Chapter III: Part 3

[_In high spirits._] Egad, I play it! Gus, I'll stroll back with you to the "Wells." [_Shaking hands with Rose._] Miss Trelawny-------! [_Avonia accompanies Colpoys and Gadd to the door, clinging to Gadd, who is flourishing the part._] 'Vonia, I see myself in this! [_Kissing her._] Steak for dinner!

[_Gadd and Colpoys go out. Tom shrieks with laughter._]

_Avonia._

[_Turning upon him, angrily and volubly._]Yes, I heard you with Colpoys outside that door, if Gadd didn't. It's a pity, Mr. Wrench, you can't find something better to do----!

_Rose._

[_Pacifically._] Hush, hush, 'Vonia! Tom, assist me with my basket; I'll give 'Vonia her belt----

[_Tom and Rose go behind the curtains and presently emerge, carrying the dress-basket, which they deposit._]

_Avonia._

[_Flouncing across the room._] Making fun of Gadd! an artist to the roots of his hair! There's more talent in Gadd's little finger----!

_Rose._

[_Rummaging among the contents of the basket_] 'Vonia, 'Vonia!

_Avonia._

And if Gadd is to play a demon in the pantomime, what do _you_ figure as, Tom Wrench, among the half a dozen other things? Why, as part of a dragon! Yes, and _which end_---?

_Rose._

[_Quietly to Tom._] Apologize to 'Vonia at once, Tom.

_Tom._

[_Meekly._] Mrs. Gadd, I beg your pardon.

_Avonia._

[_Coming to him and kissing him._] Granted, Tom; but you should be a little more considerate----

_Rose._

[_Holding up the belt._] Here----!

_Avonia._

[_Taking the belt, ecstatically._] Oh, isn't it lovely! Rose, you dear! you sweet thing! [_Singing a few bars of the Jewel song from Faust, then rushing at Rose and embracing her._] I'm going to try my dress on, to show Mrs. Burroughs. Come and help me into it. I'll unlock my door on my side----

[_Tom politely opens the door for her to pass out._] Thank you, Tom--[_kissing him again_] only you should be more considerate toward Gadd----

[_She disappears._]

_Tom._

[_Calling after her._] I will be; I will--[_Shutting the door._] Ha, ha, ha!

_Rose._

[_Smiling._] Hush! poor 'Vonia! [_Mending the fire._] Excuse me, Tom--have you a fire upstairs, in your room, to-day?

_Tom._

Er--n--not to-day--it's Saturday. I never have a fire on a Saturday.

_Rose._

[_Coming to him._] Why not?

_Tom._

[_Looking away from her._] Don't know--creatures of habit---

_Rose._

[_Gently touching his coat-sleeve._] Because if you would like to smoke your pipe by my fire while I'm with 'Vonia----

[_The key is heard to turn in the lock of the center door._]

_Avonia._

[_From the next room._] It's unlocked.

_Rose._

I'm coming.

[_She unbolts the door on her side, and goes into Avonia's room, shutting the door behind her. The lid of the dress-basket is open, showing the contents; a pair of little satin shoes lie at the top. Tom takes up one of the shoes and presses it to his lips. There is a knock at the door. He returns the shoe to the basket, closes the lid, and walks away._]

_Tom._

Yes?

[_The door opens slightly and Imogen is heard._]

_Imogen._

[_Outside._] Is that you, Wrench?

_Tom._

Hullo!

[_Imogen, in out-of-door costume, enters breathlessly._]

_Imogen._

[_Closing the door--speaking rapidly and excitedly._] Mossop said you were in Rose's room----

_Tom._

[_Shaking hands with her._] She'll be here in a few minutes.

_Imogen._

It's you I want. Let me sit down.

_Tom._

[_Going to the armchair._] Here----

_Imogen._

[_Sitting on the right of the table, panting._] Not near the fire----

_Tom._

What's up?

_Imogen._

Oh, Wrench! p'r'aps my fortune's made!

_Tom._

[_Quite calmly._] Congratulate you, Jenny.

_Imogen._

Do be quiet; don't make such a racket. You see, things haven't been going at all satisfactorily at the Olympic lately. There's Miss Puddifant----

_Tom._

I know--no lady.

_Imogen._

_How_ do you know?

_Tom._

Guessed.

_Imogen._

Quite right; and a thousand other annoyances. And at last I took it into my head to consult Mr. Clandon, who married an aunt of mine and lives at Streatham, and he'll lend me five hundred pounds.

_Tom._

What for?

_Imogen._

Towards taking a theatre.

_Tom._

[_Dubiously._] Five hundred----

_Imogen._

It's all he's good for, and he won't advance that unless I can get a further five, or eight, hundred from some other quarter.

_Tom._

What theatre!

_Imogen._

The Pantheon happens to be empty.

_Tom._

Yes; it's been that for the last twenty years.

_Imogen._

Don't throw wet blankets--I mean--[_referring to her tablets, which she carries in her muff_] I've got it all worked out in black and white. There's a deposit required on account of rent--two hundred pounds. Cleaning the theatre--[_looking at Tom_] what do you say?

_Tom._

Cleaning that theatre?

_Imogen._

I say, another two hundred.

_Tom._

That would remove the top-layer-----

_Imogen._

Cost of producing the opening play, five hundred pounds. Balance for emergencies, three hundred. You generally have a balance for emergencies.

_Tom._

You generally have the emergencies, if not the balance?

_Imogen._

Now, the question is, will five hundred produce the play?

_Tom._

What play?

_Imogen._

Your play.

_Tom._

[_Quietly._] My----.

_Imogen._

Your comedy.

_Tom._

[_Turning to the fire--in a low voice._] Rubbish!

_Imogen._

Well, Mr. Clandon thinks it _isn't._ [_He faces her sharply._] I gave it to him to read, and he--well, he's quite taken with it.

_Tom._

[_Walking about, his hands in his pockets, his head down, agitatedly._]Clandon--Landon--what's his name-----?

_Imogen._

Tony Clandon--Anthony Clandon----

_Tom._

[_Choking._] He's a--he's a---

_Imogen._

He's a hop-merchant.

_Tom._

No, he's not--[_sitting on the sofa, leaning his head on his hands_] he's a stunner.

_Imogen._

[_Rising_] So you grasp the position. Theatre--manageress--author--play, found; and eight hundred pounds _wanted!_

_Tom._

[_Rising._] Oh Lord!

_Imogen._

Who's got it?

_Tom._

[_Wildly._] The Queen's got it! Miss Burdett-Coutts has got it!

_Imogen._

Don't be a fool, Wrench. Do you remember old Mr. Morfew, of Duncan Terrace? He used to take great interest in us all at the "Wells." He has money.

_Tom._

He has gout; we don't see him now.

_Imogen._

Gout! How lucky! That means he's at home. Will you run round to Duncan Terrace----?

_Tom._

[_Looking down at his clothes._] I!

_Imogen._

Nonsense, Wrench; we're not asking him to advance money on your clothes.

_Tom._

The clothes are the man, Jenny.

_Imogen._

And the woman------?

_Tom._

The face is the woman; there's the real inequality of the sexes.

_Imogen._

I'll go! Is my face good enough?

_Tom._

[_Enthusiastically._] I should say so!

_Imogen._

[_Taking his hands._] Ha, ha! It has been in my possession longer than you have had your oldest coat, Tom!

_Tom._

Make haste, Jenny!

_Imogen._

[_Running up to the door._] Oh, it will last till I get to Duncan Terrace. [_Turning._] Tom, you may have to read your play to Mr. Morfew. Have you another copy? Uncle Clandon has mine.

_Tom._

[_Holding his head._] I think I have---I don't know-----

_Imogen._

Look for it! Find it! If Morfew wants to hear it, we must strike while the iron's hot.

_Tom._

While the gold's hot!

_Imogen. and Tom._

Ha, ha, ha!

[_Mrs. Mossop enters, showing some signs of excitement._]

_Imogen._

[_Pushing her aside._] Oh, get out of the way, Mrs. Mossop--- [_Imogen departs._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

Upon my----! [_To Tom._] A visitor for Miss Trelawny! Where's Miss Trelawny?

_Tom._

With Mrs. Gadd. Mossop!

_Mrs. Mossop._

Don't bother me now-----

_Tom._

Mossop! The apartments vacated by the Tefferl's. Dare to let 'em without giving me the preference.

_Mrs. Mossop._

You!

_Tom._

[_Seizing her hands and swinging her round._] I may be wealthy, sweet Rebecca![_Embracing her._] I may be rich and honored!

_Mrs. Mossop._

Oh, have done! [_Releasing herself._] My lodgers do take such liberties----

_Tom._

[_At the door, grandly._] Beccy, half a scuttle of coal, to start with.

[_He goes out, leaving the door slightly open._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Knocking at the center door._] Miss Trelawny, my dear! Miss Trelawny!

[_The door opens, a few inches._]

_Rose._

[_Looking out._] Why, what a clatter you and Mr. Wrench have been making-------!

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_Beckoning her mysteriously._] Come here, dear.

_Rose._

[_Closing the center door, and entering the room wonderingly._] Eh?

_Mrs. Mossop._ [_In awe._] Sir William Gower!

_Rose._

Sir William.

_Mrs. Mossop._

Don't be vexed with me. "I'll see if she's at home," I said. "Oh, yes, woman, Miss Trelawny's at home," said he, and hobbled straight in. I've shut him in the Telfers' room----

[_There are three distinct raps, with a stick, at the right-hand door._]

_Rose. and Mrs. Mossop._

Oh-h!

_Rose._

[_Faintly._] Open it.

[_Mrs. Mossop opens the door, and Sir William enters. He is feebler, more decrepit, than when last seen. He wears a plaid about his shoulders and walks with the aid of a stick._]

_Mrs. Mossop._

[_At the door._] Ah, and a sweet thing Miss Trelawny is----!

_Sir William._

[_Turning to her._] Are you a relative?

_Mrs. Mossop._

No, I am _not_ a relative----!

_Sir William._

Go. [_She departs; he closes the door with the end of his stick. Facing Rose._] My mind is not commonly a wavering one, Miss Trelawny, but it has taken me some time--months--to decide upon calling on ye.

_Rose._

Won't you sit down?

_Sir William._

[_After a pause of hesitation, sitting upon the dress-basket._] Ugh!

_Rose._

[_With quiet dignity._] Have we no chairs? Do we lack chairs here, Sir William?

[_He gives her a quick, keen look, then rises and walks to the fire._]

_Sir William._

[_Suddenly, bringing his stick down upon the table with violence._] My grandson! my grandson! where is he?

_Rose._

Arthur!

_Sir William._

I had but one.

_Rose._

Isn't he--in Cavendish Square--?

_Sir William._

Isn't he in Cavendish Square! no, he is not in Cavendish Square, as you know well.

_Rose._

Oh, I don't know----

_Sir William._

Tsch!

_Rose._

When did he leave you?

_Sir William._

Tsch!

_Rose._

When?

_Sir William._

He made his escape during the night, 22d of August last--[_pointing his finger at her_] as you know well.

_Rose._

Sir William. I assure you---

_Sir William._

Tsch! [_Talcing off his gloves._] How often does he write to ye?

_Rose._

He does not write to me. He did write day after day, two or three times a day, for about a week. That was in June, when I came back here. [_With drooping head._] He never writes now.

_Sir William._

Visits ye----?

_Rose._

No.

_Sir William._

Comes troubadouring-----?

_Rose._

No, no, no. I have not seen him since that night.

I refused to see him------[_With a catch in her breath._] Why, he may be----!

_Sir William._

[_Fumbling in his pocket._] Ah, but he's not. He's alive [_producing a small packet of letters_]. Arthur's alive, [_advancing to her_] and full of his tricks still. His great-aunt Trafalgar receives a letter from him once a fortnight, posted in London----

_Rose._

[_Holding out her hand for the letters._] Oh!

_Sir William._

[_Putting them behind his back._] Hey!

_Rose._

[_Faintly._] I thought you wished me to read them. [_He yields them to her grudgingly, she taking his hand and bending over it._] Ah, thank you.

_Sir William._

[_Withdrawing his hand with a look of disrelish._] What are ye doing, madam? what are ye doing?

[_He sits, producing his snuff-box; she sits, upon the basket, facing him, and opens the packet of letters._]

_Rose._

[_Reading a letter._] "To reassure you as to my well-being, I cause this to be posted in London by a friend----"

_Sir William._

[_Pointing a finger at her again, accusingly._] A friend!

_Rose._

[_Looking up, with simple pride._] He would never call me that. [_Reading._] "I am in good bodily health, and as contented as a man can be who has lost the woman he loves, and will love till his dying day--" Ah----!

_Sir William._

Read no more! Return them to me! give them to me, ma'am! [_Rising, she restores the letters, meekly. He peers up into her face._] What's come to ye? You are not so much of a vixen as you were.

_Rose._

[_Shaking her head._] No.

_Sir William._

[_Suspiciously. _] Less of the devil--?

_Rose._

_Sir William._ I am sorry for having been a vixen, and for all my unruly conduct, in Cavendish Square. I humbly beg your, and Miss Gower's, forgiveness.

_Sir William._

[_Taking snuff, uncomfortably._]Pi--i--i--sh! extraordinary change.

_Rose._

Aren't you changed, Sir William, now that you have lost him?

_Sir William._

I!

_Rose._

Don't you love him now, the more? [_His head droops a little, and his hands wander to the brooch which secures his plaid._] Let me take your shawl from you. You would catch cold when you go out----

[_He allows her to remove the plaid, protesting during the process._]

_Sir William._

I'll not trouble ye, ma'am. Much obleeged to ye, but I'll not trouble ye. [_Rising._] I'll not trouble ye---

[_He walks away to the fireplace, and up the room. She folds the plaid and lays it upon the sofa. He looks round--speaking in an altered tone._] My dear, gypsying doesn't seem to be such a good trade with ye, as it used to be by all accounts----

[_The center door opens and Avonia enters boldly, in the dress of a burlesque prince--cotton-velvet shirt, edged with bullion trimming, a cap, white tights, ankle boots, etc._]

_Avonia._

[_Unconsciously._] How's this, Rose------?

_Sir William._

Ah--h-h--h!

_Rose._

Oh, go away, 'Vonia!

_Avonia._

Sir Gower! [_To Sir William._] Good-morning.

[_She withdraws._]

_Sir William._

[_Pacing the room--again very violent._] Yes! and these are the associates you would have tempted my boy--my grandson--to herd with! [_Flourishing his stick._] Ah--h--h--h!

_Rose._

[_Sitting upon the basket--weakly._] That young lady doesn't live in that attire. She is preparing for the pantomime------

_Sir William._

[_Standing over her._] And now he's gone; lured away, I suspect, by one of ye--[_pointing to the center door_] by one of these harridans!----

[_Avonia reappears defiantly._]

_Avonia._

Look here, Sir Gower------

_Rose._

[_Rising._] Go, 'Vonia!

_Avonia._.

[_To Sir William._] We've met before, if you remember, in Cavendish Square----

_Rose._

[_Sitting again, helplessly._] Oh, Mrs. Gadd----!

_Sir William._

Mistress! a married lady!

_Avonia._

Yes, I spent some of my honeymoon at your house----

_Sir William._

What!

_Avonia._

Excuse my dress; it's all in the way of my business. Just one word about Rose.

_Rose._

Please, 'Vonia----!

_Avonia._

[_To Sir William, who is glaring at her in horror._] Now, there's nothing to stare at, Sir Gower. If you must look anywhere in particular, look at that poor thing. A nice predicament you've brought her to!

_Sir William._

Sir----! [_Correcting himself._]. Madam!

_Avonia._.

You've brought her to beggary, amongst you. You've broken her heart; and, what's worse, you've made her genteel. She can't act, since she left your mansion; she can only mope about the stage with her eyes fixed like a person in a dream--dreaming of him, I suppose, and of what it is to be a lady. And first she's put upon half-salary; and then, to-day, she gets the sack--the entire sack, Sir Gower! So there's nothing left for her but to starve, or to make artificial flowers. Miss Trelawny I'm speaking of! [_Going to Rose, and embracing her._] Our Rose! our Trelawny! [_To Rose, breaking down._] Excuse me for interfering, ducky. [_Retiring, in tears._] Good-day, Sir Gower. [_She goes out._]

_Sir William._

[_After a pause, to Rose._] Is this--the case?

_Rose._

[_Standing, and speaking in a low voice._] Yes. As you have noticed, fortune has turned against me, rather.

_Sir William._.

[_Penitently._] I--I'm sorry, ma'am. I--I believe ye've kept your word to us concerning Arthur. I-I----

_Rose._

[_Not heeding him, looking before her, dreamily.'_] My mother knew how fickle fortune could be to us gypsies. One of the greatest actors that ever lived warned her of that---

_Sir William._

Miss Gower will also feel extremely--extremely----

_Rose._

Kean once warned mother of that.

_Sir William._

[_In an altered tone._] Kean? which Kean?

_Rose._

Edmund Kean. My mother acted with Edmund Kean when she was a girl.

_Sir William._

[_Approaching her slowly, speaking in a queer voice._] With Kean? with Kean!

_Rose._

Yes.

_Sir William._

[_At her side, in a whisper._] My dear, I--I've seen Edmund Kean.

_Rose._

Yes?

_Sir William._

A young man then, I was; quite different, from the man I am now--impulsive, excitable. Kean! [_Drawing a deep breath._] Ah, he was a _splendid gypsy!_

_Rose._

[_Looking down at the dress-basket._] I've a little fillet in there that my mother wore as Cordelia to Kean's Lear----

_Sir William._

I may have seen your mother also. I was somewhat different in those days----

_Rose._

[_Kneeling at the basket and opening it._] And the Order and chain, and the sword, he wore in Richard. He gave them to my father; I've always prized them. [_She drags to the surface a chain with an Order attached to it, and a sword-belt and sword--all very theatrical and tawdry--and a little gold fillet. She hands him the chain._] That's the Order.

_Sir William._

[_Handling it tenderly._] Kean! God bless me!

_Rose._

[_Holding up the fillet._] My poor mother's fillet.

_Sir William._

[_Looking at it_] I may have seen her. [_Thoughtfully._] I was a young man then. [_Looking at Rose steadily._]Put it on, my dear.

[_She goes to the mirror and puts on the fillet._]

_Sir William._

[_Examining the Order._] Lord bless us! how he stirred me! how he----!

[_He puts the chain over his shoulders. Rose turns to him._]

_Rose._

[_Advancing to him._] There!

_Sir William._

[_Looking at her._] Cordelia! Cordelia--with Kean!

_Rose._

[_Adjusting the chain upon him._] This should hang so. [_Returning to the basket and taking up the sword-belt and sword._] Look!

_Sir William._

[_Handling them._] Kean! [_To her, in a whisper._] I'll tell ye! I'll tell ye! when I saw him as Richard--I was young and a fool--I'll tell ye--he almost fired me with an ambition to--to----[_Fumbling with the belt._] How did he carry this?

_Rose._

[_Fastening the belt, with the sword, round him._] In this way--

_Sir William._

Ah! [_He paces the stage, growling and muttering, and walking with a limp and one shoulder hunched. She watches him, seriously._] Ah! he was a little man too! I remember him! as if it were last night!

I remember----- [_Pausing and looking at her fixedly._] My dear, your prospects in life have been injured by your unhappy acquaintanceship with my grandson.

_Rose._

[_Gazing into the fire._] Poor Arthur's prospects in life--what of them?

_Sir William._

[_Testily._] Tsch, tsch, tsch!

_Rose._

If I knew where he is----!

_Sir William._

Miss Trelawny, if you cannot act, you cannot earn your living.

_Rose._

How is he earning _his_ living?

_Sir William._

And if you cannot earn your living, you must be provided for.

_Rose._

[_Turning to him._] Provided for?

_Sir William._

Miss Gower was kind enough to bring me here in a cab. She and I will discuss plans for making provision for ye while driving home.

_Rose._

[_Advancing to him._] Oh, I beg you will do no such thing, Sir William.

_Sir William._

Hey!

_Rose._

I could not accept any help from you or Miss Gower.

_Sir William._

You must! you shall!

_Rose._

I will not.

_Sir William._

[_Touching the Order and the sword._] Ah!--yes, I--I'll buy these of ye, my dear----

_Rose._

Oh, no, no! not for hundreds of pounds! please take them off!

[_There is a hurried knocking at the door._]

_Sir William._

[_Startled._] Who's that? [_Struggling with the chain and belt._] Remove these------!

[_The handle is heard to rattle. Sir William disappears behind the curtains. Imogen opens the door and looks in._]

_Imogen._

[_Seeing only Rose, and coming to her and embracing her._] Rose darling, where is Tom Wrench?

_Rose._

He was here not long since----

_Imogen._

[_Going to the door and calling, desperately._] Tom! Tom Wrench! Mr. Wrench!

_Rose._

Is anything amiss?

_Imogen._

[_Shrilly._] Tom!

_Rose._

Imogen!

_Imogen._

[_Returning to Rose._] Oh, my dear, forgive my agitation---!

[_Tom enters, buoyantly, flourishing the manuscript of his play._]

_Tom._

I've found it! at the bottom of a box--"deeper than did ever plummet sound----"! [_To Imogen._]

Eh? what's the matter?

_Imogen._

Oh, Tom, old Mr. Morfew-----!

_Tom._

[_Blankly._] Isn't he willing---?

_Imogen._

[_With a gesture of despair._] I don't know. He's dead.

_Tom._

No!

_Imogen._

Three weeks ago. Oh, what a chance he has missed!

[_Tom bangs his manuscript down upon the table savagely._]

_Rose._

What is it, Tom? Imogen, what is it?

_Imogen._

[_Pacing the room._] I can think of no one else----

_Tom._

Done again!

_Imogen._

We shall lose it, of course--

_Rose._

Lose what?

_Tom._

The opportunity--her opportunity, _my_ opportunity, _your_ opportunity, Rose.

_Rose._

[_Coming to him._] _My_ opportunity, Tom?

_Tom._

[_Pointing to the manuscript._] My play--my comedy--my youngest born! Jenny has a theatre--could have one--has five hundred towards it, put down by a man who believes in my comedy, God bless him!--the only fellow who has ever believed----?

_Rose._

Oh, Tom! [_turning to Imogen_] oh, Imogen!

_Imogen._

My dear, five hundred! we want another five, at least.

_Rose._

Another five!

_Imogen._

Or eight.

_Tom._

And you are to play the part of Dora. Isn't she, Jenny--I mean, wasn't she?

_Imogen._

Certainly. Just the sort of simple little Miss you _could_ play now, Rose. And we thought that old Mr. Morfew would help us in the speculation. Speculation! it's a dead certainty!

_Tom._

_Dead_ certainty? poor Morfew!

_Imogen._

And here we are, stuck fast----!

_Tom._

[_Sitting upon the dress-basket dejectedly._] And they'll expect me to rehearse that dragon to-morrow with enthusiasm.

_Rose._

[_Putting her arm around his shoulder._] Never mind, Tom.

_Tom._

No, I won't----[_Taking her hand._] Oh,

_Rose._

[_Looking up at her._]Oh, Dora----!

[_Sir William, divested of his theatrical trappings, comes from behind the curtain._]

_Imogen._

Oh! Tom. [_Rising._] Eh?

_Rose._

[_Retreating_]. Sir William Gower, Tom----

_Sir William._

[_To Tom._] I had no wish to be disturbed, sir, and I withdrew [_bowing to Imogen_] when that lady entered the room. I have been a party, it appears, to a consultation upon a matter of business. [_To Tom._] Do I understand, sir, that you have been defeated in some project which would have served the interests of Miss Trelawny.

_Tom._

Y--y--yes, sir.

_Sir William._

Mr. Wicks

_Tom._

Wrench----

_Sir William._

Tsch! Sir, it would give me pleasure--it would give my grandson, Mr. Arthur Gower, pleasure--to be able to aid Miss Trelawny at the present moment.

_Tom._

S--s--sir William, w--w--would you like to hear my play----?

_Sir William._

[_Sharply._] Hey! [_Looking round._] Ho, ho!

_Tom._

My comedy?

_Sir William._

[_Cunningly._] So ye think I might be induced to fill the office ye designed for the late Mr.-- Mr. --------

_Imogen._

Morfew.

_Sir William._

Morfew, eh?

_Tom._

N--n--no, sir.

_Sir William._

No! no!

_Imogen._

[_Shrilly._] Yes!

_Sir William._

[_After a short pause, quietly._] Read your play, sir. [_Pointing to a chair at the table._] Sit down. [_To Rose and Imogen._] Sit down.

[_Tom goes to the chair indicated. Miss Gower's voice is heard outside the door._]

_Miss Gower._

[_Outside._] William! [_Rose opens the door; Miss Gower enters._] Oh, William, what has become of you? has anything dreadful happened?

_Sir William._

Sit down, Trafalgar. This gentleman is about to read a comedy. A cheer! [_Testily._] Are there no cheers here! [_Rose brings a chair and places it for Miss Gower beside Sir William's chair._] Sit down.

_Miss Gower._

[_Sitting, bewildered._] William, is all this--quite----?

_Sir William._

[_Sitting._] Yes, Trafalgar, quite in place--quite in place----

[_Imogen sits. Rose pulls the dress-basket round, as Colpoys and Gadd swagger in at the door, Colpoys smoking a pipe, Gadd a large cigar._]

_Sir William._

[_To Tom, referring to Gadd and Colpoys._] Friends of yours?

_Tom._

Yes, Sir William.

_Sir William._

[_To Gadd and Colpoys._] Sit down. [_Imperatively._] Sit down and be silent.

[_Gadd and Colpoys seat themselves upon the sofa, like men in a dream. Rose sits on the dress-basket._]

_Avonia._.

[_Opening the center door slightly--in an anxious voice._] Rose----!

_Sir William._

Come in, ma'am, come in! [_Avonia enters, coming to Rose. A cloak is now attached to the shoulders of Avonia's dress._] Sit down, ma'am, and be silent!

[_Avonia sits beside Rose, next to Miss Gower._]

_Miss Gower._

[_In horror._] Oh--h--h--h!

_Sir William._

[_Restraining her._] Quite in place, Trafalgar; quite in place. [_To Tom._] Now, sir!

_Tom._

[_Opening his manuscript and reading._] "Life, a comedy, by Thomas Wrench----"

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

THE FOURTH ACT.

_The scene represents the stage of a theatre with the proscenium arch, and the dark and empty auditorium in the distance. The curtain is raised. The stage extends a few feet beyond the line of the proscenium, and is terminated by a row of old-fashioned footlights with metal reflectors. On the left, from the proscenium arch runs a wall, in which is an open doorway supposed to admit to the Green-room. Right and left of the stage are the "P." and "O. P." and the first and second entrances, with wings running in grooves, according to the old fashion. Against the wall are some "flats." Just below the footlights is a T-light, burning gas, and below this the prompt-table. On the right of the prompt-table is a chair, and on the left another. Against the edge of the proscenium arch is another chair; and nearer, on the right, stands a large throne-chair, with a gilt frame and red velvet seat, now much dilapidated. In the "second entrance" there are a "property" stool, a table, and a chair, all of a similar style to the throne-chair and in like condition, and on the center, as if placed therefor the purpose of rehearsal, are a small circular table and a chair. On this table is a work-basket containing a ball of wool and a pair of knitting-needles; and on the prompt-table there is a book. A faded and ragged green baize covers the floor of the stage. The wings, and the flats and borders, suggest by their appearance a theatre fallen somewhat into decay. The light is a dismal one, but it is relieved by a shaft of' sunlight entering through a window in the flies on the right._

[_Mrs. Telfer is seated upon the throne-chair, in an attitude of dejection. Telfer enters from the Green-room._]

_Telfer._

[_Coming to her._] Is that you, Violet?

_Mrs. Telfer._

Is the reading over?

_Telfer._

Almost. My part is confined to the latter 'alf of the second act; so being close to the Green-room door [_with a sigh_], I stole away.

_Mrs. Telfer._

It affords you no opportunity, James?

_Telfer._

[_Shaking his head._] A mere fragment.

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Rising._]Well, but a few good speeches to a man of your stamp----

_Telfer._

Yes, but this is so line-y, Violet; so very line-y. And what d'ye think the character is described as?

_Mrs. Telfer._

What?

_Telfer._

"An old, stagey, out-of-date actor."

[_They stand looking at each other for a moment, silently._]

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Falteringly._] Will you--be able--to get near it, James?

_Telfer._

[_Looking away from her._] I dare say-----

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Laying a hand upon his shoulder._] That's all right, then.

_Telfer._

And you--what have they called you for, if you're not in the play? They 'ave not dared to suggest understudy?

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Playing with her fingers._]They don't ask me to act at all, James.

_Telfer._

Don't ask you---!

_Mrs. Telfer._

Miss Parrott offers me the position of Wardrobe-mistress.

_Telfer._

Violet!

_Mrs. Telfer._

Hush!

_Telfer._

Let us both go home.

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Restraining him._] No, let us remain. We've been idle six months, and I can't bear to see you without your watch and all your comforts about you.

_Telfer._

[_Pointing toward the Green-room._] And so this new-fangled stuff, and these dandified people, are to push us, and such as us, from our stools!

_Mrs. Telfer._

Yes, James, just as some other new fashion will, in course of time, push _them_ from their stools.

[_From the Green-room comes the sound of a slight clapping of hands, followed by a murmur of voices. The Telfers move away. Imogen, elaborately dressed, enters from the Green-room and goes leisurely to the prompt-table. She is followed by Tom, manuscript in hand, smarter than usual in appearance; and he by O'Dwyer,--an excitable Irishman of about forty, with an extravagant head of hair,--who carries a small bundle of "parts" in brown-paper covers. Tom and O'Dwyer join Imogen._]

_O'Dwyer._

[_To Tom._] Mr. Wrench, I congratulate ye; I have that honor, sir. Your piece will do, sir; it will take the town, mark me.

_Tom._

Thank you, O'Dwyer.

_Imogen._

Look at the sunshine! there's a good omen, at any rate.

_O'Dwyer._

Oh, sunshine's nothing. [_To Tom._] But did ye observe the gloom on their faces whilst ye were read in'?

_Imogen._

[_Anxiously._] Yes, they did look glum.

_O'Dwyer._

Glum! it might have been a funeral! There's a healthy prognostication for ye, if ye loike! it's infallible.

[_A keen-faced gentleman and a lady enter, from the Green-room, and stroll across the stage to the right, where they lean against the wings and talk. Then two young gentlemen enter, and Rose follows._]

Note.--The actors and the actress appearing for the first time in this act, as members of the Pantheon Company, are outwardly greatly superior to the Gadds, the Telfers, and Colpoys.

_Rose._

[_Shaking hands with Telfer._] Why didn't you sit near me, Mr. Telfer? [_Going to Mrs. Telfer._] Fancy our being together again, and at the West End! [_To Telfer._] Do you like the play?

_Telfer._

Like it! there's not a speech in it, my dear--not a real speech; nothing to dig your teeth into---

_O'Dwyer._

[_Allotting the parts, under the direction of Tom and Imogen._] Mr. Mortimer! [_One of the young gentlemen advances and receives his part from O'Dwyer, and retires, reading it._] Mr. Denzil!

[_The keen-faced gentleman takes his part, then joins Imogen on her left and talks to her. The lady now has something to say to the solitary young gentleman._]

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer, quietly, handing him a part._] Miss Brewster.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Beckoning to the lady, who does not observe him, her back being towards him._] Come here, my love.

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no, O'Dwyer--not your "love."

_O'Dwyer._

[_Perplexed._] Not?

_Tom._

No.

_O'Dwyer._

No?

_Tom._

Why, you are meeting her this morning for the first time.

_O'Dwyer._

That's true enough. [_Approaching the lady and handing her the part._] Miss Brewster.

_The Lady._

Much obliged.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Quietly to her._] It 'll fit ye like a glove, darlin'. [_The lady sits, conning her part. O'Dwyer returns to the table._]

_Telfer._

[_To Rose._] Your lover in the play? which of these young sparks plays your lover--Harold or Gerald----?

_Rose._

Gerald. I don't know. There are some people not here to-day, I believe.

_O'Dwyer._

Mr. Hunston!

[_The second young gentleman advances, receives his part, and joins the other young gentleman in the wings._]

_Rose._

Not that young man, I hope. Isn't he a little bandy?

_Telfer._

One of the finest Macduffs I ever fought with was bow-legged.

_O'Dwyer._

Mr. Teller.

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] No, no--Telfer.

_O'Dwyer._

Telfer!

[_Telfer draws himself erect, puts his hand in his breast, but otherwise remains stationary._]

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Anxiously._] That's you, James.

_O'Dwyer._

Come on, Mr. Telfer! look alive, sir!

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Sssh, sssh, sssh! don't, don't----!

[_Telfer advances to the prompt-table, slowly. He receives his part from O'Dwyer. To Telfer, awkwardly._] I--I hope the little part of Poggs appeals to you, Mr. Telfer. Only a sketch, of course; but there was nothing else--quite--in your-------

_Telfer._

Nothing? to whose share does the Earl fall?

_Tom._

Oh; Mr. Denzil plays Lord Parracourt.

_Telfer._

Denzil? I've never 'eard of 'im. Will you get to me to-day?

_Tom._

We--we expect to do so.

_Telfer._

Very well. [_Stiffly._] Let me be called in the street. [_He stalks away._]

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Relieved._] Thank Heaven! I was afraid James would break out.

_Rose._

[_To Mrs. Telfer._] But you, dear Mrs. Telfer--you weren't at the reading--what are _you_ cast for?

_Mrs. Telfer._

I? [_Wiping away a tear._] I am the Wardrobe-mistress of this theatre.

_Rose._

You! [_Embracing her._] Oh! oh!

_Mrs. Telfer._

[_Composing herself._] Miss Trelawny--Rose--my child, if we are set to scrub a floor--and we may come to that yet--let us make up our minds to scrub it legitimately--with dignity----

[_She disappears and is seen no more._]

_O'Dwyer._

Miss Trelawny! come here, my de----

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Hush!

_O'Dwyer._

Miss Trelawny!

[_Rose receives her part from O'Dwyer and, after a word or two with Tom and Imogen, joins the two young gentlemen who are in the "second entrance, L." The lady, who has been seated, now rises and crosses to the left, where she meets the keen-faced gentleman, who has finished his conversation with Imogen._]

_The Lady._

[_To the keen-faced gentleman._] I say, Mr. Denzil! who plays Gerald?

_The Gentlemen._

Gerald?

_The Lady._

The man I have my scene with in the third act--the hero---

_The Gentleman._

Oh, yes. Oh, a young gentleman from the country, I understand.

_The Lady._

From the country!

_The Gentleman._

He is coming up by train this morning, Miss Parrott tells me; from Bath or somewhere---

_The Lady._

Well, whoever he is, if he can't play that scene with me decently, my part's not worth rags.

_Tom._

[_To Imogen, who is sitting at the prompt-table._] Er--h'm--shall we begin, Miss Parrott?

_Imogen._

Certainly, Mr. Wrench.

_Tom._

We'll begin, O'Dwyer.

[_The lady titters at some remark from the keen-faced gentleman._]

_O'Dwyer._

[_Coming down the stage, violently._] Clear the stage there! I'll not have it! Upon my honor, this is the noisiest theatre I've ever set foot in!

[_The icings are cleared, the characters disappearing into the Green-room._]

_O'Dwyer._

I can't hear myself speak for all the riot and confusion!

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] My dear O'Dwyer, there is no riot, there is no confusion--

_Imogen._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Except the riot and confusion you are making.

_Tom._

You know, you're admirably earnest, O'Dwyer, but a little excitable.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Calming himself._] Oh, I beg your pardon, I'm sure. [_Emphatically._] My system is, begin as you mean to go on.

_Imogen._

But we _don't_ mean to go on like that.

_Tom._

Of course not; of course not. Now, let me see--[_pointing to the right center_] we shall want another chair here.

_O'Dwyer._

Another chair?

_Tom._

A garden chair.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Excitably._] Another chair! Now, then, another chair! Properties! where are ye? do ye hear me callin'? must I raise my voice to ye-?

[_He rushes away._]

_Imogen._

[_To Tom._] Phew! where did you get _him_ from? Tom.

[_Wiping his brow._] Known Michael for years--most capable, invaluable fellow----

_Imogen._

[_Simply._] I wish he was dead.

_Tom._

So do I.

[_O'Dwyer returns, carrying a light chair._]

_Tom._

Well, where's the property-man?

_O'Dwyer._

[_Pleasantly._] It's all right now. He's gone to dinner.

_Tom._

[_Placing the chair in position._] Ah, then he'll be back some time during the afternoon. [_Looking about him._] That will do. [_Taking up his manuscript._] Call--haven't you engaged a call-boy yet, O'Dwyer?

_O'Dwyer._

I have, sir, and the best in London.

_Imogen._

Where is he?

_O'Dwyer._

He has sint an apology for his non-attindance.

_Imogen._

Oh!

_O'Dwyer._

A sad case, ma'am; he's buryin' his wife.

_Tom._

Wife!

_Imogen._

The call-boy?

_Tom._

What's his age?

_O'Dwyer._

Ye see, he happens to be an elder brother of my own----

_Imogen. and Tom._

O Lord!

_Tom._

Nevermind! let's get on! Call Miss---- [_Looking toward the right._] Is that the Hall-Keeper?

[_A man, suggesting by his appearance that he is the Hall-Keeper, presents himself, with a card in his hand._]

_O'Dwyer._

[_Furiously._] Now then! are we to be continually interrupted in this fashion? Have I, or have I not, given strict orders that nobody whatever----?

_Tom._

Hush, hush! see whose card it is; give me the card----

_O'Dwyer._

[_Handing the card to Tom._] Ah, I'll make rules here. In a week's time you'll not know this for the same theatre----

[_Tom has passed the card to Imogen without looking at it._]

_Imogen._

[_Staring at it blankly._] Oh----!

_Tom._

[_To her._] Eh?

_Imogen._

Sir William.

_Tom._

Sir William.!

_Imogen._

What can he want? what shall we do?

_Tom._

[_After referring to his watch--to the Hall-Keeper._] Bring this gentleman on to the stage. [_The Hall-Keeper withdraws. To O'Dwyer._] Make yourself scarce for a few moments, O'Dwyer. Some private business-----

_O'Dwyer._

All right. I've plenty to occupy me. I'll begin to frame those rules---[_He disappears._]

_Imogen._

[_To Tom._] Not here------

_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] The boy can't arrive for another twenty minutes. Besides, we must, sooner or later, accept responsibility for our act.

_Imogen._

[_Leaning upon his arm._] Heavens! I foretold this!

_Tom._

[_Grimly._] I know--"said so all along."

_Imogen._

If he should withdraw his capital!

_Tom._

[_With clenched hands._] At least, that would enable me to write a melodrama.

_Imogen._

Why?

_Tom._

I should then understand the motives and the springs of Crime!

[_The Hall-Keeper reappears, showing the way to Sir William Gower. Sir William's hat is drawn down over his eyes, and the rest of his face is almost entirely concealed by his plaid. The Hall-Keeper withdraws._]

_Tom._

[_Receiving Sir William._] How d'ye do, Sir William?

_Sir William._

[_Giving him two fingers--with a grunt._] Ugh!

_Tom._

These are odd surroundings for you to find yourself in--- [_Imogen comes forward._] Miss Parrott----

_Sir William._

[_Advancing to her, giving her two fingers._] Good-morning, ma'am.

_Imogen._

This is perfectly delightful.

_Sir William._

What is?

_Imogen._

[_Faintly._] Your visit.

_Sir William._

Ugh! [_Weakly._] Give me a cheer. [_Looking about him._] Have ye no cheers here?

_Tom._

Yes.

[_Tom places the throne-chair behind Sir William, who sinks into it._]

_Sir William._

Thank ye; much obleeged. [_To Imogen._] Sit. [_Imogen hurriedly fetches the stool and seats herself beside the throne-chair. Sir William produces his snuff-box._] You are astonished at seeing me here, I dare say?

_Tom._

Not at all.

_Sir William._

[_Glancing at Tom._] Addressing the lady. [_To Imogen._] You are surprised to see me?

_Imogen._

Very.

_Sir William._

[_To Tom._] Ah! [_Tom retreats, getting behind Sir William's chair and looking down upon him._] The truth is, I am beginning to regret my association with ye.

_Imogen._

[_Her hand to her heart._] Oh--h--h--h!

_Tom._

[_Under his breath._] Oh! [_Holding his fist over Sir William's head._] Oh--h--h--h!

_Imogen._

[_Piteously_]. You--you don't propose to withdraw your capital, Sir William?

_Sir William._

That would be a breach of faith, ma'am----

_Imogen._

Ah!

_Tom._

[_Walking about, jauntily._] Ha!

_Imogen._

[_Seizing Sir William's hand._] Friend!

_Sir William._

[_Withdrawing his hand sharply._] I'll thank ye not to repeat that action, ma'am. But I--I have been slightly indisposed since I made your acqueentance in Clerkenwell; I find myself unable to sleep at night. [_To Tom._] That comedy of yours--it buzzes continually in my head, sir.

_Tom._

It was written with such an intention, Sir William--to buzz in people's heads.

_Sir William._

Ah, I'll take care ye don't read me another, Mr. Wicks; at any rate, another which contains a character resembling a member of my family--a _late_ member of my family. I don't relish being reminded of late members of my family in this way, and being kept awake at night, thinking--turning over in my mind----

_Imogen._

[_Soothingly._] Of course not..

_Sir William._

[_Taking snuff._] Pa--a--a--h! pi--i--i--sh!

When I saw Kean, as Richard, he reminded me of no member of my family. Shakespeare knew better than that, Mr. Wicks. [_To Imogen._] And therefore, ma'am, upon receiving your letter last night, acqueenting me with your intention to commence rehearsing your comedy--[_glancing at Tom_] his comedy----

_Imogen._

[_Softly._] _Our_ comedy----

_Sir William._

Ugh--to-day at noon, I determined to present myself here and request to be allowed to--to----

_Tom._

To watch the rehearsal?

_Sir William._

The rehearsal of those episodes in your comedy which remind me of a member of my family--a late member.

_Imogen._

[_Constrainedly_]. Oh, certainly----

_Tom._

[_Firmly._] By all means.

_Sir William._

[_Rising, assisted by Tom._] I don't wish to be steered at by any of your--what d'ye call 'em?--your gypsy crew----

_Tom._

Ladies and Gentlemen of the Company, we call 'em.

_Sir William._

[_Tartly._] I don't care what ye call 'em. [_Tom restores the throne-chair to its former position._] Put me into a curtained box, where I can hear, and see, and not be seen; and when I have heard and seen enough, I'll return home--and--and--obtain a little sleep; and to-morrow I shall be well enough to sit in Court again.

_Tom._

[_Calling._] Mr. O'Dwyer----

[_O'Dwyer appears; Tom speaks a word or two to him, and hands him the manuscript of the play._]

_Imogen._

[_To Sir William, falteringly._] And if you are pleased with what you see this morning, perhaps you will attend another----?

_Sir William._

[_Angrily._] Not I. After to-day I wash my hands of ye. What do plays and players do, coming into my head, disturbing my repose! [_More composedly, to Tom, who has returned to his side._] Your comedy has merit, sir. You call it _Life_. There is a character in it--a young man--not unlike life, not unlike a late member of my family. Obleege me with your arm. [_To Imogen._] Madam, I have arrived at the conclusion that Miss Trelawny belongs to a set of curious people who in other paths might have been useful members of society. But after to-day I've done with ye--done with ye----[_To Tom._]

My box, sir--my box----

[_Tom leads Sir William up the stage._]

_Tom._

[_To O'Dwyer._] Begin rehearsal. Begin rehearsal! Call Miss Trelawny!

[_Tom and Sir William disappear._]

_O'Dwyer._

Miss Trelawny! Miss Trelawny! [_Rushing to the left._] Miss Trelawny! how long am I to stand here shoutin' myself hoarse--? [_Rose appears._]

_Rose._

[_Gently._] Am I called?

_O'Dwyer._

[_Instantly calm._] You are, darlin'. [_O'Dwyer takes his place at the prompt-table, book in hand. Imogen and Rose stand together in the center. The other members of the company come from the Greenroom and stand in the wings, watching the rehearsal._] Now then! [_Reading from the manuscript._] "At the opening of the play Peggy and Dora are discovered----" Who's Peggy? [_Excitedly._]

Where's Peggy? Am I to----?

_Imogen._

Here I am! here I am! I am Peggy.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Calm._] Of course ye are, lovey--ma'am, I should say----

_Imogen._

Yes, you should.

_O'Dwyer._

"Peggy is seated upon the Right, Dora on the Left---" [_Rose and Imogen seat themselves accordingly. In a difficulty._] No--Peggy on the Left, Dora on the Right. [_Violently._] This is the worst written scrip I've ever held in my hand[_Rose and Imogen change places._] So horribly scrawled over, and interlined, and--no--I was quite correct. Peggy is on the Right, and Dora is on the Left. [_Imogen and Rose again change seats. O'Dwyer reads from the manuscript._] "Peggy is engaged in--in" I can't decipher it. A scrip like this is a disgrace to any well-conducted theatre. [_ To Imogen._] I don't know what you're doin'. "Dora is--is----"

[_To Rose._] You are also doin' something or another. Now then! When the curtain rises, you are discovered, both of ye, employed in the way described----[_Tom returns._] Ah, here ye are! [_Resigning the manuscript to Tom, and pointing out a passage._] I've got it smooth as far as there.

_Tom._

Thank you.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Seating himself._] You're welcome.

_Tom._

[_To Rose and Imogen._] Ah, you're not in your right positions. Change places, please.

[_Imogen and Rose change seats once more._]

O'Dwyer rises and goes away.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Out of sight, violently._] A scrip like that's a scandal! If there's a livin' soul that can read bad handwriting, I am that man! But of all the----!

_Tom._

Hush, hush! Mr. O'Dwyer!

_O'Dwyer._

[_Returning to his chair._] Here.

_Tom._

[_Taking the hook from the prompt-table and handing it to Imogen._] You are reading.

_O'Dwyer._

[_ Sotto voce._] I thought so.

_Tom._

[_To Rose._] You are working.

_O'Dwyer._

Working.

_Tom._

[_Pointing to the basket on the table._] There are your needles and wool. [_Rose takes the wool and the needles out of the basket. Tom takes the ball of wool from her and places it in the center of the stage._] You have allowed the ball of wool to roll from your lap on to the grass. You will see the reason for that presently.

_Rose._

I remember it, Mr. Wrench.

_Tom._

The curtain rises. [_To Imogen._] Miss Parrott----

_Imogen._

[_Referring to her part._] What do I say?

_Tom._

Nothing--you yawn.

_Imogen._

[_Yawning, in a perfunctory way._] Oh--h!

_Tom._

As if you meant it, of course.

_Imogen._

Well, of course.

_Tom._

Your yawn must tell the audience that you are a young lady who may be driven by boredom to almost any extreme.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Jumping up._] This sort of thing. [_Yawning extravagantly._] He--oh!

_Tom._

[_Irritably._] Thank you, O'Dwyer; thank you.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Sitting again._] You're welcome.

_Tom._

[_To Rose._] You speak.

_Rose._

[_Reading from her part--retaining the needles and the end of the wool._] "What are you reading, Miss Chaffinch?"

_Imogen._

[_Reading from her part. _] "A novel."

_Rose._

"And what is the name of it?"

_Imogen._

"The Seasons."

_Rose._

"Why is it called that?"

_Imogen._

"Because all the people in it do seasonable things."

_Rose._

"For instance----?"

_Imogen._

"In the Spring, fall in love."

_Rose._

"In the Summer?"

_Imogen._

"Become engaged. Delightful!"

_Rose._

"Autumn?"

_Imogen._

"Marry. Heavenly!"

_Rose._

"Winter?"

_Imogen._

"Quarrel. Ha, ha, ha!"

_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] Close the book--with a bang----

_O'Dwyer._

[_Bringing his hands together sharply by way of suggestion. _] Bang!

_Tom._

[_Irritably._] Yes, yes, O'Dwyer. [_To Imogen._] Now rise----

_O'Dwyer._

Up ye get!

_Tom._

And cross to Dora.

_Imogen._

[_Going to Rose._] "Miss Harrington, don't you wish occasionally that you were engaged to be married?"

_Rose._

"No."

_Imogen._

"Not on wet afternoons?"

_Rose._

"I am perfectly satisfied with this busy little life of mine, as your aunt's Companion."

_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] Walk about, discontentedly.

_Imogen._

[_Walking about._] "I've nothing to do; let's tell each other our ages."

_Rose._

"I am nineteen."

_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] In a loud whisper----

_Imogen._

"I am twenty-two."

_O'Dwyer._

[_Rising and going to Tom._] Now, hadn't ye better make that six-and-twenty?

_Imogen._

[_Joining them, with asperity._] Why? why?

_Tom._

No, no, certainly not. Go on.

_Imogen._

[_Angrily._] Not till Mr. O'Dwyer retires into his corner.

_Tom._

O'Dwyer.----[_O'Dwyer takes his chair, and retires to the "prompt-corner," out of sight, with the air of martyrdom. Tom addresses Rose._] You speak.

_Rose._

"I shall think, and feel, the same when I am twenty-two, I am sure. I shall never wish to marry."

_Tom._

[_To Imogen._] Sit on the stump of the tree.

_Imogen._

Where's that?

_Tom._

[_Pointing to the stool down the stage._] Where that stool is.

_Imogen._

[_Sitting on the stool._] "Miss Harrington, who is the Mr. Gerald Leigh who is expected down to-day?"

_Rose._

"Lord Parracourt's secretary."

_Imogen._

"Old and poor!"

_Rose._

"Neither, I believe. He is the son of a college chum of Lord Parracourt's--so I heard his lordship tell Lady McArchie--and is destined for public life."

_Imogen._

"Then he's young!"

_Rose._

"Extremely, I understand."

_Imogen._

[_Jumping up, in obedience to a sign from Tom._] "Oh, how can you be so spiteful!"

Rose.

"I!"

_Imogen._

"You mean he's too young!"

_Rose._

"Too young for what?"

_Imogen._

"Too young for--oh, bother!"

_Tom._

[_Looking towards the keen-faced gentleman._] Mr. Denzil.

_O'Dwyer._

[_Putting his head round the corner._] Mr. Denzil!

[_The keen-faced gentleman comes forward, reading his part, and meets Imogen._]

_The Gentleman._

[_Speaking in the tones of an old man._] "Ah, Miss Peggy!"

_Tom._

[_To Rose._] Rise, Miss Trelawny.

_O'Dwyer._

[_His head again appearing._] Rise, darlin'!

[_Rose rises._]

_The Gentleman._

[_To Imogen._] "Your bravura has just arrived from London. Lady McArchie wishes you to try it over; and if I may add my entreaties----"

_Imogen._

[_Taking his arm._] "Delighted, Lord Parracourt. [_To Rose._] Miss Harrington, bring your work indoors and hear me squall. [_To the Gentleman._] Why, you must have telegraphed to town!"

_The Gentleman._

[_As they cross the stage._] "Yes, but even telegraphy is too sluggish in executing your smallest command."

[_Imogen and the keen-faced gentleman go off on the left. He remains in the wings, she returns to the prompt-table._]

_Rose._

"Why do Miss Chaffinch and her girl-friends talk of nothing, think of nothing apparently, but marriage? Ought a woman to make marriage the great object of life? can there be no other? I wonder----"

[_She goes off, the wool trailing after her, and disappears into the Green-room. The ball of wool remains in the center of the stage._]

_Tom._

[_Reading from his manuscript._] "The piano is heard; and Peggy's voice singing. Gerald enters----"

_Imogen._

[_Clutching Tom's arm._] There----!

_Tom._

Ah, yes, here is Mr. Gordon.

[_Arthur appears, in a traveling coat. Tom and Imogen hasten to him and shake hands with him vigorously._]

_Tom._

[_On Arthur's right._]How are you?

_Imogen._

[_On his left nervously._] How are you?

_Arthur._

[_Breathlessly._] Miss Parrott! Mr. Wrench! forgive me if I am late; my cab-horse galloped from the station---

_Tom._

We have just reached your entrance. Have you read your part over?

_Arthur._

Read it! [_Taking it from his pocket._] I know every word of it! it has made my journey from Bristol like a flight through the air! Why, Mr. Wrench [_turning over the leaves of his part_], some of this is almost me!

_Tom. and Imogen._

[_Nervously._] Ha, ha, ha!

_Tom._

Come! you enter! [_pointing to the right_] there! [_returning to the prompt-table with Imogen_] you stroll on, looking about you! Now, Mr. Gordon!

_Arthur._

[_Advancing to the center of the stage, occasionally glancing at his part._] "A pretty place. I am glad I left the carriage at the lodge and walked through the grounds."

[_There is an exclamation, proceeding from the auditorium, and the sound of the overturning of a chair._]

_Imogen._

Oh!

_O'Dwyer._

[_Appearing, looking into the auditorium._] What's that? This is the noisiest theatre I've ever set foot in----!

_Tom._

Don't heed it! [_To Arthur._] Go on, Mr. Gordon.

_Arthur._

"Somebody singing. A girl's voice. Lord Parracourt made no mention of anybody but his hostess--the dry, Scotch widow. [_Picking up the ball of wool._] This is Lady McArchie's, I'll be bound. The very color suggests spectacles and iron-gray curls----"

_Tom._

Dora returns. [_Calling._] Dora!

_O'Dwyer._

Dora! where are ye?

_The Gentleman._

[_Going to the Green-room door._]Dora! Dora!

[_Rose appears in the wings._]

_Rose._

[_To Tom._] I'm sorry.

_Tom._

Go on, please!

[_There is another sound, nearer the stage, of the overturning of some object._]

_O'Dwyer._

What---?

_Tom._

Don't heed it!

_Rose._

[_Coming face to face with Arthur._]

Oh----!

_Arthur._

Rose.!

_Tom._

Go on, Mr. Gordon!

_Arthur._

[_To Rose, holding out the ball of wool._] "I beg your pardon--are you looking for this?"

_Rose._

"Yes, I--I--I----" [_Dropping her head upon his breast._] Oh, Arthur!

[_Sir William enters, and comes forward on Arthur's right._]

_Sir William._

Arthur.

_Arthur._

[_Turning to him._] Grandfather!

_O'Dwyer._

[_Indignantly._] Upon my soul-----!

_Tom._

Leave the stage, O'Dwyer!

[_O'Dwyer vanishes. Imogen goes to those who are in the wings and talks to them; gradually they withdraw into the Greenroom. Rose sinks on to the stool; Tom comes to her and stands beside her._]

_Sir William._

What's this? what is it----?

_Arthur._

[_Bewildered._] Sir, I--I--you--and--and Rose--are the last persons I expected to meet here----

_Sir William._

Ah-h-h--h!

_Arthur._

Perhaps you have both already learned, from Mr. Wrench or Miss Parrott, that I have--become--a gypsy, sir?

_Sir William._

Not I; [_pointing to Tom and Imogen_] these--these people have thought it decent to allow me to make the discovery for myself.

[_He sinks into the throne-chair. Tom goes to Sir William. Arthur joins Imogen; they talk together rapidly and earnestly._]

_Tom._

[_To Sir William._] Sir William, the secret of your grandson's choice of a profession----

_Sir William._

[_Scornfully._] Profession!

_Tom._

Was one that I was pledged to keep as long as it was possible to do so. And pray remember that your attendance here this morning is entirely your own act. It was our intention----

_Sir William._

[_Struggling to his feet._] Where is the door? the way to the door?

_Tom._

And let me beg you to understand this, Sir William--that Miss Trelawny was, till a moment ago, as ignorant as yourself of Mr. Arthur Gower's doings, of his movements, of his whereabouts. She would never have thrown herself in his way, in this manner. Whatever conspiracy----------

_Sir William._

Conspiracy! the right word--conspiracy!

_Tom._

Whatever conspiracy there has been is my own--to bring these two young people together again, to make them happy----

[_Rose holds out her hand to Tom; he takes it._]

They are joined by Imogen.

_Sir William._

[_Looking about him._] The door! the door!

_Arthur._

[_Coming to Sir William._] Grandfather, may I, when rehearsal is over, venture to call in Cavendish Square----?

_Sir William._

Call----!

_Arthur._

Just to see Aunt Trafalgar, sir? I hope Aunt Trafalgar is well, sir.

_Sir William._

[_With a slight change of tone._] Your Great-aunt Trafalgar? Ugh, yes, I suppose she will consent to see ye----

_Arthur._

Ah, sir----!

_Sir William._

But I shall be out; I shall not be within doors.

_Arthur._

Then, if Aunt Trafalgar will receive me, sir, do you think I may be allowed to--to bring Miss Trelawny with me----?

_Sir William._

What! ha, I perceive you have already acquired the impudence of your vagabond class, sir; the brazen effrontery of a set of----!

_Rose._

[_Rising and facing him._] Forgive him! forgive him! oh, Sir William, why may not Arthur become, some day, a _splendid_ gypsy?

_Sir William._

Eh?

_Rose._

Like----

_Sir William._

[_Peering into her face. _] Like----?

_Rose._

Like----

_Tom._

Yes, sir, a gypsy, though of a different order from the old order which is departing--a gypsy of the new school!

_Sir William._

[_To Rose._] Well, Miss Gower is a weak, foolish lady; for aught I know she may allow this young man to--to--take ye----

_Imogen._

I would accompany Rose, of course, Sir William.

_Sir William._

[_Tartly._] Thank ye, ma'am. [_Turning._] I'll go to my carriage.

_Arthur._

Sir, if you have the carriage here, and if you would have the patience to sit out the rest of the rehearsal, we might return with you to Cavendish Square.

_Sir William._

[_Choking._] Oh--h--h--hi

_Arthur._

Grandfather, we are not rich people, and a cab to us----

_Sir William._

[_Exhausted._] Arthur---!

_Tom._

Sir William will return to his box! [_Going up the stage._] O'Dwyer!

_Sir William._

[_Protesting weakly._] No, sir! no!

[_O'Dwyer appears._]

_Tom._

Mr. O'Dwyer, escort Sir William Gower to his box.