Wells were at one time much resorted to; but, as a matter of fact, Bagnigge-Wells, unlike Sadler's-Wells, has never possessed a playhouse. Sadler's-Wells Theatre, however, always familiarly known as the "Wells," still exists. It was rebuilt in 1876-77.

The costumes and scenic decoration of this little play-should follow, to the closest detail, the mode of the early Sixties, the period, in dress, of crinoline and the peg-top trouser; in furniture, of horsehair and mahogany, and the abominable "walnut -and -rep." No attempt should be made to modify such fashions in illustration, to render them less strange, even less grotesque, to the modern eye. On the contrary, there should be an endeavor to reproduce, perhaps to accentuate, any feature which may now seem particularly quaint and bizarre. Thus, lovely youth should be shown decked uncompromisingly as it was at the time indicated, at the risk (which the author believes to be a slight one) of pointing the chastening moral that, while beauty fades assuredly in its own time, it may appear to succeeding generations not to have been beauty at all.

TRELAWNY OF THE "WELLS."

THE FIRST ACT.

The scene represents a sitting room on the first floor of a respectable lodging house. On the right are two sash-windows, having Venetian blinds and giving a view of houses on the other side of the street. The grate of the fireplace is hidden by an ornament composed of shavings and paper roses. Over the fireplace is a mirror: on each side there is a sideboard cupboard. On the left is a door, and a landing is seen outside. Between the windows stand a cottage piano and a piano stool. Above the sofa, on the left, stands a large black trunk, the lid bulging with its contents and displaying some soiled theatrical finery. On the front of the trunk, in faded lettering, appear the words "Miss Violet Sylvester, Theatre Royal, Drury Lane." Under the sofa there are two or three pairs of ladies' satin shoes, much the worse for wear, and on the sofa a white-satin bodice, yellow with age, a heap of dog-eared playbooks, and some other litter of a like character. On the top of the piano there is a wig-block, with a man's wig upon it, and in the corners of the room there stand some walking sticks and a few theatrical swords. In the center of the stage is a large circular table. There is a clean cover upon it, and on the top of the sideboard cupboards are knives and forks, plate, glass, cruet-stands, and some gaudy flowers in vases--all suggesting preparations for festivity. The woodwork of the room is grained, the ceiling plainly whitewashed, and the wall paper is of a neutral tint and much faded. The pictures are engravings in maple frames, and a portrait or two, in oil, framed in gilt. The furniture, curtains, and carpet are worn, but everything is clean and well-kept.

The light is that of afternoon in early summer.

Mrs. Mossop--a portly, middle-aged Jewish lady, elaborately attired--is laying the tablecloth. Ablett enters hastily, divesting himself of his coat as he does so. He is dressed in rusty black for "waiting."

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_In a fluster._] Oh, here you are, Mr. Ablett----!

_Ablett._

Good-day, Mrs. Mossop.

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Bringing the cruet-stands._] I declare I thought you'd forgotten me.

_Ablett._

[_Hanging his coat upon a curtain-knob, and turning up his shirt sleeves._] I'd begun to fear I should never escape from the shop, ma'am. Jest as I was preparin' to clean myself, the 'ole universe seemed to cry aloud for pertaters. [_Relieving Mrs. Mossop of the cruet-stands, and satisfying himself as to the contents of the various bottles._] Now you take a seat, Mrs. Mossop. You 'ave but to say "Mr. Ablett, lay for so many," and the exact number shall be laid for.

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Sinking into the armchair._] I hope the affliction of short breath may be spared you, Ablett. Ten is the number.

_Ablett._

[_Whipping up the mustard energetically._] Short-breathed you may be, ma'am, but not short-sighted. That gal of yours is no ordinary gal, but to 'ave set 'er to wait on ten persons would 'ave been to 'ave caught disaster. [_Bringing knives and forks, glass, etc., and glancing round the room as he does so._] I am in Mr. and Mrs. Telfer's setting-room, I believe, ma'am?

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Surveying the apartment complacently._] And what a handsomely proportioned room it is, to be sure!

_Ablett._

May I h'ask if I am to 'ave the honor of includin' my triflin' fee for this job in their weekly book?

_Mrs. Mossop._

No, Ablett--a separate bill, please. The Telfers kindly give the use of their apartment, to save the cost of holding the ceremony at the "Clown" Tavern; but share and share alike over the expenses is to be the order of the day.

_Ablett._

I thank you, ma'am. [_Rubbing up the knives with a napkin._] You let fall the word "ceremony," ma'am-----

_Mrs. Mossop._

Ah, Ablett, and a sad one--a farewell cold collation to Miss Trelawny.

_Ablett._

Lor' bless me! I 'eard a rumor----

_Mrs. Mossop._

A true rumor. She's taking her leave of us, the dear.

Ablett.

This will be a blow to the "Wells," ma'am.

_Mrs. Mossop._

The best juvenile lady the "Wells" has known since Mr. Phillips's management.

_Ablett._

Report 'as it, a love affair, ma'am.

_Mrs. Mossop._

A love affair, indeed. And a poem into the bargain, Ablett, if poet was at hand to write it.

_Ablett._

Reelly, Mrs. Mossop! [_Polishing a tumbler._] Is the beer to be bottled or draught, ma'am, on this occasion?

_Mrs. Mossop._

Draught for Miss Trelawny, invariably.

_Ablett._

Then draught it must be all round, out of compliment. Jest fancy! nevermore to 'ear customers speak of Trelawny of the "Wells," except as a pleasin' memory! A non-professional gentleman they give out, ma'am.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Yes.

_Ablett._

Name of Glover.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Gower. Grandson of Vice Chancellor Sir William Gower, Mr. Ablett.

_Ablett._

You don't say, ma'am!

_Mrs. Mossop._

No father nor mother, and lives in Cavendish Square with the old judge and a great aunt.

_Ablett._

Then Miss Trelawny quits the Profession, ma'am, for good and all, I presoom?

_Mrs. Mossop._

Yes, Ablett, she's at the theaytre at this moment, distributing some of her little ornaments and fallals among the ballet. She played last night for the last time--the last time on any stage. [_Rising and going to the sideboard-cupboard._] And without so much as a line in the bill to announce it. What a benefit she might have taken!

_Ablett._

I know one who was good for two box tickets, Mrs. Mossop.

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Bringing the flowers to the table and arranging them, while Ablett sets out the knives and forks._] But no. "No fuss," said the Gower family, "no publicity. Withdraw quietly--" that was the Gower family's injunctions--"withdraw quietly, and have done with it."

_Ablett._

And when is the weddin' to be, ma'am?

_Mrs. Mossop._

It's not yet decided, Mr. Ablett. In point of fact, before the Gower family positively say Yes to the union, Miss Trelawny is to make her home in Cavendish Square for a short term--"short term" is the Gower family's own expression--in order to habituate herself to the West End. They're sending their carriage for her at two o'clock this afternoon, Mr. Ablett--their carriage and pair of bay horses.

_Ablett._

Well, I dessay a West End life has sooperior advantages over the Profession in some respecks, Mrs. Mossop.

_Mrs. Mossop._

When accompanied by wealth, Mr. Ablett. Here's Miss Trelawny but nineteen, and in a month-or-two's time she'll be ordering about her own powdered footman, and playing on her grand piano. How many actresses do that, I should like to know!

[_Tom Wrench's voice is heard._]

_Tom._

[_Outside the door._] Rebecca! Rebecca, my loved one!

_Mrs. Mossop._

Oh, go along with you, Mr. Wrench!

[_Tom enters, with a pair of scissors in his hand. He is a shabbily-dressed ungraceful man of about thirty, with a clean-shaven face, curly hair, and eyes full of good-humor._]

_Tom._

My own, especial Rebecca!

_Mrs. Mossop._

Don't be a fool, Mr. Wrench! Now, I've no time to waste. I know you want something--

_Tom._

Everything, adorable. But most desperately do I stand in need of a little skillful trimming at your fair hands.

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Taking the scissors from him and clipping the frayed edges of his shirt-cuffs and collar._] First it's patching a coat, and then it's binding an Inverness! Sometimes I wish that top room of mine was empty.

_Tom._

And sometimes I wish my heart was empty, cruel Rebecca.

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Giving him a thump._] Now, I really will tell Mossop of you, when he comes home! I've often threatened it---

_Tom._

[_To Ablett._] Whom do I see! No--it can't be--but yes--I believe I have the privilege of addressing Mr. Ablett, the eminent greengrocer, of Rosoman Street?

_Ablett._

[_Sulkily._] Well, Mr. Wrench, and wot of it?

_Tom._

You possess a cart, good Ablett, which may be hired by persons of character and responsibility. "By the hour or job"--so runs the legend. I will charter it, one of these Sundays, for a drive to Epping.

_Ablett._

I dunno so much about that, Mr. Wrench.

_Tom._

Look to the springs, good Ablett, for this comely lady will be my companion.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Dooce take your impudence! Give me your other hand. Haven't you been to rehearsal this morning with the rest of 'em?

_Tom._

I have, and have left my companions still toiling. My share in the interpretation of Sheridan Knowles's immortal work did not necessitate my remaining after the first act.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Another poor part, I suppose, Mr. Wrench?

_Tom._

Another, and to-morrow yet another, and on Saturday two others--all equally, damnably rotten.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Ah, well, well! somebody must play the bad parts in this world, on and off the stage. There [_returning the scissors_], there's no more edge left to fray; we've come to the soft. [_He points the scissors at his breast._] Ah! don't do that!

_Tom._

You are right, sweet Mossop, I won't perish on an empty stomach. [_Taking her aside._] But tell me, shall I disgrace the feast, eh? Is my appearance too scandalously seedy?

_Mrs. Mossop._

Not _it_, my dear.

_Tom._

Miss Trelawny--do you think she'll regard me as a blot on the banquet? [_wistfully_] do you, Beccy?

_Mrs. Mossop._

She! la! don't distress yourself. She'll be too excited to notice you.

_Tom._

H'm, yes! now I recollect, she has always been that. Thanks, Beccy.

[_A knock, at the front-door, is heard. Mrs. Mossop hurries to the window down the stage._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

Who's that? [_Opening the window and looking out._] It's Miss Parrott! Miss Parrott's arrived!

_Tom._

Jenny Parrott? Has Jenny condescended------?

_Mrs. Mossop._

Jenny! Where are your manners, Mr. Wrench? Tom.

[_Grandiloquently._] Miss Imogen Parrott, of the Olympic Theatre.

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_At the door, to Ablett._] Put your coat on, Ablett. We are not selling cabbages. [_She disappears and is heard speaking in the distance._] Step up, Miss Parrott! Tell Miss Parrott to mind that mat, Sarah--!

Be quick, Ablett, be quick! The élite is below! More dispatch, good Ablett!

_Ablett._

[_To Tom, spitefully, while struggling into his coat._] Miss Trelawny's leavin' will make all the difference to the old "Wells." The season'll terminate abrupt, and then the comp'ny 'll be h'out, Mr. Wrench--h'out, sir!

_Tom._

[_Adjusting his necktie, at the mirror over the piano._] Which will lighten the demand for the spongy turnip and the watery marrow, my poor Ablett.

_Ablett._

[_Under his breath. _] Presumpshus! [_He produces a pair of white cotton gloves, and having put one on makes a horrifying discovery._] Two lefts! That's Mrs. Ablett all over!

[_During the rest of the act, he is continually in difficulties, through his efforts to wear one of the gloves upon his right hand. Mrs. Mossop now re-enters, with Imogen Parrott. Imogen is a pretty, lighthearted young woman, of about seven-and-twenty, daintily dressed._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_To Imogen._] There, it might be only yesterday you lodged in my house, to see you gliding up those stairs! And this the very room you shared with poor Miss Brooker!

_Imogen._

[_Advancing to Tom. _] Well, Wrench, and how are you?

_Tom._

[_Bringing her a chair, demonstratively dusting the seat of it with his pocket-handkerchief_]. Thank you, much the same as when you used to call me Tom.

_Imogen._

Oh, but I have turned over a new leaf, you know, since I have been at the Olympic.

_Mrs. Mossop._

I am sure my chairs don't require dusting, Mr. Wrench.

_Tom._

[_Placing the chair below the table, and blowing his nose with his handkerchief, with a flourish._] My way of showing homage, Mossop.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Miss Parrott has sat on them often enough, when she was an honored member of the "Wells"--haven't you, Miss Parrott.

_Imogen._

[_Sitting, with playful dignity. _] I suppose I must have done so. Don't remind me of it. I sit on nothing nowadays but down pillows covered with cloth of gold.

[_Mrs. Mossop and Ablett prepare to withdraw._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_At the door, to Imogen._] Ha, ha! ha! I could fancy I'm looking at Undine again--Undine, the Spirit of the Waters. She's not the least changed since she appeared as Undine--is she, Mr. Ablett?

_Ablett._

[_Joining Mrs. Mossop._] No--or as Prince Cammyralzyman in the pantomine. I never 'ope to see a pair o' prettier limbs----

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Sharply._] Now then!

[_She pushes him out; they disappear._]

_Imogen._

[_After a shiver at Ablett's remark._] In my present exalted station I don't hear much of what goes on at the "Wells," Wrench. Are your abilities still--still----

_Tom._

Still unrecognized, still confined within the almost boundless and yet repressive limits of Utility--General Utility? [_Nodding._] H'm, still.

_Imogen._

Dear me! a thousand pities! I positively mean it. Tom.

Thanks.

_Imogen._

What do you think! You were mixed up in a funny dream I dreamt one night lately.

_Tom._

[_Bowing._] Highly complimented.

_Imogen._

It was after a supper which rather--well, I'd had some strawberries sent me from Hertfordshire.

_Tom._

Indigestion levels all ranks.

_Imogen._

It was a nightmare. I found myself on the stage of the Olympic in that wig you--oh, gracious! You used to play your very serious little parts in it----

_Tom._

The wig with the ringlets?

_Imogen._

Ugh I yes.

_Tom._

I wear it to-night, for the second time this week, in a part which is very serious--and very little.

_Imogen._

Heavens! it is in existence then!

_Tom._

And long will be, I hope. I've only three wigs, and this one accommodates itself to so many periods.

_Imogen._

Oh, how it used to amuse the gallery-boys!

_Tom._

They still enjoy it. If you looked in this evening at half-past-seven--I'm done at a quarter-to-eight--if you looked in at half-past seven, you would hear the same glad, rapturous murmur in the gallery when the presence of that wig is discovered. Not that they fail to laugh at my other wigs, at every article of adornment I possess, in fact! Good God, Jennny--!

_Imogen._

[_Wincing._] Ssssh!

_Tom._

Miss Parrott--if they gave up laughing at me now, I believe I--I believe I should--_miss it_. I believe I couldn't spout my few lines now in silence; my unaccompanied voice would sound so strange to me. Besides, I often think those gallery-boys are really fond of me, at heart. You can't laugh as they do--rock with laughter sometimes!--at what you dislike.

_Imogen._

Of course not. _Of course_ they like you, Wrench. You cheer them, make their lives happier----

_Tom._

And to-night, by the bye, I also assume that beast of a felt hat--the gray hat with the broad brim, and the imitation wool feathers. You remember it?

_Imogen._

Y-y-yes.

_Tom._

I see you do. Well, that hat still persists in falling off, when I most wish it to stick on. It will tilt and tumble to-night--during one of Telfer's pet speeches; I feel it will.

_Imogen._

Ha, ha, ha!

_Tom._

And those yellow boots; I wear _them_ to-night----

_Imogen._

No!

_Tom._

Yes!

_Imogen._

Ho, ho, ho, ho!

_Tom._

[_With forced hilarity._] Ho, ho! ha, ha! And the spurs--the spurs that once tore your satin petticoat! You recollect------?

_Imogen._

[_Her mirth suddenly checked._] Recollect!

_Tom._

You would see those spurs to-night, too, if you patronized us--and the red worsted tights. The worsted tights are a little thinner, a little more faded and discolored, a little more darned--Oh, yes, thank you, I am still, as you put it, still--still--still----

[_He walks away, going to the mantelpiece and turning his back upon her._]

_Imogen._

[_After a brief pause._] I'm sure I didn't intend to hurt your feelings, Wrench.

_Tom._

[_Turning, with some violence._] You! you hurt my feelings! Nobody can hurt my feelings! I have no feelings---!

[_Ablett re-enters, carrying three chairs of odd patterns. Tom seizes the chairs and places them about the table, noisily._]

_Ablett._

Look here, Mr. Wrench! If I'm to be 'ampered in performin' my dooties---

_Tom._

More chairs, Ablett! In my apartment, the chamber nearest heaven, you will find one with a loose leg. We will seat Mrs. Telfer upon that. She dislikes me, and she is, in every sense, a heavy woman.

_Ablett._

[_Moving toward the door--dropping his glove._] My opinion, you are meanin' to 'arrass me, Mr. Wrench-----

_Tom._

[_Picking up the glove and throwing it to Ablett--singing._] "Take back thy glove, thou faithless fair!" Your glove, Ablett.

_Ablett._

Thank you, sir; it _is_ my glove, and you are no gentleman. [_He withdraws._]

_Tom._

True, Ablett--not even a Walking Gentleman.

_Imogen._

Don't go on so, Wrench. What about your plays? Aren't you trying to write any plays just now?

_Tom._

Trying! I am doing more than trying to write plays. I am writing plays. I have written plays.

_Imogen._

Well?

_Tom._

My cupboard upstairs is choked with 'em.

_Imogen._

Won't anyone take a fancy----?

_Tom._

Not a sufficiently violent fancy.

_Imogen._

You know, the speeches were so short and had such ordinary words in them, in the plays you used to read to me--no big opportunity for the leading lady, Wrench.

_Tom._

M' yes. I strive to make my people talk and behave like live people, don't I-?

_Imogen._

I suppose you do.

_Tom._

To fashion heroes out of actual, dull, every-day men--the sort of men you see smoking cheroots in the club windows in St. James's Street; and heroines from simple maidens in muslin frocks. Naturally, the managers won't stand that.

_Imogen._

Why, of course not.

_Tom._

If _they_ did, the public wouldn't.

_Imogen._

Is it likely? Is it likely?

_Tom._

I wonder!

_Imogen._

Wonder--what?

_Tom._

Whether they would.

_Imogen._

The public!

_Tom._

The public. Jenny, I wonder about it sometimes so hard that that little bedroom of mine becomes a banqueting hall, and this lodging house a castle.

[_There is a loud and prolonged knocking at the front door._]

_Imogen._

Here they are, I suppose.

_Tom._

[_Pulling himself together._] Good Lord! Have I become disheveled?

_Imogen._

Why, are you anxious to make an impression, even down to the last, Wrench?

_Tom._

[_Angrily._] Stop that!

_Imogen._

It's no good your being sweet on her any longer, surely?

_Tom._

[_Glaring at her._] What cats you all are, you girls!

_Imogen._

[_Holding up her hands._] Oh! oh, dear! How vulgar--after the Olympic!

[_Ablett returns, carrying three more chairs._]

_Ablett._

[_Arranging these chairs on the left of the table._] They're all 'ome! they're all 'ome! [_Tom places the four chairs belonging to the room at the table. To Imogen._] She looks 'eavenly, Miss Trelawny does. I was jest takin' in the ale when she floated down the Crescent on her lover's arm. [_ Wagging his head at Imogen admiringly._] There, I don't know which of you two is the----

_Imogen._

[_Haughtily._] Man, keep your place!

_Ablett._

[_Hurt._] H'as you please, miss--but you apperently forget I used to serve you with vegetables.

[_He takes up a position at the door as Telfer and Gadd enter. Telfer is a thick-set, elderly man, with a worn, clean-shaven face and iron-gray hair "clubbed" in the theatrical fashion of the time. Sonorous, if somewhat husky, in speech, and elaborately dignified in bearing, he is at the same time a little uncertain about his H's. Gadd is a flashily-dressed young man of seven-and-twenty, with brown hair arranged à la Byron and mustache of a deeper tone._]

_Telfer._

[_Advancing to Imogen, and kissing her paternally._] Ha, my dear child! I heard you were 'ere. Kind of you to visit us. Welcome! I'll just put my 'at down----

[_He places his hat on the top of the piano, and proceeds to inspect the table._]

_Gadd._

[_Coming to Imogen, in an elegant, languishing way._] Imogen, my darling. [_Kissing her._] Kiss Ferdy!

_Imogen._

Well, Gadd, how goes it--I mean how are you?

_Gadd._

[_Earnestly._] I'm hitting them hard this season, my darling. To-night, Sir Thomas Clifford. They're simply waiting for my Clifford.

_Imogen._

But who on earth is your Julia?

_Gadd._

Ha! Mrs. Telfer _goes on_ for it--a venerable stopgap. Absurd, of course; but we daren't keep my Clifford from them any longer.

_Imogen._

You'll miss Rose Trelawny in business pretty badly, I expect, Gadd?

_Gadd._

[_With a shrug of the shoulders._] She was to have done Rosalind for my benefit. Miss Fitzhugh joins on Monday; I must pull _her_ through it somehow.

I would reconsider my bill, but they're waiting for my Orlando, waiting for it--

[_Colpoys enters--an insignificant, wizen little fellow who is unable to forget that he is a low-comedian. He stands L., squinting hideously at Imogen and indulging in extravagant gestures of endearment, while she continues her conversation with Gadd._]

_Colpoys._

[_Failing to attract her attention._] My love! my life!

_Imogen._

[_Nodding to him indifferently._] Good-afternoon, Augustus.

_Colpoys._

[_Ridiculously._] She speaks! she hears me!

_Ablett._

[_Holding his glove before his mouth, convulsed with laughter._] Ho, ho! oh, Mr. Colpoys! oh, reelly, sir! ho, dear!

_Gadd._

[_To Imogen, darkly._] Colpoys is not nearly as funny as he was last year. Everybody's saying so. We want a low-comedian badly.

[_He retires, deposits his hat on the wig-block, and joins Telfer and Tom._]

_Colpoys._

[_Staggering to Imogen and throwing his arms about her neck._] Ah--h--h! after all these years!

_Imogen._

[_Pushing him away._] Do be careful of my things, Colpoys!

_Ablett._

[_Going out, blind with mirth._] Ha, ha, ha! ho, ho!

[_He collides with Mrs. Telfer, who is entering at this moment. Mrs. Telfer is a tall, massive lady of middle age--a faded queen of tragedy._]

_Ablett._

[_As he disappears._] I'm sure I beg your pardon, Mrs. Telfer, ma'am.

_Mrs. Telfer._

Violent fellow! [_Advancing to Imogen and kissing her solemnly._] How is it with you, Jenny Parrott?

_Imogen._

Thank you, Mrs. Telfer, as well as can be. And you?

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Waving away the inquiry._] I am obliged to you for this response to my invitation, It struck me as fitting that at such a time you should return for a brief hour or two to the company of your old associates---- [_Becoming conscious of Colpoys, behind her, making grimaces at Imogen._] Eh--h--h?

[_Turning to Colpoys and surprising him._] Oh--h--h! Yes, Augustus Colpoys, you are extremely humorous off.

_Colpoys._

[_Stung._] Miss Sylvester--Mrs. Telfer!

_Mrs. Telfer._

On the stage, sir, you are enough to make a cat weep.

_Colpoys._

Madam! from one artist to another! well, I--! 'pon my soul! [_Retreating and talking under his breath. _] Popular favorite! draw more money than all the--old guys----

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Following him._] What do you say, sir! Do you mutter!

[_They explain mutually. Avonia Bunn enters--an untidy, tawdrily-dressed young woman of about three-and-twenty, with the airs of a suburban soubrette._]

_Avonia._

[_Embracing Imogen._] Dear old girl!

_Imogen._

Well, Avonia?

_Avonia._

This is jolly, seeing you again. My eye, what a rig-out! She'll be up directly. [_With a gulp._]She's taking a last look-round at our room.

_Imogen._

You've been crying, 'Vonia.

_Avonia._

No, I haven't. [_Breaking down._] If I have I can't help it. Rose and I have chummed together--all this season--and part of last--and--it's a hateful profession! The moment you make a friend----------!

[_Looking toward the door._] There! isn't she a dream? I dressed her----

[_She moves away, as Rose Trelawny and Arthur Gower enter. Rose is nineteen, wears washed muslin, and looks divine. She has much of the extravagance of gesture, over-emphasis in speech, and freedom of manner engendered by the theatre, but is graceful and charming nevertheless. Arthur is a handsome, boyish young man--"all eyes" for Rose._]

_Rose._

[_Meeting Imogen._] Dear Imogen!

_Imogen._

[_Kissing her._] Rose, dear!

_Rose._

To think of your journeying from the West to see me make my exit from Brydon Crescent! But you're a good sort; you always were. Do sit down and tell me--oh--! let me introduce Mr. Gower. Mr. Arthur Gower--Miss Imogen Parrott. _The_ Miss Parrott of the Olympic.

_Arthur._

[_Reverentially._] I know. I've seen Miss Parrott as Jupiter, and as--I forget the name--in the new comedy-----[_Imogen and Rose sit below the table._]

_Rose._

He forgets everything but the parts _I_ play, and the pieces _I_ play in--poor child! don't you, Arthur?

_Arthur._

[_Standing by Rose, looking down upon her._] Yes--no. Well, of course I do! How can I help it, Miss Parrott? Miss Parrott won't think the worse of me for that--will you, Miss Parrott?

_Mrs. Telfer._

I am going to remove my bonnet. Imogen Parrott--!

_Imogen._

Thank you, I'll keep my hat on, Mrs. Telfer--take care!

[_Mrs. Telfer, in turning to go, encounters Ablett, who is entering with two jugs of beer. Some of the beer is spilt._]

_Ablett._

I beg your pardon, ma'am.

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Examining her skirts._] Ruffian! [_She departs._]

_Rose._

[_To Arthur._] Go and talk to the boys. I haven't seen Miss Parrott for ages.

[_In backing away from them, Arthur comes against Ablett._]

_Ablett._

I beg your pardon, sir.

_Arthur._

I beg yours.

_Ablett._

[_Grasping Arthur's hand._] Excuse the freedom, sir, if freedom you regard it as----

_Arthur._

Eh-----?

-,

_Ablett._

You 'ave plucked the flower, sir; you 'ave stole our ch'icest blossom.

_Arthur._

[_Trying to get away._] Yes, yes, I know----

_Ablett._

Cherish it, Mr. Glover----!

_Arthur._

I will, I will. Thank you----

[_Mrs. Mossop's voice is heard calling "Ablett!" Ablett releases Arthur and goes out. Arthur joins Colpoys and Tom._]

_Rose._

[_To Imogen._] The carriage will be here in half an hour. I've so much to say to you. Imogen, the brilliant hits you've made! how lucky you have been!

_Imogen._

_My_ luck! what about _yours?_

_Rose._

Yes, isn't this a wonderful stroke of fortune for me! Fate, Jenny! that's what it is--Fate! Fate ordains that I shall be a well-to-do fashionable lady, instead of a popular but toiling actress. Mother often used to stare into my face, when I was little, and whisper, "Rosie, I wonder what is to be your--fate." Poor mother! I hope she sees.

_Imogen._

Your Arthur seems nice.

_Rose._

Oh, he's a dear. Very young, of course--not much more than a year older than me--than I. But he'll grow manly in time, and have mustaches, and whiskers out to here, he says.

_Imogen._

How did you----?

_Rose._

He saw me act Blanche in the _The Peddler of Marseilles,_ and fell in love.

_Imogen._

Do you prefer Blanche----?

_Rose._

To Celestine? Oh, yes. You see, I got leave to introduce a song--where Blanche is waiting for Raphael on the bridge. [_Singing, dramatically but in low tones._] "Ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming----"

_Imogen._

I know--

[_They sing together._]

_Rose. and Imogen._

"Thy gentle voice my spirit can cheer."

_Rose._

It was singing that song that sealed my destiny, Arthur declares. At any rate, the next thing was he began sending bouquets and coming to the stage-door. Of course, I never spoke to him, never glanced at him. Poor mother brought me up in that way, not to speak to anybody, nor look.

_Imogen._

Quite right.

_Rose._

I do hope she sees.

_Imogen._

And then?

_Rose._

Then Arthur managed to get acquainted with the Telfers, and Mrs. Telfer presented him to me. Mrs. Telfer has kept an eye on me all through. Not that it was necessary, brought up as I was--but she's a kind old soul.

_Imogen._

And now you're going to live with his people for a time, aren't you?

_Rose._

Yes--on approval.

_Imogen._

Ha, ha, ha I you don't mean that!

_Rose._

Well, in a way--just to reassure them, as they put it. The Gowers have such odd ideas about theatres, and actors and actresses.

_Imogen._

Do you think you'll like the arrangement?

_Rose._

It 'll only be for a little while. I fancy they're prepared to take to me, especially Miss Trafalgar Gower----

_Imogen._

Trafalgar!

_Rose._

Sir William's sister; she was born Trafalgar year, and christened after it--

[_Mrs. Mossop and Ablett enter, carrying trays on which are a pile of plates and various dishes of Cold food--a joint, a chicken and a tongue, a ham, a pigeon pie, etc. They proceed to set out the dishes upon the table._]

_Imogen._

[_Cheerfully._] Well, God bless you, my dear. I'm afraid I couldn't give up the stage though, not for all the Arthurs----

_Rose._

Ah, your mother wasn't an actress.

_Imogen._

No.

_Rose._

Mine was, and I remember her saying to me once, "Rose, if ever you have the chance, get out of it."

_Imogen._

The Profession?

_Rose._

Yes. "Get out of it," mother said; "if ever a good man comes along, and offers to marry you and to take you off the stage, seize the chance--get out of it."

_Imogen._

Your mother was never popular, was she?

_Rose._

Yes, indeed she was, most popular--till she grew oldish and lost her looks.

_Imogen._

Oh, _that's_ what she meant, then?

_Rose._

Yes, that's what she meant.

_Imogen._

[_Shivering._] Oh, lor', doesn't it make one feel depressed.

Poor mother!

_Rose._

Well, I hope she sees.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Now, ladies and gentlemen, everything is prepared, and I do trust to your pleasure and satisfaction.

_Telfer._

Ladies and gentlemen, I beg you to be seated, [_There is a general movement._] Miss Trelawny will sit 'ere, on my right. On my left, my friend Mr. Glower will sit. Next to Miss Trelawny--who will sit beside Miss Trelawny?

_Gadd. and Colpoys._

I will.

_Avonia._

No, do let me!

[_Gadd, Colpoys, and Avonia gather round Rose and wrangle for the vacant place._]

_Rose._

[_Standing by her chair._] It must be a gentleman, 'Vonia. Now, if you two boys quarrel---!

_Gadd._

Please don't push me, Colpoys!

_Colpoys._

'Pon my soul, Gadd----!

_Rose._

I know how to settle it. Tom Wrench------!

_Tom._

[_Coming to her._] Yes?

[_Colpoys and Gadd move away, arguing._]

_Imogen._

[_Seating herself._] Mr. Gadd and Mr. Colpoys shall sit by me, one on each side.

[_Colpoys sits on Imogen's right, Gadd on her left, Avonia sits between Tom and Gadd; Mrs. Mossop on the right of Colpoys. Amid much chatter, the viands are carved by Mrs. Mossop, Telfer, and Tom. Some plates of chicken, etc., are handed round by Ablett, while others are passed about by those at the table._]

_Gadd._

[_Quietly to Imogen, during a pause in the hubbub._] Telfer takes the chair, you observe. Why _he_--more than myself, for instance?

_Imogen._

[_To Gadd._] The Telfers have lent their room----

_Gadd._

Their stuffy room I that's no excuse. I repeat, Telfer has thrust himself into this position.

_Imogen._

He's the oldest man present.

_Gadd._

True. And he begins to age in his acting too. His H's! scarce as pearls!

_Imogen._

Yes, that's shocking. Now, at the Olympic, slip an H and you're damned for ever.

_Gadd._

And he's losing all his teeth. To act with him, it makes the house seem half empty.

[_Ablett is now going about pouring out the ale. Occasionally he drops his glove, misses it, and recovers it._]

_Telfer._

[_To Imogen._] Miss Parrott, my dear, follow the counsel of one who has sat at many a "good man's feast"--have a little 'am.

_Imogen._

Thanks, Mr. Telfer. [_Mrs. Telfer returns._]

_Mrs. Telfer._

Sitting down to table in my absence! [_To Telfer._] How is this, James?

_Telfer._

We are pressed for time, Violet, my love.

_Rose._

Very sorry, Mrs. Telfer.

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Taking her place, between Arthur and Mrs. Mossop--gloomily._] A strange proceeding.

_Rose._

Rehearsal was over so late. [_To Telfer._] You didn't get to the last act till a quarter to one, did you?

_Avonia._

[_Taking off her hat and flinging it across the table to Colpoys._] Gus! catch! Put it on the sofa, there's a dear boy. [_Colpoys perches the hat upon his head, and behaves in a ridiculous, mincing way. Ablett is again convulsed with laughter. Some of the others are amused also, but more moderately._] Take that off, Gus! Mr. Colpoys, you just take my hat off! [_Colpoys rises, imitating the manners of a woman, and deposits the hat on the sofa._]

_Ablett._

Ho, ho, ho! oh, don't Mr. Colpoys! oh, don't, sir!

[_Colpoys returns to the table._]

_Gadd._

[_Quietly to Imogen._] It makes me sick to watch Colpoys in private life. He'd stand on his head in the street, if he could get a ragged infant to laugh at him. [_Picking the leg of a fowl furiously._] What I say is this. Why can't an actor, in private life, be simply a gentleman? [_Loudly and haughtily._] More tongue here!

_Ablett._

[_Hurrying to him._] Yessir, certainly, sir. [_Again discomposed by some antic on the part of Colpoys._] Oh, don't, Mr. Colpoys! [_Going to Telfer with Gadd's plate--speaking while Telfer carves a slice of tongue._] I shan't easily forget this afternoon, Mr. Telfer. [_Exhausted._] This 'll be something to tell Mrs. Ablett. Ho, ho! oh, dear, oh, dear!

[_Ablett, averting his face from Colpoys, brings back Gadd's plate. By an unfortunate chance, Ablett's glove has found its way to the plate and is handed to Gadd by Ablett._]

_Gadd._

[_Picking up the glove in disgust._] Merciful powers! what's this!

_Ablett._

[_Taking the glove._] I beg your pardon, sir--my error, entirely.

[_A firm rat-tat-tat at the front door is heard. There is a general exclamation. At the same moment Sarah, a diminutive servant in a crinoline, appears in the doorway._]

_Sarah._

[_Breathlessly._] The kerridge has just drove up! [_Imogen, Gadd, Colpoys, and Avonia go to the windows, open them, and look out. Mrs. Mossop hurries away, pushing Sarah before her._]

_Telfer._

Dear me, dear me! before a single speech has been made.

_Avonia._

[_At the window._] Rose, do look!

_Imogen._

[_At the other window._] Come here, Rose!

_Rose._

[_Shaking her head._] Ha, ha! I'm in no hurry; I shall see it often enough. [_Turning to Tom._] Well, the time has arrived. [_Laying down her knife and fork._] Oh, I'm so sorry, now.

_Tom._

[_Brusquely._] Are you? I'm glad.

_Rose._

Glad! that is hateful of you, Tom Wrench!

_Arthur._

[_Looking at his watch._] The carriage is certainly two or three minutes before its time, Mr. Telfer.

_Telfer._

Two or three-----! The speeches, my dear sir, the speeches! [_Mrs. Mossop returns, panting._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

The footman, a nice-looking young man with hazel eyes, says the carriage and pair can wait for a little bit. They must be back by three, to take their lady into the Park----

_Telfer._

[_Rising._] Ahem! Resume your seats, I beg. Ladies and gentlemen-----

_Avonia._

Wait, waitl we're not ready!

[_Imogen, Gadd, Colpoys, and Avonia return to their places. Mrs. Mossop also sits again. Ablett stands by the door._]

_Telfer._

[_Producing a paper from his breast-pocket._] Ladies and gentlemen, I devoted some time this morning to the preparation of a list of toasts. I now 'old that list in my hand. The first toast----

[_He pauses, to assume a pair of spectacles._]

_Gadd._

[_To Imogen._] He arranges the toast-list! he!

_Imogen._

[_To Gadd._] Hush!

_Telfer._

The first toast that figures 'ere is, naturally, that of The Queen. [_Laying his hand on Arthur's shoulder._] With my young friend's chariot at the door, his horses pawing restlessly and fretfully upon the stones, I am prevented from enlarging, from expatiating, upon the merits of this toast. Suffice it, both Mrs. Telfer and I have had the honor of acting before Her Majesty upon no less than two occasions.

_Gadd._

[_To Imogen._] Tsch, tsch, tsch! an old story!

_Telfer._

Ladies and gentlemen, I give you--[_to Colpoys_]--the malt is with you, Mr. Colpoys.

_Colpoys._

[_Handing the ale to Telfer._] Here you are, Telfer.

_Telfer._

[_Filling his glass. _] I give you The Queen, coupling with that toast the name of Miss Violet Sylvester--Mrs. Telfer--formerly, as you are aware, of the Theatre Royal, Drury Lane. Miss Sylvester has so frequently and, if I may say so, so nobly impersonated the various queens of tragedy that I cannot but feel she is a fitting person to acknowledge our expression of loyalty. [_Raising his glass._] The Queen I And Miss Violet Sylvester!

[_All rise, except Mrs. Telfer, and drink the toast. After drinking Mrs. Mossop passes her tumbler to Ablett._]

_Ablett._

The Queen! Miss Vi'lent Sylvester!

[_He drinks and returns the glass to Mrs. Mossop. The company being reseated, Mrs. Telfer rises. Her reception is a polite one._]

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Heavily._] Ladies and gentlemen, I have played fourteen or fifteen queens in my time---

_Telfer._

Thirteen, my love, to be exact; I was calculating this morning.

_Mrs. Telfer._

Very well, I have played thirteen of 'em. And, as parts, they are not worth a tinker's oath. I thank you for the favor with which you have received me.

[_She sits; the applause is heartier. During the demonstration Sarah appears in the doorway, with a kitchen chair._]

_Ablett._

[_To Sarah._] Wot's all this?

_Sarah._

[_To Ablett._] Is the speeches on?

_Ablett._

H'on! yes, and you be h'off!

[_She places the chair against the open door and sits, full of determination. At intervals Ablett vainly represents to her the impropriety of her proceeding._]

_Telfer._

[_Again rising._] Ladies and gentlemen. Bumpers, I charge ye! The toast I 'ad next intended to propose was Our Immortal Bard, Shakspere, and I had meant, myself, to 'ave offered a few remarks in response----

_Gadd._

[_To Imogen, bitterly._] Ha!

_Telfer._

But with our friend's horses champing their bits, I am compelled--nay, forced--to postpone this toast to a later period of the day, and to give you now what we may justly designate the toast of the afternoon. Ladies and gentlemen, we are about to lose, to part with, one of our companions, a young comrade who came amongst us many months ago, who in fact joined the company of the "Wells" last February twelvemonth, after a considerable experience in the provinces of this great country.

_Colpoys._

Hear, hear!

_Avonia._

[_Tearfully._] Hear, hear! [_With a sob._] I detested her at first.

_Colpoys._

Order!

_Imogen._

Be quiet, 'Vonia!

_Telfer._

Her late mother an actress, herself made familiar with the stage from childhood if not from infancy, Miss Rose Trelawny--for I will no longer conceal from you that it is to Miss Trelawny I refer----

[_Loud applause._] Miss Trelawny is the stuff of which great actresses are made.

_All._

Hear, hear!

_Ablett._

[_Softly._] 'Ear, 'ear!

_Telfer._

So much for the actress. Now for the young lady--nay, the woman, the gyirl. Rose is a good girl----

[_Loud applause, to which Ablett and Sarah contribute largely. Avonia rises and impulsively embraces Rose. She is recalled to her seat by a general remonstrance._] A good girl----

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Clutching a knife._] Yes, and I should like to hear anybody, man or woman----!

_Telfer._

She is a good girl, and will be long remembered by us as much for her private virtues as for the commanding authority of her genius. [_More applause, during which there is a sharp altercation between Ablett and Sarah._] And now, what has happened to "the expectancy and Rose of the fair state"?

_Imogen._

Good, Telfer! good!'

_Gadd._

[_To Imogen._] Tsch, tsch! forced! forced!

_Telfer._

I will tell you--[_impressively_]--a man has crossed her path.

_Ablett._

[_In a low voice._] Shame!

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Turning to him._] Mr. Ablett!

_Telfer._

A man--ah, but also a gentle-man. [_Applause._] A gentleman of probity, a gentleman of honor, and a gentleman of wealth and station. That gentleman, with the modesty of youth,--for I may tell you at once that 'e is not an old man,--comes to us and asks us to give him this gyirl to wife. And, friends, we have done so. A few preliminaries 'ave, I believe, still to be concluded between Mr. Gower and his family, and then the bond will be signed, the compact entered upon, the mutual trust accepted. Riches this youthful pair will possess--but what is gold? May they be rich in each other's society, in each other's love! May they--I can wish them no greater joy--be as happy in their married life as my--my--as Miss Sylvester and I 'ave been in ours! [_Raising his glass._] Miss Rose Trelawny--Mr. Arthur Gower! [_The toast is drunk by the company, upstanding. Three cheers are called for by Colpoys, and given. Those who have risen then sit._] Miss Trelawny.

_Rose._

[_Weeping._] No, no, Mr. Telfer.

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_To Telfer, softly._] Let her be for a minute, James.

_Telfer._

_Mr. Gower._

[_Arthur rises and is well received._]

_Arthur._

Ladies and gentlemen, I--I would I were endowed with Mr. Telfer's flow of--of--of splendid eloquence. But I am no orator, no speaker, and therefore cannot tell you how highly--how deeply I appreciate the--the compliment----

_Ablett._

You deserve it, Mr. Glover!

_Mrs. Mossop._

Hush!

_Arthur._

All I can say is that I regard Miss Trelawny in the light of a--a solemn charge, and I--I trust that, if ever I have the pleasure of--of meeting--any of you again, I shall be able to render a good--a--a--satisfactory--satisfactory---

_Tom._

[_In an audible whisper._] Account.

_Arthur._

Account of the way--of the way--in which I--in which----- [_Loud applause._] Before I bring these observations to a conclusion, let me assure you that it has been a great privilege to me to meet--to have been thrown with--a band of artists--whose talents--whose striking talents--whose talents----

_Tom._

[_Kindly, behind his hand._] Sit down.

_Arthur._

[_Helplessly._] Whose talents not only interest and instruct the--the more refined residents of this district, but whose talents-

_Imogen._

[_Quietly to Colpoys._] Get him to sit down.

_Arthur._

The fame of whose talents, I should say----

_Colpoys._

[_Quietly to Mrs. Mossop._] He's to sit down. Tell Mother Telfer.

_Arthur._

The fame of whose talents has spread to--to regions---

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Quietly to Mrs. Telfer._] They say he's to sit down.

_Arthur._

To--to quarters of the town--to quarters----

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_To Arthur._] Sit down!

_Arthur._

Eh?

_Mrs. Telfer._

You finished long ago. Sit down.

_Arthur._

Thank you. I'm exceedingly sorry. Great Heavens, how wretchedly I've done it!

[_He sits, burying his head in his hands. More applause._]

_Telfer._

Rose. my child.

[_Rose starts to her feet. The rest rise with her, and cheer again, and wave handkerchiefs. She goes from one to the other, round the table, embracing and kissing and crying over them all excitedly. Sarah is kissed, but upon Ablett is bestowed only a handshake, to his evident dissatisfaction. Imogen runs to the piano and strikes up the air of "Ever of Thee." When Rose gets back to the place she mounts her chair, with the aid of Tom and Telfer, and faces them with flashing eyes. They pull the flowers out of the vases and throw them at her._]

_Rose._

Mr. Telfer, Mrs. Telfer! My friends! Boys! Ladies and gentlemen! No, don't stop, Jenny! go on! [_Singing, her arms stretched out to them._] "Ever of thee I'm fondly dreaming, Thy gentle voice." You remember! the song I sang in The Peddler of Marseilles--which made Arthur fall in love with me! Well, I know I shall dream of you, of all of you, very often, as the song says. Don't believe [_wiping away her tears_], oh, don't believe that, because I shall have married a swell, you and the old "Wells"--the dear old "Wells"!----

[_Cheers._]

_Rose._

You and the old "Wells" will have become nothing to me! No, many and many a night you will see me in the house, looking down at you from the Circle--me and my husband----

_Arthur._

Yes, yes, certainly!

_Rose._

And if you send for me I'll come behind the curtain to you, and sit with you and talk of bygone times, these times that end to-day. And shall I tell you the moments which will be the happiest to me in my life, however happy I may be with Arthur? Why, whenever I find that I am recognized by people, and pointed out--people in the pit of a theatre, in the street, no matter where; and when I can fancy they're saying to each other, "Look! that was Miss Trelawny! you remember--Trelawny! Trelawny of the 'Wells!'"----

[_They cry "Trelawny!" and "Trelawny of the 'Wells!'" and again "Trelawny!" wildly. Then there is the sound of a sharp rat-tat at the front door. Imogen leaves the piano and looks out of the window._]

_Imogen._

[_To somebody below._] What is it?

_A Voice._

Miss Trelawny, ma'am. We can't wait.

_Rose._

[_Weakly._] Oh, help me down----

[_They assist her, and gather round her._]

END OF THE FIRST ACT.

THE SECOND ACT.

_The scene represents a spacious drawing-room in a house in Cavendish Square. The walls are somber in tone, the ceiling dingy, the hangings, though rich, are faded, and altogether the appearance of the room is solemn, formal, and depressing. On the right are folding-doors admitting to a further drawing-room. Beyond these is a single door. The wall on the left is mainly occupied by three sash-windows. The wall facing the spectators is divided by two pilasters into three panels. On the center panel is a large mirror, reflecting the fireplace; on the right hangs a large oil painting--a portrait of Sir William Gower in his judicial wig and robes. On the left hangs a companion picture--a portrait of Miss Gower. In the corners of the room there are marble columns supporting classical busts, and between the doors stands another marble column, upon which is an oil lamp. Against the lower window there are two chairs and a card-table. Behind a further table supporting a lamp stands a threefold screen. The lamps are lighted, but the curtains are not drawn, and outside the windows it is twilight._

[_Sir William Gower is seated, near a table, asleep, with a newspaper over his head, concealing his face. Miss Trafalgar Gower is sitting at the further end of a couch, also asleep, and with a newspaper over her head. At the lower end of this couch sits Mrs. de Foenix--Clara--a young lady of nineteen, with a "married" air. She is engaged upon some crochet work. On the other side of the room, near a table, Rose is seated, wearing the look of a boredom which has reached the stony stage. On another couch Arthur sits, gazing at his boots, his hands in his pockets. On the right of this couch stands Captain de Foenix, leaning against the wall, his mouth open, his head thrown back, and his eyes closed. De Foenix is a young man of seven-and-twenty--an example of the heavily-whiskered "swell" of the period. Everybody is in dinner-dress. After a moment or two Arthur rises and tiptoes down to Rose. Clara raises a warning finger and says "Hush!" He nods to her, in assent._]

_Arthur._

[_On Rose's left--in a whisper._] Quiet, isn't it?

_Rose._

[_To him, in a whisper._] Quiet! Arthur---! [_Clutching his arm._] Oh, this dreadful half-hour after dinner, every, every evening!

_Arthur._

[_Creeping across to the right of the table and sitting there._] Grandfather and Aunt Trafalgar must wake up soon. They're longer than usual to-night.

_Rose._

[_To him, across the table._] Your sister Clara, over there, and Captain de Foenix--when they were courting, did they have to go through this?

_Arthur._

Yes.

_Rose._

And now that they are married, they still endure it!

_Arthur._

Yes.

_Rose._

And we, when we are married, Arthur, shall _we_---?

_Arthur._

Yes. I suppose so.

_Rose._

[_Passing her hand across her brow._] Phe--ew! [_De Foenix, fast asleep, is now swaying, and in danger of toppling over. Clara grasps the situation and rises._]

_Clara._

[_In a guttural whisper._] Ah, Frederick! no, no, no!

_Rose. and Arthur._

[_Turning in their chairs._] Eh--what-----? ah--h--h--h!

[_As Clara, reaches her husband, he lurches forward into her arms._]

_De Foenix._

[_His eyes bolting._] Oh! who------<

_Clara._

Frederick dear, wake!

_De Foenix._

[_Dazed._] How did this occur?

_Clara._

You were tottering, and I caught you.

_De Foenix._

[_Collecting his senses._] I wemember. I placed myself in an upwight position, dearwest, to prewent myself dozing.

_Clara._

[_Sinking on to the couch._] How you alarmed me! [_Seeing that Rose is laughing, De Foenix comes down to her._]

_De Foenix._

[_In a low voice._] Might have been a very serwious accident, Miss Trelawny.

_Rose._

[_Seating herself on the footstool._] Never mind! [_Pointing to the chair she has vacated._] Sit down and talk. [_He glances at the old people and shakes his head._] Oh, do, do, do! do sit down, and let us all have a jolly whisper. [_He sits._] Thank your Captain Fred. Go on! tell me something--anything; something about the military----

_De Foenix._

[_Again looking at the old people, then wagging his finger at Rose._] I know; you want to get me into a wow. [_Settling himself into his chair._] Howwid girl!

_Rose._

[_Despairingly._] Oh--h--h!

[_There is a brief pause, and then the sound of a street-organ, playing in the distance, is heard. The air is "Ever of Thee."_]

_Rose._

Hark! [_Excitedly._] Hark!

_Clara._ Arthur, and De Foenix.

Hush!

_Rose._

[_Heedlessly._] The song I sang in The Peddler--The Peddler of Marseilles! the song that used to make you cry, Arthur! [_They attempt vainly to hush her down, but she continues dramatically, in hoarse whispers._] And then Raphael enters--comes on to the bridge. The music continues, softly. "Raphael, why have you kept me waiting? Man, do you wish to break my heart--[_thumping her breast_] a woman's hear--r--rt, Raphael?"

[_Sir William and Miss Gower suddenly whip off their newspapers and sit erect. Sir William is a grim, bullet-headed old gentleman of about seventy; Miss Gower a spare, prim lady, of gentle manners, verging upon sixty. They stare at each other for a moment, silently._]

_Sir William._

What a hideous riot, Trafalgar!

_Miss Gower._

_Rose._ dear, I hope I have been mistaken--but through my sleep I fancied I could hear you shrieking at the top of your voice.

[_Sir William gets on to his feet; all rise, except Rose, who remains seated sullenly._]

_Sir William._

Trafalgar, it is becoming impossible for you and me to obtain repose. [_Turning his head sharply._] Ha! is not that a street-organ? [_To Miss Gower._] An organ?

_Miss Gower._

Undoubtedly. An organ in the Square, at this hour of the evening--singularly out of place!

_Sir William._

[_Looking round._] Well, well, well, does no one stir?

_Rose._

[_Under her breath._] Oh, don't stop it!

[_Clara goes out quickly. With a great show of activity Arthur and De Foenix hurry across the room and, when there, do nothing._]

_Sir William._

[_Coming upon Rose and peering down at her._] What are ye upon the floor for, my dear? Have we no cheers? [_To Miss Gower--producing his snuff-box._] Do we lack cheers here, Trafalgar?

_Miss Gower._

[_Going to Rose._] My dear Rose! [_Raising her._] Come, come, come, this is quite out of place! Young ladies do not crouch and huddle upon the ground--do they, William?

_Sir William._

[_Taking snuff._] A moment ago I should have hazarded the opinion that they do not. [_Chuckling unpleasantly._] He, he, he!

[_Clara returns. The organ music ceases abruptly._]

_Clara._

[_Coming to Sir William._] Charles was just running out to stop the organ when I reached the hall, grandpa.

_Sir William._

Ye'd surely no intention, Clara, of venturing, yourself, into the public street--the open Square----?

_Clara._

[_Faintly._] I meant only to wave at the man from the door----

_Miss Gower._

Oh, Clara, that would hardly have been in place!

_Sir William._

[_Raising his hands._] In mercy's name, Trafalgar, what is befalling my household?

_Miss Gower._

[_Bursting into tears._] Oh, William----!

[_Rose and Clara creep away and join the others. Miss Gower totters to Sir William and drops her head upon his breast._]

_Sir William._

Tut, tut, tut, tut!

_Miss Gower._