:'Sl UC-NRLF B M m? 2fiD Peg O' My Heart BY J. HARTLEY MANNERS " Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life As Love's young dream." Copyright. 1913. (in Novel form) by Dodd Mead and Company Copyright. 1918. By J. Hartley Manners ALL RIGHTS RESERVED CAUTION : All persons are hereby warned that " Peg O' My Heart." being fully protected under the copyright laws of the United States, is subject to royalty, and any one presenting the play without the consent of the owner or his authorized agents will be liable to the penalties by law provided. Applications for the amateur acting rights must be made to Samuel French. 28-30 West 38th St.. New York. Applications for the professional acting rights must be made to J. Hartley Manners, Lotos Club. New York. New York SAMUEL FREN'JH PUBLISHER 28-30 West 38th STREET LoifDOW SAMITL ITFNCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND Eepecial notice should be taken that the possesBio* •f this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from J. Hartley Manners, or Samuel French, the publisher, confers no right or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance of it may be given, except by special arrangement with J. Hartley Manners, or Samuel French. SECTION 28.— That any person who wilfully or for profit shall infringe any copyright secured by this act, or who shall knowingly and wilfully aid or abet such infringement, shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction thereof shall be punished by im- prisonment for not exceeding one year, or by a fine of »ot less than one hundred dollars nor more than on« thousand dollars, or both, in the discretion of the court. Act of March 4, 1909. To LAURIE " ■' in that which no waters can quench. No time forget, nor distance wear away. PUBLISHER'S NOTE " Pe[; O' My Heart " was first produced in Los Angeles, California, on May 26th, 191 2, with Laurette Taylor as " Peg ", where it ran for toi performances. Subsequently produced at the Cort Theater, New York City, on December 20th, 1912, with Laurette Taylor, it ran there until May 30th, 1914, making an unbroken run of 604 performances. Miss Taylor opened her London engagement on Saturday', October loth, 191 4, at the Comedy Theater, from which theater she later transferred the Comedy to the Globe Theater, and appeared in it there until October i8th, 191 5. In all, the part of " Peg " was played by Miss Taylor in the United States and England for 1,099 performances. The comedy has been performed in the United States and in Canada 5,987 times, eight companies at one time touring it during the season of 1914.- 1915; 1,001 times in London, during which run it was played at the Comedy, Globe, Apollo and St. James's Theaters; 2,475 times in the English provinces ; 457 times in Australia and New Zealand ; and 191 times in South Africa. In Australia it holds the record run of any comedy, having been played at the Palace Theater, Sydney, for fourteen con- secutive weeks, totalling 112 performances. It has also been played in India and the Far East, and in Holland, and arrangements have been made for its translation and adaptation into French, Italian and Spanish. The total number of performances recorded to date in all parts of the world is 10,233. April 15th, 1918. The following is a copy of the programme of the first performance of "PEG O' MY HEART" at the Cort Theater, New York City. FRIDAY, DECEMBER 20th, 1912. LAURETTE TAYLOR IN A COMEDY OF YOUTH IN THREE ACTS ENTITLED PEG O' MY HEART By J. Hartley Manners (Produced under the personal direction of the author) " Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life As Love's young dream ". CHARACTERS (In the order of their first appearance) Mrs. Chichester Miss Emilie Melville Footman Mr. Peter Bassctt Ethel, Mrs. Chichester's daughter, Miss Christine Norinan Alaric, Mrs. Chichester's son, Mr. Hassard Short Christian Brent Mr. Reginald Mason Peg Miss Laurctte Taylor Montgomery Hawkes, solicitor, Mr. Clarence Handy side Maid Miss Ruth Gartland Jerry Mr. H. Reeves-Smith 7 THE SCENES OF THE COMEDY Act I. The Coming of Peg. Act H. The Rebellion of Peg. Act hi. Peg O' My Heart. The entire action of the comedy passes in the living-room of Regal Villa, Mrs. Chichester's house in Scarborough, England, in early summer. One month elapses between Acts I and H, and a single night passes between Acts H and HI. NOTE: The curtain will descend in Act H to denote the passing of a few hours. 8 The following' is a copy of the proonramme of the first performance of" " PEG O' MY HEART" at the Comedy Theatre, London. SATURDAY, OCTOBER 10th, 1914. LAURETTE TAYLOR IN A COMEDY OF YOUTH IN THREE ACTS ENTITLED PEG O' MY HEART By J. Hartley Manners (Produced under the personal direction of the author) " Oh, there's nothing half so sweet in life As Love's young dream ". " Jerry " Mr. A. E. Matthews Alaric Chichester Mr. Percy Ames Montgomery Hawkes Mr. J. H. Barnes Christian Brent Mr. Eille Norzvood Jarvis Mr. Albert Sims Mrs. Chichester Miss Helen Ferrers Ethel Chichester. . .Mwj Violet Kemhle Cooper Bennett Miss Bettina Forest *' Peg " Miss Laurette Taylor THE SCENES OF THE COMEDY Act I. The Coming of Peg. Act H. The Rebellion of Peg. Act hi. Peg O' My Heart. The entire action of the comedy passes at Regal Villa, Mrs. Chichester's house in Scarborough in early summer. One month elapses between Acts I and H. A single night passes between Acts H and HI. NOTE: The curtain will be lowered in Act II for one minutes to denote the lapse of a few hours. 10 LORD CHAMBERLAIN'S OFFICE, St. James's Palace, S. W. Sept. 2ist, 1914. Sir: In reply to your letter of the 19th, instant. I am desired by the Lord Chamberlain to inform you that the play ^" Peg O' My Heart " was licensed to the Manager of the St. James's Theatre on June 5th, 1912. Yours faithfully, H. TRENDELL, For Assistant Comptroller. J. HARTLEY MANNERS, ESQ. II THE CHARACTERS IN THE COMEDY Mrs. Chichester Alaric Her son Ethel Her daughter Montgomery Hawkes Solicitor Christian Brent Footman (Jarvis) I^.Iaid (Bennett) " Jerry " and " Peg " PEG O' MY HEART ACT I "THE COMING OF PEG" Scene: The action of the entire comedy passes in a living-room in an old Tudor house in Scar- borough, England. It is a solid, massive room on the ground level opening into a garden. IVindozvs c, and r. Through the zuindows c. can be seen pathways winding away between lines of old, tall trees to the sea, and through the window R. can be seen an old garden zvith fiozvers in full bloom. Jasmine and creepers climb up the porch. The room is furnished for the most part zvith solid old furniture; an oak fable c on zvhich are books, papers, magazines, methodically ar- ranged; further dozvn r. an arm-chair; down L. against zvall a zvriting-desk; a grand piano R. on zvhich is a mass of music, a marble statuette of Cupid, several framed photos, vases of fiozvers, etc. On the zvalls ate some excel- lent pictures framed in oak. Lounges, com- fortable arm-chairs, etc., are distributed about the room.. The whole effect is of ease, comfort, and good taste. A fJgJit of fzvelve deep stairs runs up a;:.! off at the back l. A door l. The curtain rises on an empty stage. 13 14 PEG O' MY HEART Mrs. Chichester, a zuoman of fifty, hurries in tJiroiigh alcove R. hack. Jarvis enters l. with letters on salver. Mrs. Chichester comes down to table c, and Jarvis meets her. She takes letters and reads, then Jarvis goes tip back, pulls open the curtains, and then goes down l. to door. Mrs. Chichester. Wait, Jarvis. My son ! I\Iiss Ethel! At once, I must see them at once. (Mrs. Chichester finishes reading the letter, bursts into tears, sinks down shivering and crying on the arm- chair r. c.) (Ethel enters l. She has a copy of " The Morning Post " folded back at the General Neivs Items. SJie goes across to her mother. Footman e.vit L.) Ethel. Mother! Have you seen this? Mrs. Chichester. Oh, my dear Ethel ! (Enter Alaric r. u. e. Ethel goes to r. of her ^mother.) Alaric {Moves down c. briskly and energetically into c, throwing his hat info window-scat at back) Hallo, Mater! Hallo, Ethel ! Mrs. Chichester. {Between gasps) Alaric! My poor boy ! Alaric. (c.) What's the matter? What's up? Mrs. Chichester. {Seated r. c.) We're— {Sob) We're— {Sob) ruined! {Cries bitterly) Alaric. {At r. c, by his mother) Ruined? Go on ! Are we, really ? Mrs. Chichester. {Looking at letter and staunching her tears) Our bank has failed. Every penny your poor father left me was in it. We're bcg«;ars. PEG O' MY HEART 15 Alaric. Oh, tush ! Tush and nonsense ! It can't be true. Mrs. Chichester. (Hands him letter) Read. Alaric. (To Ethel) Eh! Ethel. (Crossing to Alaric, hands him "The Morning Post " 7vith thumb on paragraph, and then sits on high chair r.) Yes, look. Alaric. (c, looks at paper and reads) " Failure of Gifford's Bank ". (Looks at letter and reads) " Gifford's Bank suspended business yesterday ". (Looks at nezvspaper) *' Gifford's Bank has closed its doors." Eh? (Looks blankly at Mrs. Chiches- ter and Ethel) Mrs. Chichester. (Seated r. c.) Yes. We're ruined. Ethel. Beggars ' Alaric. (c.) Now that's v/hat I call a down- right, rotten, black-guardly shame. Closed its doors, indeed! Why should it close its doors? That's what I want to know. Why — should — it? What right have banks to fail? Why isn't there a law against it? (Looking from letter and paper, at which he glances alternately) They should be made to open their doors — and keep 'em open. That's what we give 'em our money for — so that we can take it out when we want to. Mrs. Chichester. Everything gone ! Ruined ! And at my age ! Alaric. (Goes to table and puts down letter and paper) A nice kettle of fish ! That's all I can say. A nice kettle of lish, all a-boiling. Eh, Ethel? Ethel. (Quite unmoved) Pity! (Mrs. Chichester moans.) Alaric. (Crosses to Mrs. Chichester) Don't worry, Mater. (Buttons his coat determinedly) ril go down and tell 'em just what I think of 'em. 1 6 PEG O' IMY HEART They can't play the fool \vith nic. Don't you care, Alater. You've got a son, thank God. And one no bank can take liberties with. What we put in there we've got to have out. That's all I can say. We've simply — got — to — have — it — out. I've said it. (Crosses into l. c.) Mrs. Chichester. It's bankrupt! Ethel, Failed ! Mrs. Chichester. We're beggars. I must live on charity the rest of my life. The guest of rela- tions I've always hated the sight of, and who've al- ways hated me. Oh! (Weeps) Alaric. (Crosses to r. c. to his mother, comforts her, and speaks to Ethel) Don't you think we'll get anything? Ethel. (Shakes her head) Nothing. aJU^ E?»EL. (Unhottoning his coat, goes limp) I always thought bank directors were a lot of blighters. Good Lord, what a mess! (Mrs. Chichester looks up at him.) Alaric. What's to become of Ethel? Mrs. Chichester. (Lookiyig up at Al.\ric) Whoever shelters me must take Ethel as well. Alaric. Shocking tough, old girl. (Looking across at Ethel) Ethel. (Shakes her head determinedly) No. AL.VRIC. No? What? Ethel. Charity. Alaric (Shi-Jers) Cold-blooded word. What will you do? Ethel. Work. Alaric. What at? Ethel. Teach. Alaric. (r. c.) Teach! Who in the wide world can you teach? Ethel. Children. Alaric. Oh, cornel That's rich! Eh, Mater? PEG O' MY HEART 17 Ethel teachin' grubby little children their A. B. C's. Tiish ! Ethel. .Just. Alaric. a Chichester teach ! Ethel. (With imperative gesture) Settlec"! ! (Rises up R. to piano) Alaric. {Determinedly buttoning up his coat again) Very well then/ I'll work too. (Faces front) ]^.Trs. Chichester. Oh, Alaric! Alaric. I'll put my hand to the plough. (With increased energy) The more I think of it the keener I am to begin. From to-day I'll be a workin' man. Ethel. (By piano r., laughs mirthlessly and superciliously) Ha! Alaric. (Turning quicklv to her) And may I ask why that "Ha"? (To" Mrs. Chichester c.) There is nothing I couldn't do if I was really put to it, not a single thing. InIrs. Chichester. (Proudly) I know thit, dear. But it's dreadful to think of you working. Alaric. Not at all. I'm just tingling all over at the thought of it. Only reason I haven't so far is because I never had to. But now that I have, I'll just buckle on my armor, so to speak, and astonish you all. (Leans on table c.) Ethel, (r., above piano, laughs again) Ha! Alaric. Please don't laugh in that cheerless way, Ethel. (Shivers) It goes all down my spine. Jerry's always telling me I ought to do something; that the world is for the workfer, and all that. Now I'm goin' to show him. (Suddenly) I say, what's to-day? (Looks at date of newspaper) The first? June the first. Jerry's comin' to-day. All his family. They've taken " Noel's Folly " on the hill. He's sure to look in here. (Jarvis enters L. zi'ith card on salver, and crosses l. c.) Couldn't 1 8 PEG O' MY HEART be better. I'll put it to him as man to man. He's the cove to turn to in a case like this. I'll — What is it? {To Jarvis, who holds out salver to him, picks up card and reads it) Chris Brent! Mrs. Chichester. (Rising, goes to Ethel) Oh, I can't see anyone. Alaric. Nor I. I'm all strung up. {To Jarvis) Tell Mr. Brent we're out. {Puts card back on salver) Ethel. I'll see Mr. Brent here. {Exit Jarvis l.) [Mrs. Chichester. Thank you, dear. Aly head's throbbing. I'll go to. my rooni. {Goes to stairs l. round hack of table) Alaric. {FoUozjing IsIrs. Chichester to stairs, passing up L., gets l. of her) All right, !\Iater. And don't v/orry. Leave everything to me. I'll thrash the v.-liole thing out — absolutely thrash it out. J^.Irs. Chichester. (0:i stairs, to Ethel) Come to rnc when he gees, dear. Ethel. Yes, Mother. (AIrs. Chichester passes up the stairs out of sight.) Alaric. {Crossing to window up back, picks up hat) Awful business, Ethel. Ethel. (Has come to front of table) Pretty bad. Al./vric. Really goin' to teach? (Dozim r. of table to R. c.) Ethel, (c.) Yes. Alaric. Right. I'll find something, too. We'll pull through somehow Ethel. {Indicating door l.) Mr. Brent's com- PEG O' MY HEART 19 Alaric. Jolly good of you to let him bore you. (Going to alcove r.) Hate the sight of the beggar mvself. Always looks like the first conspirator at the play. (The door l. opens. Alaric hurries out through the dcove r. hack) (Jarvis shows in Christian Brent, a dark, eager, pleasure-loving looking young man of tzuenty- five. Ethel, for the first time, shows some animation as he enters and shakes her hand. Jarvis exit l.) Brent. Well, how are you? (They shake hands) Ethel, (c.) Fair. (Drazi's her hand azuay, which he has kept) Brent, (l. c.) Your mother? Ethel. Lying down-. Brent. Alaric? Ethel. Out there. Brent. (Glances quickly at the garden) Then we've a moment or two alone? Ethel. I suppose so. Brent. Oh, Ethel. (He goes to embrace her, she drazus back and crosses to couch l. and sits. He follozvs her to l. c.) Glad to see me? EtheL; Why not? Brent. (He sits beside her, r. of Jier) I am to see you — more than glad. Ethel. Wliy? Brent. I'm at the cross-roads. Eteiel. Really? Brent. It came last night. Ethel. Oh ! Brent. Tliis is the end between me and my wife. Ethel. Is it? Brent. Yes. The end. It's been wretched. We've not one thought in common. There's not a 20 . PEG O' j\IY HEART word of mine— not an action— that she doesn't mis- understand. Ethf.l. How borin.c;! Brent. She'd see harm even in this. Ethel. Why? Brent. She'd think I was here to — to Ethel. What? Brent. ]\Iake love to you. Ethel. Well. Aren't vou? Brent. Ethel! Ethel. Don't you — always? Brent. How can you say that? Ethel. Don't you? Brent. (On couch) Has it seemed like that to you^ Ethel. Yes — by insinuation. Never straight- forwardly. Brent. Has it offended you? Ethel. Ah! Then you admit it? Brent. (Moves a Utile nearer) Oh, I wish i had the right to — (Stops) Ethel. Yes? Brent. Make love to you straightforwardly. Ethel. Then vou wouldn't do it. Brent. Ethel !' Ethel. It's only because you hare n't the right that you do it — by suggestion. Brent. (Starts back in dis(/ust) Whv do vou think that? Ethel. You don't deny it. Brent. What a contemptible opinion you must have of me. (Rises, crosses up l. of table) Ethel. Then we're quits, aren't we? Brent, (l. c.) How? (Turns to her) Ethel. You have a contemptible opinion of me. Brent. Why? (Comes do^.'u a little) Ethel. You must have. Evcrv married man has PEG O' MY HEART 21 a contemptible opinion of the woman he covertly makes love to. If he hadn't he couldn't do it. Brext. (l. c.) I don't follow you. Ethel. Haven't you had time to think of an answer? . . Brent. I don't know what you re drivmg at. Ethel. (Seniles) No? I think you do. (Brent jiiakes movement azvay. Pause) What happened last night? Brent. Why, she — {Moves towards her, then stops) No. I'd sound like a cad, blaming a woman. Ethel. Never mind how it sounds, tell it. Brent. {Com.es to couch, knee on it, over her) The m.ore I look at you and listen to you the more I realize I should never have married. Ethel. Oh! Why did you? Brent. {Sits beside her, back to the audience) Why? Have you ever seen a young hare, fresh from its kind, run headlong into a snare? Have you ever seen a young m.an straight from college dash into a net? I did. I wasn't trap-wise. Good God, what nurslings we are when we first feel our feet! We're like children just loose from the lead- ing-strings. Anything that glitters catches us. Every trap that is set for our unwary feet we drop into. / did. Dropped in. Caught hand and foot, mind and soul. Ethel. Soul ? Brent. Yes. Ethel. Don't you mean body? Brent. Well, body, mind, and soul. Ethel. Ah! Body anyway. Brent. And for what ? Love ? Companionship ! That's what we build on in marriage. And what did I realize ? Hate and wrangling. Then came the baby. Ethel. Ah! {She turns azvay) Brent. One would think that would change 22 TEG O' MY HEART thinc^s. But, no. Neither of us wantxd her — neither of us loved her. {Look from Ethel) And th^n— (Pause) I shouldn't tell you this. It's horrible. I sec it in your face. (Pause) What are you thinking? Ethel. I'm sorry. Brent. For me? Ethel. For your wife. Brent. My wife? Ethel. Yes. Aren't you? (He turns az^^ay. Pause) No? (Pause) Just sorry for yourself? Brent. You think me purely selfish? Ethel. Naturally. / am. (Pause. Brent turns OiVay zvith a sulky movement) Don't sulk. Let's be truthful — sometimes. Brent. (Suddenly, facing Iter) We quarrelled last night — about you. Ethel. Really? Brent. Gossip has linked us together. She heard it. Put the worst construction on it. liTHEL. Well? What did you do? Brent. (Rises and zvalks round table) I left the house and walked the streets — hours. I looked my whole life back as if it were some stranger's. I tell you, we ought to be taught. W^e ought to be taught wliat marriage means. (Comes dozen r.) Just as we are taught not to steal or lie or sin. In marriage, when we are ill-mated, we do all tiiree. We steal affection from someone else, we lie in our lives, we sin in our relationship. (Turning r.) Eth^l. (Rises and crosses to l. of table) Do you mean that you're a sinner, a thief, and a liar? Brent. Ethel ! Ethel. (Sits l. of table) Oh. take some of the blame. Don't put it all on the woman. (He tun^s azuay) What do you intend to do? Brent. (Front of table) Separate. The on!y thing. You don't doctor a poisoned limb when your PEG O' MY HEART 23 life is at stake. You cut it off. When tzvo lives generate poison, face it as a surgeon would. Amputate. Ethel. And after the operation ? What then ? Brent. (Leaning over front of table) That is why I'm here — facing you. Ethel. But if we generate poison — what will you do? Amputate me? Brent. You are dilierent from all Ocher women. Ethel. Didn't you tell your wife that when you asked her to marry you? Brent. (Turns away) Don't say those things. They hurt. (Going around r. of table) Ethel. I'm afraid, Chris, I'm too frank. Aren't I? Brent. (Leaning over, at hack of table) You stand alone. You seem to look into the hearts of people and know why and how they beat. Ethel. (Meaningly) Do I? It's an awkward faculty sometimes, isn't it? Brent. How marvellously different two women can be — you and my wife. (Again back of tabic) Ethel. We're not really very different. Only some natures like change. Youirs does. And the new has all the virtues. I mightn't last as long as your wife did. Brent. (Standing close to her, over her) Don't say that. We have a common bond — understanding. Ethel. Think so? Brent. I understand you. Ethel. I wonder. Brent. You do me. Ethel. That's just it. Brent. I tell you I'm at the cross-roads. The finger-post poiitts the way to me distinctly. (Pause. Sits in chair back of table, close to her) Would you risk it? Ethel. (Turning on him) What? 24 PEG O' :\IY HEART Brext. I'll hide nothing. I'll put it all before you. The snubs of your friends, life in some little Continental village, dreading the passers-through, anrl then — No. It v/ouldn't be fair to you. Etiicl. (Slozi'Iy) No. I don't think it wouM. However, I'll think it over and let you know. Brext. (To Ethel, eagerly) When she sets me free we could — we could — (Stops) Ethel. It is a difficult little word at times, isn't it? Brext. Would you marry me? Ethel. I never cross my bridges till I reach them, and we're such a long way from that one, aren't we ? Brext. (Rises) Ethel! (She rises. He puts kis hand on hers, and she moves azvay dozun l. c. in front of bench) Then I'm to wait? (Comes dozvn level iviih her) Ethel. Yes, do. When the tim.e comes to accept the charity of relations or do something useful for tuppence a week, who knows? When a woman has to choose between charity and labor — who knows? Brext. Charity? Labor? Ethel. (Moves to bciicJi and sits) A tiresome bank has failed with all our sixpences locked up in it. Isn't it stupid? Brext. (FoUozvs her to couch) Is all your money gone? Ethel. Everything. Brext. Good God! Ethel. IMamma knows as little about business as she does about me. Until this morning she has always had a rooted belief in her bank and her daughter. If I bolt with you her last cherished illusion will be destroyed. Brent, (r. of conch) Let me help you. Ethel. How? Lend us monev? Brent. I'll do that if— (Ethel looks at him) I beg your pardon. PEG O' MY HEART 25 Ethel. (Looking dozen) So you see we're both, in a way, at the cross-roads. Brent. (Seising her hand) Let me take you awav out of it all. Ethel. (Slozvh) No. Not just now. (Brent turn:: awav to table c.) I'm not in a bolting mood to-day. (She turns to him saying) Chris, some timc'perhaps in the dead of night, something will snap in me— the slack, selfish, luxurious me that hates to be roused into action — and the lon-^ing for adventure will com.e. Then I'll send for you. (Rises) Brent. And you'll go with me? Ethel. (Stre'tching lazily) I suppose so. (He goes to embrace her, but she keeps him off. Look- ing at him through half -closed eyes) Then Heaven help you. Brent. I want you — I need you. Ethel. Until the time comes for amputation? (He turns azvay) You see I don't want you to have illusions about me. I've none about you. Let us begin fair, anyway. It will be much easier when the end comes. (Moz'es azcay dozvn l.) Brent. (Going quickly to her) But there'll be no end. I love you — love you with every breath in my body, every thought in my mind, every throb of (Embraces her) my nerves. (Dozvn the path c. comes a strange little figure — a beautiful girl of eighteen, shabbily but cleanly dressed in a simple print dress, a zvide-brimmcd cheap strazv hat from under zvhich hangs a profusion of short, natural curls of qlcaming reddish hair. She is carrying a bag and a paper parcel somezvhat the zvorse for zvear under one arm, and under the other arm is a shaggy, un- kempt, and altogether disgraceful looking Irish terrier. She zvalks c:iieth: into the room, comes 26 PEG O' jNIY heart doi^ni R. c, sees Brext and Ethel in the em- brace, turns away and sits in cJiair r. of table with her back to them.) Ethel. Please don't. It's so hot this mornins:. (Sees Peg over Brent's r. shoulder, straightens up with a quick movement, and swings Brent round. They look in horrified ama-zemcnt at the strange little figure. Ethel goes to her) How long have you been here? (Crosses to c. of table) Peg. (r. of table, with a delightfully slight Irish brogue, looking up innocently in Ethel's eyes) I just came in. Ethel. What do you want ? Peg. I don't want anything. I was told I must wait at this place. Ethel. Who told you? Peg. a gentleman. Ethel. What gentleman? Peg. Just a gentleman. He told me to wait — at the place that is written down on the card. (Hands her a soiled visiting card. Brent is l. staring at Peg) Ethel. (In front of table, takinrj card, reads) "Mrs. Chichester, Regal Villa". \Vhat do you want with Mrs. Chichester? Peg. I don't want anything. I was told I must wait here. (Taking card back) Ethel. Who are you? Peg. I wasn't to say anything. I was only to wait. (Ethel turns to Brent. Brent l. c. is looking admiringly at the little stranger.) Ethel. (Pauses and looks at Brent then turns again to Peg) You say you've only been here a minute ? PEG O' MY HEART 27 Peg. Just a minute. Ethel. Were we talking when you came in ? Peg. Ye were. Ethel. Did you hear what we said? Peg. Yes, I did. {Look between Ethel and Brent) Ethel. What did you hear? Peg. I heard you say " Please don't. It's so hot this morning ". (Brent ^noves np l.) Ethel. (Pauses) You refuse to say why you're here or who you are? Peg. 1 don't refuse at all. The gentleman said to me, he said, '' You go to the place that's written down on the card, and you sit down at the house, and you wait, and that's all you do — just wait ". Ethel. {Turning to Brent) Eh? Brent. Extraordinary. Ethel. {Corning back to table) The servants' quarters are at the back of the house. Peg. Yes. Ethel, (c. front of table) And I may save you the trouble of waiting by telling you that we don't need any assistants. We're quite provided for. Peg. Yes. Ethel. {Pause) If you insist on waiting, kindly do so there. {Turns again to Brent) Peg. Well, we're not particular where we wait as long as we wait. They're sending us to the kitchen, Michael. {Rising up to opening r.) At the back of the house. Miss? Ethel. Follow that path round until you come to a door. Knock, and ask permission to wait there. (Peg gathers her bundles and her dog under her arms and goes to arch r. u. e. on to top of step) For your future guidance, go to the back door of 2S PEG O' MY HEART a house and knock. Don't walk, unannounced, into a private room. Peg. (In arch) Ye see, ma'am, I coukln't tell it was a private room. The Ijlinds were all up and the door was open. I couldn't tell it was a private room. Ethel. That will do. That will do. Peg. And I couldn't knock on your door because it's a windy. (Peg exit arch r. u. e. and crosses to L.) Ethel. (After z^vtching her off, moves doum l., z'cry angry) Outrageous! Brent. (Crossing uf> to zvindozv r. u. e.) Poor little wretch. She's rather pretty. Ethel. (Looking intelligently at f:i:u) Is she? Brent. Didn't you think so? Ethel. {Comes up to table c.) I never notice the lower orders. You apparently do. Erent. (Comes dozi'n r. level zcith her) She's the strangest Httle apparition Ethel. She's only a few yards av/ay if you care to — [Turns to Brent) Brent. Ethel! (Comes dozen nearer to licr) Ethel, (c.) Suppose my mother had come in! Or Alaric! Never do such a thing again. Brent. I was carried away. I Ethel. Kindly exercise a little more restraint. You'd better go now. (Crosses to stairs up l.) Brent. (Follozving her to stairs round back of table) May I come to-morrow? Ethel. No. Not to-morrow. Brent. Then the following day? Ethel. Perhaps. Brent. Ethel, remember I build on you. Ethel. (Looking at him) I suppose we arc worthy of each other. (Voices off R.) PEG O' MY HEART 29 Alaric. (Off) Come this way, Mr. Hawkes. I think we shall find some of the family in here. Etiifx. (To Brent) Go now. (Goes upstairs) (As Brent goes to door l. Alaric hurries in through zvindow R. u. E., sees Ethel, puts hat on piano,) Alaric. Wait a minute, Ethel, (Seeing Brent) Hello, Brent! How are you? Disturbin' you? Brent. No. I'm just going. Alaric. Oh, don't go. I want to ask you some- thing. (He goes up to arch and calls to someone in the garden) Come in, Mr. Hawkes. (Crosses to c. Enter Montgomery Hawkes, a siicve, pol- ished, important-looking man of forty. Alaric comes back, introducing) Mr. Hawkes — my sister — ]\Ir. Brent. (Hawkes bozcs to Ethel and to Bee::t and puts hat on table c. Alaric to Ethel) You might see if the Mater's well enough to come down, like a dear, will ye? This gentleman's come all the way from London just to see her. D'ye mind? Bring her down here, will you? (Ethel goes upstairs and out of sight. To Hawkes) Sit down, Mr. Hawkes. (Hawkes sits i?i armchair R. Alaric goes dozvn l. to Brent) Must ye go? (Alaric l., shaking him warmly by the hand and taking him to door l.) Sorry I was out. Run in any time. Always delighted to see you. Oh, I know what it was I wanted to ask vou — Angel wife all right ? Brent. Thank you. Alaric. And the darling child? Brent. Please give my remembrances to your mother. Alaric. Certainly. Look in any time. Any time at all. (Exit Brent l., Alaric closes door. ' Mrs. Chichester and Ethel, carrying dog, a little French so PEG O' MY HEART poodle, conic dozen the stairs l. Hawkes rises'. Mrs. Chichester to l. c, Ethel to bench, sits l. Alakic goes up and brings ]\Irs. Chichester down. R. of her, and looking up at her as she conies dozvn- stairs) Here we are, Mater. I found this gentle- man in a rose-bed enquiring for our lodge. He's come all the way from dear old London just to see yon. (Brings Mrs. Chichester dozvn l. c, bring- ing them together and introducing them. Alaric is c.) Mr. Hawkes — my mother. Mrs. Chichester, (l. c. anxiously) You've come to see me? Hawkes. On a very important and very private family matter. Mrs. Chichester. Important? Private? Alaric. We're the family, Mr. Hawkes. Mrs. Chichester. (Her eyes filling) Is it bad news ? Hawkes. (Genially) Oh, no. Alaric. Is it good news? Hawkes. (Up r. of table) In a measure. Alaric. (Helps Mrs. Chichester to couch) Ah, then let's get at it. We can do with a bit of good news, can't we, Mater? Wait. Is it by any chance about the bank? (Crosses to l. of table) Hawkes. (To Mrs. Chichester) It's about your late brother, Nathaniel. Mrs. Chichester. Late? Is Nathaniel dead? (Alaric l. of table.) Hawkes. (Pauses r. of table. Nods coin- miseratingly) Ten days ago. I am one of the ex- ecutors of the late gentleman's estate. {Sits r. of table c, and gets out his papers) Mrs. Chichester. (Weeps) Oh! Alaric. Puor old Nat ! Eh, Ethel ? Ethel, (l. end of couch) Never saw him. PEG O' MY HEART 31 Mrs. Chichester. I ought to have been in- formed. The funeral Hawkes. (Seated r. of table) There was no funeral. Alaric. No funeral? Hawkes. In obedience to his written wishes he was cremated, and no one was present except his chief executor and myself. He said he so little regretted not having seen r;.ny of his relations for the last twenty years that he was sure they would equally little regret his death. On no account was' anyone to wear mourning for him, nor to express any open sorrow. They wouldn't feel it, so why lie about it? Mrs. Chichester. What? Alaric. Eh ? Haw^kes. I use his own v\-ords. Alaric. (l. of table) What a rum old bird! Eh, Mater? ]^,Irs. Chichester, (r. oid of couch) He was always the most unfeeling, the most heartless Hawkes. Now, in his will Mrs. Chichester. (Checking herself) Eh? Alaric. A will! Did the dear old gentleman leave a will? (Ethel watches them smilingly and listens intently.) Hawkes. I have come here to make you ac- quainted with some of its contents. Alaric. (Rubbing his hands gleefully) Dear old Nat. I remember him when I was a baby. A portly, sandy-haired old buck, with three jolly chins. Ha-Wkes. (Gravely) He was white towards the end, and very thin. Alaric. (l. of table) Was he? It just shows, doesn't it? How much did he leave? (Goes back of treble) 32 PEG O' MY HEART Hawkes. His estate is valued approximately at two hundred thousand pounds. Alakic. {Whistles) Phew! {Sits back of table c.) Mrs. Chichester. {Cries silently) Perhaps it was my fault I didn't see him oftener Alaric. How did he split it up? Hawkes. To his immediate relations he left Alaric. Yes ? (]\Irs. Chichester looks iip tJirougJi her tears, add Ethel shozvs a little interest.) Hawkes. I regret to say — nothing. Alaric. What ? Mrs. Chichester. Nothing? (Ethel turns away.) Alaric. Not a penny piece to anyone? Hawkes. No. Mrs. Chichester. His own ficsh and blood ! Alaric. {Back of table) What a shabby old beggar ! Mrs. Chichester. He was always the most selfish, the most heartless Hawkes. {Turning back the pages of the zcill and reading) Here it is from the will. " I am not going to leave one penny of what I have spent mv life accumulating to people who are already well provided for." Mrs. Chichester. {Rises and crosses to l. c. front of table) But we're not well provided for. Alaric. {Rises) No. Our bank's bust. Mrs. Chichester. We're ruined. Alaric. Broke. Mrs. Chichester. We've nothing. (Alaric ha)ids letter from tabic to Mrs. Chichester, who hands it to Hawkes) PEG O' ^lY HEART 33 Alaric. Not threppcnce. Hawkes. {Back of tabic) Dear! Dear! How extremely distressing! Alartc. (Back of tabic) Distressm' ! Dis- gust in' ! Hav/kes. (Hands letter back to Alaric,_ zvho gives it to Jiis mother) Then perhaps a clause in his will mav have a certain interest. Alaric. (Helps Mrs. Chichester to chair l. of table, then sits again. All express interest) Clause ! Did the dear old gentleman leave a clause ? Hawkes. When Mr. Kingsnorth realized that he hadn't very much longer to live he spoke con- stants of his other sister, Angela. Mrs. Chichester. (Seated l. of table) But she's dead. Hawkes. (Looking up) That was why he spoke of her. Mrs. Chichester. Never a word of me? Hawkes. We'll come to that later. (Refers ^ io papers) It appears that this sister, Angela, married at the age of eighteen a certain improvident Irish- man by \he name of O'Connell, was cut off by her family Mrs. Chichester. The man was a beggar ! It was a disgrace! y\LARic. (Checking her) Mater! Hawkes. (Continuing to read) — went to the United States of America with her husband, where a daughter was born. After going through many conditions of misery with her husband, who never seemed to prosper, she died while her child was still a baby. Mr. Kingsnorth elsewhere expresses his lasting regret that in one of his sister's acute stages of distress she wrote to him, asking him for the first time to assist her. He replied (Looking up) " You've made your bed — lie in it ". 34 PEG O' j\IY HEART ]\Irs. Chiciii-ster. She had dlsrrraccd th^ fa:rii!y. He was quite right. Alaric. {Checks her) Mater! }Jater! He hasn't got the old gentleman's cb.use out yet. Go on. Mr. Hawkes. Hawkes. With death approaching, Mr. Kings- north's conscience began to trouble him, and the remembrance of his treatment of his unfortunate sister distressed him. H the child were still alive he wanted to see her. So I made enquiries and found that the girl was living with her father in very poor circumstances in the city of New York. Alaric. New York, eh? Fancy that. Ethel! New York ! Hawkes. ^Ve sent sufficient funds for the journey and a request to the father to allow her to visit ^\ir. Kingsnorth in England. The father con- sented. However, before .^he sailed, Mr. Kings- north died. Alartc. (Seated back of table) Died! Too bad! That really v^as too bad, Ethel. Eh? Died! (To Ethel and Mrs. Chichester) Hawkes. Realizing that he would never see her he made the most extraordinary provision for her in his will. Mrs. Chichester. He provided for her, and (Alaric checks her and kisses Jicr hand.) Hawkes. Here is the provision. (Reads) "I hereby direct that to any respectable, well-connected women of breeding and family who will undertake the education and up-bringing of my niece, Margaret O'Connell, in accordance with the dignity and tradi- tion of the Kingsnorths there be paid the sum of one thousand pounds a year " PEG O' MY HExVRT 35 Alaric. a thousand pounds a year ! Fancy that, Ethel ! A thousand pounds ! Hawkes. (Reading) "If at the expiration of one year my niece is found to be, in the judgment of my executors, unworthy of further interest she is to be returned to her father and the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds a year paid her to provide her with the necessities of Hfe. But if, on the other hand, she proves herself worthy of the best tradi- tions of the Kingsnorth family the course of training is to be continued until she reaches the age of twenty-one, when I hereby bequeath to her the sum of live thousand pounds a year -" Alaric. Five thousands pounds a year ! I mean to say — five thousand pounds. Hawkes. " — to be paid her annually out of my estate during her lifetime, and to be continued afier her death to any ma.e issue she may have " AIrs. Chichester. (Looks up) Eh? Hawkes. — by marriage. Mrs. Chichester. And me — his own sister Alaric. And I — who knew him as a babv Hawkes. " On no account is her father to be permitted to visit her, and she must not on any account visit her father. After the age of twenty- one she can do as she pleases ". (Looking up) Alaric. That clause doesn't interest us at all, Mr. Haw^kes. Hawkes. Now my dear Mrs. Chichester, it was Mr. Kingsnorth's wish that the first person to be approached on the matter of undertaking the train- ing of the young lady should be you. Mrs. Chichester.^ (Rising) I? Alaric. (Rising) My mother? (Ethel rises also, and listens and ivatches intently.) Hawkes. (Referring to z.'ill) He said he would 36 PEG O' jMY heart be " sure at least of a strict upbringing in the b?st traditions of the Kingsnorths, and though narrow and conventional in ideas " Mrs. Chichester. Well! Really! Hawkes. Again I use his own words. — " still, his sister Monica was eminently fitted to undertake such a charge ". There you have the whole object of my visit. (Rises) Now will you undertake the training of the young lady? I^Irs. Chichester. (Crosses to eoiieh) I n^ver heard of such a thing. Ethel. Ridiculous ! Alaric. (Coming dozen "l. c.) Tush! Tush and nonsense Hawkes. Then I take it you refuse? jMrs. Chichester, (r. end of eoiicii) Absolutely. Ethel. Entirely. Alaric. (l. c.) I should say so. Hawkes. Then there's nothing more to be said. ]\Ir. Kingsnorth was of the opinion that you were well provided for, and that the additional thousand a year might be welcome as, say, pin-money for your daughter. (Gathering up papers at tabic. Ethel and Mrs. Chichester look at each other. They draw a little an'ay to front of bench) Ethel. (With a note of biting sarcasm) Pin- money ! Ha ! Alaric. (Coming doien level zcith Mrs. Chichester) IMater! Ethel! A cool thousand, eh? Mrs. Chichester. (Pause) It would keep things together. Alaric. The wolf from the door. Ethel. No charity. Mrs. Chichester. (To Alaric) What do vou think ? Alaric. Whatever you say, Mater. Mrs. Chichester. (To Ethel) Ethel? PEG O' MY HEART 37 Ethel. You decide, Mamma. Mrs. Chichester. (To Alaric) We might try it for a while, at least. Alaric. Until we can look round. ]\Irs. Chichester. Something may be saved from the wreck. Alaric. Until / get really started. Mrs. Chichester. (To Ethel) Ethel? Ethel. Whatever you decide. Mamma. Mrs. Chichester. I'll do it. (Alaric turns up- stage a little) It will be hard, but I'll do it. (Crosses into c. All turn round to Hawkes. Ethel sits on couch) Hawkes. (r. c. smiling) Well? Mrs. Chichester. For the sake of my poor dead sister I'll do as Nathaniel wished. Hawkes. Good! I'm delighted. (Comes dcivn R. a little. Mrs. Chichester turns to Alaric) One thing more. (^Irs. Chichester turns to Hawkes again) The young lady is not to be told of the conditions of the will unless at the discretion of the executors, should some crisis arise. She will be, to all intents and purposes, your guest. Alaric. Our guest? Fancy that, Ethel! Hawkes. In that way we'll arrive at a more exact idea of her character. Is that understood? M^.s. Chichester. Very well. Hawkes. Where is your bell? Alaric. There. (Points to bell up r. and moves to foot of stairs) Hawkes. (Going up r.) May I ring? Alaric. (Going up l. a little) " Certainly. Want a sandwich or something? Hawkes. I would like to send for the young lady. (Smiling, he rings) The heiress. Mrs. Chichester. (Crossing to armchair r.) Where is she? Hawkes. She arrived from New York this morn- 38 PEG O' AIY HEART ing and I brought her straight here. I had to ca.' on a cHent, so I gave her your address and told her to come here and wait. (Ethel rises) She ought to be here by now. {Conies dozi'u above tabic. Jarvis enters l.) Is there a young lady waiting for Mr. Hawkes? Jarvis. Yoimg lady, sir? No, sir. {Crosses L."C.) AIrs. Chichester. Ihat wid do. (Jarvis moirs tozcards door l.) Hawkes. That's strange. Alaric. There you are, you see. Jarvis. (Conies back to l. c.) Oh, there is a young person sitting in the kitchen. Won't give no account of herself. Says she's to wait untd a gentleman calls. Can't get nothing out of her. Hawkes. That must be the young lady. May I bring her in? Mrs. Chichester. {Indignantly) Aly niece in the kitchen ! Surely you should know the difference between my niece and a servant 1 Jarvis. {At l. c.) Tm truly sorry, Aladam. but there was nothing to tell Mrs. Chichester. (r. front of armcJiair) That will do. Bring my niece here at once. {Exit Jarvis L.) It's monstrous ! {Comes to c. front of table) ^ Alaric. {Crosses to r., r. of his mother) Stoopid ! That's what I call it— Stoopid ! (Ethel smiles.) HAWKi.b. {Coming round l. of table into l. c.) Perhaps it was my fault. 1 told her not to talk- to come here and say she was to wait. Mrs. Ciiiciiestek. She should have been brought PEG O' MY HEART 39 strai<^ht to me. The poor thing! My niece in the l move toivards door l., tlien stop and turn. To Jarvis) I don't know whether to laugh or crv at him. (Maid laughs. She and Jarvis )ook at each PEG O' MY HEART 53 other in auiazcuicnt, and exeunt l. Lightning. Ex- amines all the things, zvhich are nezv to her. Laughs. Sees Cupid on piano, runs to it, and claps her hands) Hullo, Cupid, ye darling. You're the one that causes all the mischief in the world, ye devil. (Thunder. Sits end of piano-stool and crosses herself) Oh, Holy Mary! (She coivers into herself and prays. Jerry appears zvith Michael in his arms. It has grozvn very dark. Lightning. Peg trembles in terror, her hack to Jerry) Jerry. (Comes dozvn l. to l. c.) Hello! Peg. (Turns quickly) Michael !^ (Thunder. Runs to Jerry, snatches dog from him, and runs over to L., chattering zvith fear and looking sus- piciously at Jerry. Jerry looks at Peg in astonish- ment. 'Tzvo flashes of lightning) Shut it out! Shut it out! Shut the storm out! (Jerry drains the citrtains and comes dozvn to Peg) That's right, sir. (Explaining to Jerry) Don't go near the dog. You mustn't come near the dog, (Puts dog outside door L.) Dogs attract lightning. Jerry. (Looking at her in amazement) Does he belong to you ? Peg. (Nods) \Miat were you doin' with him? Jerry. I found him barking at a very high- spirited mare. Peg. ^lare ? \\^here ? (Lightning.) Jerry, (r. of table) Tied to the stable door. Peg. The stable? Is that where thcv out Michael? (TJiundcr.) Jerry. (Coming dozvn c.) Don't be frightened. It's only a summer storm. 54 PKG O' MY HEART Peg. (In aicc) Summer or winter, they shrivel me up. Jerry. Come and look at it. They're beautiful in* this part of the country. Come and watch it. {Going to ivindoic at back and lifting curtain) (Lightning.) Peg. (Sits l. of tabic) Shut it out! Shut it out ! I'll not look at it at all. They say if you look at the sky when the lightning comes ye can see the Kingdom of Heaven. And the sight of it blinds some and kills others accordin' to the state of grace ye're in. (Lightning.) Jerry. (Coming doi>.'n r. of tabic) You're a Catholic ? Peg. Of course Pm a Catholic. What else is anybody? (Thunder) It does seem to me that He is very angry with us for our sins. Jerry. With me, perhaps, not with you. Peg. What do you mane by that? Jerry. You don't know what sin is. Peg. And who may you be, to talk to me like that? Jerry. My name is Jerry. What's yours? Peg. Peg. {Looks round at stairs) That's what it is, too, Peg. Jerry, did ye say? (A^7/;/.) Jerry. Just plain Jerry. And you're Peg? Peg. (Nods) Just plain Peg. Jerry. (Comes doivn r. of tabic arul sits) I don't agree with you. I think you're very charming. Peg. (Seated l. of table) You mustn't say things like that — with the storm outside. ' PEG O' MY HEART 55 Jerry. (Coming dozen r. c.) I mean it. Peg. Ye don't. The man that thinks them things never savs them to your face. My father always said to me " Now, Peg, there's one sort of a fellow you've got to be very careful of, and that's the one that says flattering things right in your face. " He's no good," he says. " He's no good." Jerry. Who are you? Peg. Did ye ever see such a funny-looking sofa as that one? What do ye do with it? Do ye sit on it, or lie down on it? Jerry. \\'hichever you like. Peg. I think it should have a back and some handles if it wants to be a sofa. Jerry. Who are you? Peg. (Rises) And look here. Ive found another funny one over here. (Crosses and sits in chair l.) Do you know what this is? It's a high-chair. I never heard of anybody keeping a high-chair in the parlor, did you? And I never heard of anybody buying a sofa that looks like a bench. (Crosses io him, sliding on carpet) And the carpet — it's a slippery carpet. I can make poses on it. (Slides hack to him, posing. Jerry laughs. Peg slides to bench and hack again) We have a carpet home. But our carpet's not slippery. This must be a cheap one. Our carpet has roses on it, big red and yellow roses. Makes the room more cheerful — more like a parlor. Jerry, ^^llo in the world are you ? Peg. Do you know Alaric? Jerry. Yes, of course. Peg. I wish I could take him home and sho- - him to my father. Jerry. Who are you? Peg. (l. c.) And the big fellow. Are you acquainted with the big fellow who works in this house ? 56 PEG O' MY HEART Jerry. The big fellow? I don't think I lir.ow him. Peg. He's all in front of himself. Jerry, (r. c.) Oh, you mean Jarvis. Peg. Jarvis. Do you know all he does to make his living — that great big strong fellow? He just carries round a little card on a big plate, to tell who's coming to the house. (She turns and points to the bench again) Jerry. Now, who in the world are you? Peg. You asked me that before, didn't you? Jerry. Yes. Peg. Well, Fm my aunt's niece, I am. (Sitting on sofa. Pause) Jerry. (On sofa, smiling) And who is your .aunt? I^'eg. ]\[rs. Chi — ch — es — cs — chcr. {LigJits slozuly up to full.) Jerry. \Mio ? Peg. Mrs. Chi — ch — es — es. Jerry. Mrs. Chichcstor. Peg. That's it. You have to jump it in the middle. Jerry. Really? How extraordinary ! Peg. Isn't it? You wouldn't expect a fine lady like her to have a niece like me, would ye? Jerry. That isn't what I meant. "Peg. Yes, it is. And you mustn't tell untruths with the storm outside. Jerry. I was thinking that I don't remember Alaric ever telling me he had such a charming cousin. (By sofa l.) Peg. Alaric didn't know I was alive till I dropped down from the clouds this morning. Jerry. \Miere did you drop from? Peg. New York. PEG O' INIY HEART 57 Jerry. Really? How odd ! {Stop rain.) Peg. Not at all. It's just the same as any other h'lf: city. There's nothing odd about New York. It's a big place, New York is. Jerry. (Hesitatingly, and tmth pronounced English accent) Were you born there? Peg. What was that you said? Jerry. I said, "Were you born there?" Peg. Yes, I was. Jerry. By way of Old Ireland? Peg. How did you guess that? Jerry. Your slight, but delightful, accent. Peg. I've got an accent? Jerry. Yes. Peg. Well, I was much too polite to say any- thing, but I was thinking you had an accent. (Jerry laughs) ^^'hat are you laughing at? Haven't you ever listened to yourself? Jerry. No. I can't say I have. Peg. Well, you said to me just now " Were you born there?" (Imitating him) Jerry. Well, how would you say it? Peg. I'd say it naturally — "Were you born there?" I'd say. "Were you born there?" ^ wouldn't fall over my words. I'd say it straight out of my face. I wouldnt make a song-and-dance out of it.' Jerry. (Sits beside her. She moves a litth away) I see. (Laughing) Hello! (Goes t:' zvindozv and pulls curtains open) The storm's over. All the anger has gone from the heaven:. See! (Draws open the curtains) (Lights full up.) 58 PEG O' :\IY HEART Peg. (Under Iicr breath) Praise be to God for that ! Ji-RRV. (Coming dozen r.) Are you golnr;^ to stay here? Peg. Mebbc I will. ]\Iebbe I won't. Jerry. Did your aunt send for you? Peg. No : my uncle Nat. Terry. Nat ? ^ Peg. Nathaniel Kingsnorth, God rest his soul Jerry. Nathaniel Kingsnorth? Peg. (Seated on couch, nods) Sleepin' in his grave, poor man ! Jerry. (Crosses to back to bench l.) Then you're Margaret O'Connell ? Peg. I am. How did you know that? Jerry. Why. I — (Goes to sit — sees her look) Alay I sit here? Peg. That's what you said it was for. Go on and sit. (Jerry sits back to audience.) Jerry. I was with your uncle when he died. Peg. Were ye? Jerry. He told me all about you. Peg. Did he? I wish the poor man 'd have lived. (Pause) I wish he'd sent for me sooner. He with all his money and my father with none, and me his sister's only child. Jerry. \\'hat does your father do? Peg. (On couch l., eagerly) Anything. My father can do anything at all. Except make money. And when *he does make it he can't keep it. He doesn't like money. Neither do I. (Pause) Pve never had much to like. Rut Pve seen others around us with plenty, and we've been the happiest — that we have. When times were the hardest I never heard a word of complaint from my father or PEG O' MY HEART 59 saw a frown on his face. (Pause) Sure, we're more like boy and girl than father and daughter. (Pmise) And I'm^ sick for the sight of him. (Pause) And I'm sure he is for me — for his '* Peg — o' — my — heart ", as he always calls me. (Covers her eyes) I wish I was back home. Jerry. (Gently) Don't do that. Peg. (Wiping her eyes ivith a large handker- chief, zvhich is fastened — folded — by a safety-pin to her 'dress) I don't cry very often. (Pause) My father never made me. I never saw him cry but twice in my life. Once when he'd made a little money and w^e had a Mass said for my mother'c soul and had the most beautiful candles lit on Our Lady's altar. And when I left him to come here. (Pause) He laughed and joked w^ith me up to the last minute, and when the ship swung away from the dock he just broke down and sobbed like a little child. *' My Peg ", he kept sayin', '' My little Peg ". And I wanted to get off the ship and go to him. But we'd started, and I didn't know how to swim. (Pause) I cried myself to sleep that night. I'm not going to be happy here. (Pause) I only came here because my father thought it'd be for my good. (Pause) And they won't make a lady out of me if I can help it. (Pause) Ye can't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear. That's what mv father said. And that's what I am — a sow's ear. Terry. (Rises. Crosses c, gently) I don't agree with you. Peg. (Wiping her eyes) I don't care whether ye do or not. I'm — a sow's ear, I am. Jerry, (c.) When the strangeness wears off you'll be ver}' happy here. Peg. What makes ye think that? Jerry. Because you'll know that you are pleas- ing your father. Peg. But I'm all alone 6o PEG O' MY HEART Jkrrv. You're among friends. Peg. (Shakes Jicr head) They're ashamed of me. Jerry, (c.) Ob, no. Peg. They are. They sent me to the kitchen when I first came here. And they put ]\Iichael to sleep in the stable. I want to tell you Michael's not used to sleeping in a stable. We never had any. That was a quick joke, wasn't it? Michael has al- ways slept with my father ever since he was a little bit of a puppy. {Crosses him to r. c.) Michael, I mean. I thought you might think I meant my father. Jerry. \\"hen they really get to know you they'll be just as proud of you as your father is — as I'd be. Peg. (To corner of piano, looks at hiui, then picks up music) You'd be? (Pause) Why should you be proud (Pause) of me? Jerry. Pd l^e more than proud if you'd look on me as a friend. Peg. But I don't know who ye arc at all. do I ? Jerry. (Sitting on table r.) Oh, I can give vou some very good references. For instance, I was up at the same college as your cousin Alaric. Peg. (Sits on piano-stool) Were ye? Well, I would mention that to very few people. Jerry. Don't you want me to be your friend ? Peg. I don't know. Pm like the widow's pig that was put in a rale bed to sleep in. The pig neither wanted it nor it didn't want it. It had done without it all its life, and it wasn't cryin' its heart out for the loss of somethin' it had never had and didn't miss. (Jerry laughs heartily) I want to tell you that's one thing that's in vour favor. Jerky. What is? Peg. The laughter's not dead in ye as it is in everybody else in this house. (Looking at him zvith more interest, puts dowji music. He laughs PEG O' MY HEART 6i three times. Peg laughs zvith him, then goes to him) Say, who are ye at all? Jerry. No one in particular. 'Peg. Well, I can see that. I mean, what do ye do? ,. ,• t Jerry. {On table r. c.) Everything a little and nothing really well. I was a soldier for a while, then I took a splash at doctoring ; read law ; civil-engineered in South America for a year — now I'm farming. Peg. (r. by table) Ye're a farmer? Jerry. Yes. Peg. (Laughs) Where's your whiskers? Jerry. I'm a new farmer. (Laughs) To sum up my career, I can do a whole lot of things fairly well, and none of them well enough to brag about. Peg. Like my father, that is. Terry. You flatter me. "Peg. I know I flatter you. There's not a man in the whole world like my father. Jerry. No. Of course not. Peg. No. Not one man in the wdiole world, there isn't. (Pause, she goes round to back of table c. Jerry gets r. of table) But he says he's a rolling stone, and they don't amount to much in a hard- hearted world that's all for making dollars. Jerry. Your father's right. Money is the standard to-day, and we're ail valued by it. Peg. Yes. And he's got none. (Pause) But he has got me. (Pause. Looks ruefully all round, then gets up resolutely) I'm goin' right back to him now. (Crosses to foot of stairs) Jerry. No, no. [Round back of table to riCzcel post) Peg. (On tJiird step) I must. Sure, it's easier to suft'er the want of food than the want of love. (Pause. Imitates her father, banging nezvel post. Jerry starts back) "And that's wliat the Irish 6j peg O' my heart are doing all over the world. They're driven from their own country. They're made wanders on the face of the earth, and'nothin' they ever earn":l make up to them for the separation from their homes and from their loved ones." (Jerry laughs) Do you know what that is? Jerry. (Shakes his head) I haven't the slightest idea. Peg. That's one of my father's speeches. Jerry. One of his speeches ? Peg. ?>Iy father makes grand speeches. Jerry. Does he? Peg. He makes them in the cause of Ireland. Jerry. (Smiles. Comes to nei^'el post) In the cause of Ireland? Peg. Yes. Tvly mother died when I was a little baby, and my father brought me back to Ireland. I lived there all my life till two months ago, when he had to go back to New York, and they sent for me to come here. I went all through Ireland with my father on his lecture tours. We had a cart. We traveled from place to place in the cart. He made his speeches from the tail of it, and we lived in the middle. My father practised all of his speeches on me first. Ji:rry. Oh, did he? Peg. I know fiftv of them bv heart. Jek'RY. Fifty? Peg. Yes. I'm going to recite them all to Mrs. Chichester. She'll be very pleased. Nice old lady, she is. Jerry. Very nice. Peg. Full of fun. (They both laugh ) I tell vou I'm not used to sour face's. My father's full' of jokes. I'm lost without my father. I get very lonesome without him. I'm going back to him, too. (She goes upstairs) Jerry. (Folloi<'iug lier and leaning orer halus- PEG O' MY HEART 63 trade) Wait! Think! Just give us one month's trial. One month. It's very little out of your life, and I promise you your father will not suffer by it, except in losing you for that one little month. (Pause) Will you? Please do. Just a month? Peg. (Coming dozen to bottom step) ^^'hy co you want mic to stay here? Jerry. Because — because your uncle was my friend. It was his last wish to do something for you. (Pause) Will you? Just a month? Peg. Not any more than a month. Jerry. Not unless you wish it. Peg. All right. I don't suppose Til mind a month. It's going to seem like a lifetime in this place. (Coming dozen l.) Jerry. I'm glad. (Dozen into l. c, level zvith her) Peg. Glad it's going to seem like a lifetime? Jerry. (Smiling) No. That you're going to stay. Peg. (Crossing r. to r. c.) That's a comfort anyway. Some one in the house'll be pleased at my stayin' — (Pause) Jerry. (Follozeing her) I am — immensely. Peg. Yes. I heard you say it. Jerry. (Nearer to her) And will you look on me as your friend? Peg. (Looks at him quickly, then moves azvay R.) I don't know who you are, do I ? Jerry. (Pollozuing) Is it so difficult? Peg. I don't know at all. I don't know whether it's difficult or not till I thry it. (Goes azvay r.) Jerry. (Follozving Peg) Try. Peg. I don't understand you. " Jerry. Yet I'm very simple. Peg. Devil doubt that. (Crosses to r. corner, sits in high chair, sees he is quite near her) \Miere 64 PEG O' MY HEART do you think you'll go now? (Jerry holds out his hand) What''s that ^f or? Jerry. To our friendship. Peg. I never met anybody like you in all my life before. (Looks at Jiis hand) Jerky. Shake hands on it. Peg. I don't think it's necessary. Jerry. Do. Peg. I don't shake hands with every Tom, Dick and Harry I meet. Jerry. Come. Peg. Queer fish, you are. {Gives her Junid) Jerry. (Holds if) Friends? Peg. Not yet. Not so fast. Jerry. Pll wager we will be. Peg. Don't put much on it. Ye might lose. Jerry. Pll stake my life on it. Peg. Ye don't value it much, then. Jerry. More than I did. (Peg looks at Jii::i) ?.Iay you be very happy here, Peg. (Door slaui.) Peg. (Crosses and runs upstairs. Jerry zvatchcs her in amazement) Don't tell anybody you saw me down in this room. (She turns to go, meets Ethel at top of stairs, turns eomes do2cnstairs, meets Mrs. Chichester and Alaric entering door l. She turns completely round, and finally sits at bottom of stairs) (^Irs. Chichester goes c. to Jerry, zcJw shakes hands icith Jicr.) Mrs. Chichester. So sorry wc were out. You'll stay to lunch? Jerry. It's what I came for. (Mrs. Chichester crosses to r. Jerry shakes hands with Ethel, zcho PEG O' MY HEART 65 also goes doivn r. to her mother, telling her that Peg is on the stairs) Alaric. (Crosses to l. c. Slouches over to Jerry, who meets him l. c.) What ho! Jerry! Jerry. (Slips his arm through Alaric's and takes him to zvindozvs, seeing Peg on stairs in pass- ing) I sav, Al, your cousin's adorable. Alaric.' What? Jerry. Simply adorable. (They talk by zvindoivs.) Alaric. Oh, I say, adorable ! (Ethel points out Peg to Mrs. Chichester, then sits on piano-stool.) Mrs. Chichester . Margaret ! Margaret ! (Mrs. Chichester looks round at nezvel post and Peg comes out and goes to Mrs. Chichester) Who gave you permission to come in here ? Peg. No one at all. J just walked in. Mrs. Chichester. Go to your room and stay there until I give you leave to come out. Peg. (Passionately) Sure, if this house is goin^ to be a prison Em going back to my father. (Lunch gong l.) Alaric. (Coming down r. c.) There we are' Lunch, everyone ! Jerry. (Corning dozvn l. c.) At last! Em starving ! Peg. So am L I haven't had a bite since six. Jerry. (Offering Peg his arm) Allow me. Mrs. Chichester. My niece is tired after her journey. She v/ill lunch in her room. Peg. Em not a bit tired, and Ed rather have lunch down here with ]\'Ir. Jerry. 66 PEG O' MY HEART Alaric. Oh, I say, — Mr. Jerry! Jerry. And so you shall have lunch with Mr. Jerry. Come along — let us lead the way. {Goes off ivith Peg on his arm, Peg looking hack impishly at the others and then smiling up at Jerry) Peg. I'm not so sure about that wager of yours. I think your life is safe. I want to tell ye ye saved my life. I'm so hungry my soul is hanging by a thread. Slow curtain IvIrs. Chichester. She must be taught, and at once. (ACT I plays sixty-tzvo minutes.) J PEG O' MY HEART 67 ACT II " THE REBELLION OF PEG ". Scene: A month afterwards, A July evening. At rise of curtain Peg is discovered lying on couch L. c. intently reading a large, hand- somely-bound volume. Jarvis noiselessly shows in Brent, who is in automobile garb — light overcoat on, cap in Jmnd — and exits. Brent puts coat and cap on window-scat, moves dozvn L. c. near couch, sees Peg, and looks down at her as he takes gloves off. He bangs glove on hand. Peg looks up, meeting Brent's admiring gaze. Brent. (Coines down r. of couch) It must be absorbing. (Peg shuts book and moves into sitting position. She is then seen to be charmingly gowned, her hair dressed a la mode) What's the book? (Peg puts her hands over the title and looks at him distrustfully. Brent zvalks round couch, sits be- side Peg, smiling appreciatingly at her. Peg jumps up and stands defiantly, her eyes flashing angrily) You mustn't be angry, child. (Points to book) What is it? Something forbidden? {Leering) Show me. (Holds out his hand. Peg smacks it. Peg crosses r. to r. corner of piano, puts book under piano cover, and faces Brent) Aha! A hiding place! Now you make me really curious. Let me look at it. (Goes to her. Peg stands at bay, ready to defend the identity of the book) I love spirit. Why, what a wonderful change in a month ! You'd most certainly not be sent to the kitchen nozu. (Pause. He sits on arm ef armchair r.) Do you 68 PEG O' MY HEART know vou'vc -rown into a most attractive young woman? (Peg ejaculates) Oh, you are really de- lightful when you're angry. And you are angry, aren't you ? And with me. Pm sorry I offended you. Let us kiss and be friends. (He takes her left hand, and as he bends near her she gives him a resounding box on the ears. Brent gives a muffled ejaculation and tries to take her in his arms. Enter Ethel l. Peg, panting i^nth anger, glares at him, then rushes straight out through arch k. u. e. Brext follozus her up to k. u. e., szvings round, sees Ethel, stops, then goes to her zvith outstretched hand, and comes down R. to front of table) Why, my dear Ethel ! Ethel. {Ignoring his hand, comes to c.) Why did she run away? Brent, (To c., smiling easily and confidently) Pd surprised one of her secrets and she flew into a temper. Did you see her strike me? Ethel. Secrets ? Brent. Yes. Here we are. (Goes to r. of piano, turns up piano cover, takes out book, opens it, reads) " The Love Stories of. the W'orld " — ** To Peg from Jerry ". Jerry ! Oho ! No wonder she didn't want me to see it. (Puts it back and covers it up) Jerry, eh? (Goes to Ethel) So that's how the land lies ! Romantic little chiKl ! (To Ethel) Now, Ethel, I Ethel. (Looking steadily at hii:i) Why don't you go after her? (Nodding in the direction in which Peg ran) Brent. Ethel ! Ethel. She's new and has all the virtue: Brent. I assure you Ethel. You needn't. \i there's one thing . i convinced of it's your assurance. (Crosses r.) Brent. Really, Ethel Ethel. (Going r., and silting in armc/iair) W^erc you "carried azcay" again? PEG O^ MY HEART 69 Brent. Do you think — ? Ethel. Yes. I do. Brent. (Hunting for an explanation) I — I don't know what to say. Ethel. Better say nothing. Brent, (c.) Surely you're not jealous — of a — child? Ethel. (Slozvly) No. I don't think it's jealousy. Brent. Then what is it? Ethel. (Looking scornfully at him) Disgusc. (Shnigs her shoulders contemptuously) Now I understand why the kitchen is sometinnes the rival of the drawing-room. The love of change. Brent. (Crosses l. c, and turns hack) This is not worthy of you. Ethel. That is what rankles. It isn't. You're not. Brent. (Coming back) Ethel Ethel. (Seated r. c.) If that ever happened again I shoukl have to — amputate you. (Pause. He turns up to window-scat for coat) Chris! (He turns) Come here! (Brent comes back to Jier. She smiles) My nerves have been tried this past month. Brent. Poor Ethel ! (Pause) Ethel. Put a mongrel into a kennel of thorough- breds and they'll either destroy the intruder or be in a condition of unsettled, irrita.ting intolerance. (Pause) That's exactly my coridition. (Pause) I'm unsettled, irritable, intolerant. Brent. (Crosses to Ethel) Then I came in time. Ethel. (Smiles as she looks straight through him) So did I. Didn't I ? Brent. Don't. Please don't. (Crosses l., turns away ) Ethel. Very well. I won't. (Pause. He turns 70 PEG O' MY HEART to her again) I'm sorry, Chris. (Pause. She looks up at him) A month ago it wouldn't have mattered. Just now — it did. I'd rather looked forward to see- ing you. It's been horrible here. Brent. It's been a month of misery for me too. P3ut I'm going away — out of it — to-morrow. Ethel. Are you? Where? Brent. (Taking stage to l. c.) Norway — oMoscow — Siberia. Ethel. Oh! The fo/c? places ! Going alone? Brent. (Crosses r., bending over Ethel) Yes. Unless someone goes with me. Ethel. Naturally. B r v. n t . I V ill }• ou go ? Ethel. (Rises) I wish Vd been here when you called — instead of that brat. Brent. (Turns a^cay to table) Good God Ethel. One doesn't mind an equal so much — but that Brent. (Crossing to l.) This is unbearable. Ethel. (Crosses to c.) Your wife all over again, eh? Brent. (Coming down l. of table to Ethel c.) No. I place you far above her — above all petty suspicion and carping narrowness. 1 value you as a woman of understanding. Ethel. (Meaningly) I am. From what you've told me about your wife, she is, too. Brent. (Turns aivay distraetedly) Don't treat me like this. Ethel. What shall I do^ (He looks at her) Apologize? That's odtl. I've been waiting for yours. (Crosses to f^iano) Brent. Oh! {Moz'es restlesslx ai^vy to up l. c.) (Alaric hurries in -from l.) Alaric. Hello! H'areye? (Shakes hands with Brent) Disturbing you? ' PEG O' MY HEART 71 Brent. Not at all — no. Alaric. The angel wife all right? Brent. Very well, thank you. Alaric. And the darling child ? Brent. Quite well, thank you. Alaric. Splendid! (Crossing to Ethel at back of table) Seen Margaret? Ethel. (Nods in direction of garden) Out there. Alaric. Mater wants her. Got to have a family meetin' about her. Mater'll be here in a minute. (To Brent) Just the family! (Hurries out through r. u. e.) Brent. (Hurries to Ethel at back of table) I'm at the hotel. I'll be there until morning. Send me a message. Will you? I'll wait up all night for one. Will you? Ethel. (At piano r.) Perhaps, Chris. Brent. Oh, I'm sorry if anything I've said or done has hurt you. Ethel. Don't say any more. Brent. Oh, if you only — (Ethel checks him as door l. opens and Mrs. Chichester enters. Maid comes downstairs at same moment, opening r. cur- tain ) Mrs. Chichester. How do you do? (At l. c, bowing to Brent. Tur7is to maid. Ethel sits r. c.) When did you see my niece last? (Brent to xcindozv-scot, gets cap and coat.) Maid. Not this hour, ma'am. Mrs. Chichester. Tell Jarvis to search the gardens. Maid. Yes, ma'am. (Starts towards arch r.) Mrs. Chichester. (Comes to l. of table c.) Tell Jarvis— (Maid stops)— to search the stables. Maid. Yes, ma'am. (Starts r. again) 72 PEG O' I^.IY HEART ^Iks. Chichester. Tell Jarvis — (^Iaid stops) — to look up and clown the road. ]\Iaid. Yes, ma'am. (Exit arch r. u. e. Bbext comes doivii l. of Mrs. Chichester) Mrs. Chichester. {Turning to Brent) For- give me, Mr. Brent. I'm sorry. Brent. Not at all. I'm just leaving. {Crosses L., bows to her, shakes hands) r^lRS. Chichester. Oh, you needn't Brent. {Going towards door l.) I'm going abroad to-morrow. I just called to say good-bye. ?^Irs. Chichester. I trust you and Mrs. Brent win have a very pleasant trip. Brent. Thank you. {Passes out l.) (Ai.ARic re-enters through r. u. e. Ethel sits armchair r.) Alaric. Not a sign of ^largaret anywhere. (Comes dozvn r., fanning Jiiniself with his hand- kerchief) Mrs. Chichester. This cannot go on. {Sits l. of table) Alaric. {Sits r. of table) I should think not, indeed. AIrs. Chichester. Mr. Hawkes writes that he will call to-morrow for his first report. {Seated L. of table) What am I to tell him? Alaric. (r. of table) What zi'ill you? (Jarvis and Maid enter r. u. e., and cross sloz^'Iy to l.) Mrs. Chichester. Am I to tell him that every tutor I've engaged for her has resigned? That no maid will stay with her? Am I to tell him that? Alaric. Serve her jolly-well right if vou did. Eh, Ethel ? Ethel. It would. ^ Maid. I've searched everywhere, ma'am. Not a sign of her. PEG O* MY HEART 73 Jarvis. Not in the stables nor up or down the road. And the dog's missing. Ethel. Pet ? Jarvis. No, not Pet, Miss. She's gnawing a bone on the lawn. The other — Michael. Mrs. Chichester. That will do. (Exeunt Jarvis and Maid l. i e.) Where is she? Alaric. Heavens knows. Mrs. Chichester. If only I could throw the whole business up ! Alaric. Wish to goodness we could. But the monthly cheque will be useful to-morrow, Mater. Let's give the little beggar another month of it. Let her off lightly this time, and the moment the lawyer- bird's gone read her the Riot x\ct. Pull her up with a jerk. Ride her on the curb, and no rot. (Suddenly through the open, "ci'lndoz^'s conies the sound of t-ii'o dogs barking furiously and snapping at each other.) (DOG FIGHT) Ethel. Pet ! (Jumps up and hurries out through arch R. u. E. Alaric and j\Irs. Chichester go to ivindozvs- c.) AIrs. Chichester. Margaret ! Alaric. (Up at windoiv c, lifting the curtain) And the mongrel ! She's urging him on. The terrier's got Pet now, (Calling) Fight him, old girl! Maul him! Whoa there! Pet's down. There's Ethel on the scene. I\Irs. Chichester. Go and separate them. Alaric. Not me. Pll talk to 'em. Stop it ! Stoo it now, when I tell you ! Ethel can handle 'em. I hate the little brutes — all hair and teeth. (Coming doivn R.) Can't understand women coddling those little masses of snarling, smelly wool. 74 PEG O' MY PIEART {The sound stops. Ethel enters, flnsJh\l ..... angry, soothing the ruffled Pet. She goes dozi'n to e'oueh. A little later Peg enters zi'ith tJic z'ietorious Michael in her arms. She has a roguish lock of triumph in her eyes. SJie, too, is flushed and excited, and follozvs Ethel to bench.) Mrs. Chichester. {Angrily) Take that animal out of the room. Peg, (Goes over to r.) Come on, Ethel. Let him finish it. ]\Irs. Chichester. Take that doq out of the room! (Peg turns and zvalks out into the garden. j\Ies. Chichester comes to front of table and lets her get some distance away) Margaret ! Margaret ! {Pause) Come here! Do you hear mc? Peg. {Outside. Without moving) Can ^lichael come in? ]\Irs. Chichester. You come in, and leave that brute outside. {Pause) At once! {Comes doz^ni into c.) Peg. {Leaves Michael outside arch r. u. e., and comes dozvn to ]\Irs. Chichester) I think it's the silliest thing, this class-distinction between dogs. Mrs. Chichester. Where have you been? (Alaric comes down to armchair r.) Peg. {Dotvn r.) Down to the seashore. Mrs. Chichester. And why? Peg. I wanted to give Michael a swim. The tide was high, but he wouldn't go in. Mrs. Chichester. You took Michael down to the seashore in that dress ? (Peg looks down at it.) Peg. No. He wasn't in this dress. PEG O' MY HEART 75 ?^,Irs. Chichester. Look at your hair, all over your eyes. What do you think zvill become of you? Peg.' I have hopes of Heaven, like all the Catholics. Mrs. Chichester. (Despairingly, to Alartc and Ethel) I give it up. (Crosses to couch and sits beside Ethel) Alartc. I should say so. Mrs. Chichester. Is it that you don't wish to imnrove? Is it that? Peg. I'll tell you what / think it is. I think — (Gets chair l. of table, brings if dozvn, and sits c.) -^there's a devil in me some place, and every now and again he pops out. Mrs. Chichester. A devil? Peg. (Demurely) Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chichester. How dare you use such a v/ord to me? Peg. I didn't. T used it to myself. I don't know whether there's a devil in you or not. I don't th'nk there is. Mrs. Chichester. To-morrow Mr. Hawkes will call for his first report on you. (Peg laughs sud- denh, then checks herself) And zvhy did vou do that? Peg. I just had a picture of what you're goin' to tell him. PvIrs. Chichester. Your manners are aborain- aiye. Peg. Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chichester. What am I to tell ]\Ir. Hawkes ? Peg. I'd tell him the truth and shame the — devil. I would. ]\Irs. Chichester. Oh ! Don't you wish to re- main here? Peg. Sometimes I do. Sometimes I don't. yd PEG O' MY HEART Mrs. Chichester. Don't I do everything pos- sible for you? Peg. Yes. You do everything possible \o me — ^Irs. Chichester. What? Peg. ror me. (Singiug) For me. ]Mrs. Chichester. Why do you constantly dis- obey me? Peg. 1 suppose it's the original sin in me. j\Irs. Chichester. What? Alaric. {Sitting on armchair r.) Oh, I say, you know ! Original sin ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! Peg. Ha 1 Ha ! Ha ! I never know whether he's laughing or coughing. {Catches 2^Irs. Chi- chester's eye, and stops) \Mienever I did any- thin' wilful or disturbin' at home my father always said to me " Now, Peg, that is the original sin in ye, and ye're not to be punished, because ye can't help it." And then he used to punish himself for what I did, and when I saw how it hurt him I wouldn't do it any more. Now, I think that was a grand way to raise a daughter, and I did have an idea that an aunt might be very successful if she tried to raise a niece that way. (Mrs. Chichester looks at her) Ye see, if you were to punish yourself for what I do — (Mrs. Chichester stares at her) — I might be sorry. But, then, of course 1 might not, and that would be very hard on you. Ye see, I can't tell about myself. Mrs. Chichester. Your father must have been a very bad influence on you. Peg. {Hotly) My father's the best man in all the world. Mrs. Chichester. Margaret! Peg. {Sitllenly, looking dozen) There was never a man on earth as good as my father. H more girls had fathers born to them as good as my father there'd be less trouble in this world. PEG O' MY HEART y-] Mrs. Chichester. Haven't I told you never to contradict me? Peg. Well, you contradict me all the time. It's not fair if it doesn't vv^ork both w^ays. Mrs. Chichester. Margaret ! Peg. I want to tell you I'd have a much sweeter disposition if you wouldn't talk against my father. Mrs. Chichester. Really, Margaret! Peg. I don't mind scolding — that has no effect on me whatever. Mrs. Chichester. Margaret! Peg. I'm surprised at you, I am. You know I'm mad about my father, and you should respect my feelings about him. I respect your feelings about Alaric, don't I? (Alaric rises and goes round baek to l.) Mrs. Chichester. Stop! Peg. I'd like to know who would have fed and clothed me ail these years Mrs. Cpiichester. Stop ! Peg. It makes me furious when you talk against my father. j\Irs. Chichester. Stop ! (Peg opens her mouth to begin again) Stop! Peg. All right. I've stopped. (Rises, puts ehair baek, and goes round to r. of table c.) I'll wipe out the whole of the Chichester family the next time you talk against my father, and that's mv last word. Mrs. Chichester. (To Ethel) Oh, it's hope- less. (Rises to c.) If I consent to take charge of you for another period will you promise me" you will do your best to show some advancement during the next month? Peg. (c, level zuith her) Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chichester, (c.) And if I get fresh tutors for you will you try to keep them? jS PEG O' MY HEART Pkg. Yes. I will. Mrs. Chichester. {To Alaric, idio has gone round hack during foregoing, and is nou seated on bench by Ethel) What do you think? Alaric. We might risk it, eh, Ethel? Ethel. Don't ask me. Mrs. Chichester. Very well. Begin now. Get your books. (Jarvis enters.) Peg. Yes, Aunt. (Hurriedly gets three books from piano and comes back to table c.) Mrs. Chichester. (To Jarvis) Well? Jarvis. A letter for Miss Chichester. {Hands it to Ethel) By hand, Miss. No answer. (Ethel fakes it unconcernedly, opens it and reads. Jarvis toivards door l. Peg slams book) Mrs. Chichester. (Starts) Oh! Peg. I beg yer pardon. It shllpped out of mv fist. Mrs. Chichester. Fist! Peg. (Calls) Jarvis! Michael's outside. He's had a fight. Pll be very much obliged if you'll put him to bed for me, please. Jarvis. Yes, Miss. (Exit through r. u. e.) Peg. That's a nice boy, Jarvis. Alaric. Boy, Ethel! Mrs. Chichester, (l. of table c.) Who's that from, Ethel? Ethel. (Rising) Mr. Brent. (Peg listens.) Alaric. What on earth docs Jie want? Ethel. Jle wants me to do something for him. Alakic. Do something? PEG O' MY HEART 79 Ethel. Yes. I'll answer it here. (Crosses over to 7vr:tiiin-desk, sits, and 'Zi'rites) I\Irs. CHiciiESTEn. (To Peg) Margaret! Now, stivdy for a little while. And do try to keep your hair out of vour eves. (Biisir.ess zvith curls) '^::c. Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chichester. Come, Alaric. (Alaric rises and crosses to l. of table. Mrs. Chichester goes out L.) Alaric. [To Peg) Original sin, eh? That's a good one ! Peg. I knew you would be the one to think it was good. Alaric. Study all the pretty maps. (Leans over her) What's the population of Turkey? Peg. There's going to be one less in England one day. (Picks up hook, grimaces, and looks threateningly at him) Alaric^ (Starts back) Little devil ! Peg. He's tuggin' at me now. The little dev!l hates knowledge. He always tries to stop me gettin' any of it. Alaric. (Laughs) Ha! Ha! (Glances across at Ethel) Study your cousin. Model yoursel* on Ethel. Imitate her, eh, what? (Hurries to door. Peg runs after him with hook. Exit l. as she almost throzus book at him. As Peg turns bar'- from door he pops his head hack into room, and laughs) Little devil! TPeg goes for him again, hut lie shuts door again in time, and escapes) (Peg goes to fable and sits watching Ethel, ivli ^ finishes her note, takes cigarette, and lights match. Imitating Ethel, Peg puts dozvn he:- book, takes cigarette and lights match. Ethel sees Peg imitating her, gives impatient ejacula- tion, throws unlighted cigarette on asJi-tray, and 8o PEG O' MY HEART blozvs out match. Peg, still iuiitatiuj her, d.jcs saiiic.) Ethel. (Rising) Why do you v/atch me? Peg. (Rising) Aren't you my model? (His- chievoiislv. To front of table. Ethel turns czcay anr/rily and starts upstairs. Peg goes to he?') Ethel! I was only fooling. I was trying to have some fun. I was only trying to make you laugh. I want to talk to you. Ethel. (Going up tz^'o stairs) You were told to study. Peg. (Comes to nezcel-post. Pause) Ye know we are both girls in the same house, of the same family, pretty much of the same age, and you've never said a kind word to me since I've been here. Ye like your dog better than me, don't ye? (Ethel fondles Pet) Vm sorry Michael hurt 'him. It was my fault. I set him on to do it. Ethel. (Coming dozvn to foot of stairs, turns to her) You? Peg. (At post hack of table, nods) I thought it was a rabbit at a distance. If a dog has got to be a dog it should be made to look like a dog. Ye'd know that Michael was a dog. (Ethel turns up- stairs again) Ethel! I don't want to talk about dogs. Won't ye make friends with me? I want to ask ye something. Ethel. (Goes up to yd stair) We have noth- ing in common. Peg. That doesn't prevent us being decent to each other. Ethel. (Pause) Decent? Peg. I'll meet ye threequarters of the way if ye'Il only show one generous feeling toward me. (Pause) Ye would if ye knew what was in my mind. PEG O' MY HEART 8i Etttel. (Goes to foot of stairs) You're a Gtrnnre creature. ]'eg. (Crossing to R. c.) You've got us mixed up. I'm not the stranc:e one. Fin just what I am. T don't want to he anythin' else. But you, all of y.\ nrc tryin';- to be somethin' different from what ye are. Ethel, (l. of table) What do you mean? Peg. (By onuchair r. of tabic) I watch ye and listen to ye. Ye turn yer face to the world as much as to say " Aren't I the easy-j;oin', sweet-tempered, calm young lady ? " And ye're not quite that, are ye? Ettiel. What am I? (Sits l. of table) Peg. (Sits r. of table) Of course, ye've got the breedin' and the beautiful manners, but up in yer head and down in yer heart you worry your soul all the time. And ye have a temper. And it's a beautiful temper. It's a shame for ye not to let it out in the daylight so that everyone can see it. But ye can't, can ye? Because it's not good form. And with all yer fine advantages ye're not very happy, are ye? (Ethel turns her head azvay and dozvn) Are ye, dear? Ethel. (Slozvly) No. I'm not. Peg. Nayther am I in this house. (Pause) Couldn't we thry to comfort each other? (Crosses to Ethel at table) Ethel. Comfort? You? Peg. Sure, a kindly impulse gives ye a warm feelin' around the heart, so they say. And ye'd have it if yc'd only be a little kind to me. Ethel. (Rises, moved in spite of herself) I'm afraid I have been a little inconsiderate. Peg. Ye have. Ethel. What would you like me to do? Peg. I'd like ye to spake to me as if I were a human bein', and not a c'od of earth. 82 PEG O' .AIY HEART Ethel. Very well, Margaret, I will. Peg. (c.) Thank ye very much. {Etiill utoz'cs to go. Peg moves up, too) Ethel! I'd like very much io ask ye something else. Ethel. (Tuniinn back) What is it? {Comes bo^k to L. of table) Peg. (Close to Ethel) Do ye know anything about love? Ethel. (Asto;iished) Love? Peg. Plave ye ever been in love? Ethel. {Puts letter slozvly behi)iJ her back) No. Peg. HaA'e ye ever thought about it? Ethel. Yes. Peg. {Turns to Ethel. Eagerly) What do ye think about it? Ethel. Rot! {Comes dozvii to front of bend:, looks at letter) Peg. {Following her dozen) Rot, is it? Ethel. {Sits on bench) Sentimental nonsense that exists only in novels. Peg. {Excitedly) Ye're wrong. It's the most wonderful thing in the world. To love a good man who loves you. A man who made ye hot-and-cold, burnin' like fire one minute, and freezin' like ice the next. \Vho made yer heart leap with happiness when he came near ye, and ache with sorrow when he went away from ye. Haven't ye ever felt that? Ethel. Never. Peg. Oh ! It's mighty disturbin', so it is. {Sits beside Ethel) One day ye walk on air, and the next yer feet are like lead. One day the world's all beautiful flowers and sweet music and sunshine, and the next day it's all cofilns and corpses. {Shak- ing her head) It's mighty disturbin', so it is Ethel. IIow do you know all this? Peg. (Hurriedly) 1 read about it in a great, big book. PEG O' MY HEART 83 Ethel. When you're a little older you'll think differently. You'll realize it's all very primitive. Peg. Primitive? Ethel. Of the earth, earthy. Peg. (Suddenly) Don't you hke men? Ethel. Not much. Peg. (r. cud of couch) Just dogs? Ethel, (l. end of couch) You can trust them. {Caresses Pet) Peg. I like dogs, too. But I like children very much better. (Suddenly) Wouldn't ye like to have a child of yer-own? Ethel. (Horrified) Really, Margaret! Peg. Well, I would. And that's the woman in us. Ye only fondle that thing — {Pointing to Pet) — because ye haven't got a chick to call yer own. All the selfish women have dogs. They're afraid to have children. I like dogs, too. They're all very well in their way, but sure they can't laugh to ye, and cry to ye, and com.fort ye, like a babv can. (Points to Pet) Ye know, that thing could never be President of the United States. But if ye had a child he might grow up to be President. Ethel. That's very Irish. Peg. It's very human, too. I wish you were a little more Irish. I think we'd get along better, I do. Ethel. (Rises and crosses c.) It is not cus- tomary for girls to talk about such things. Peg. I know it isn't, and I can't understand why we shouldn't discuss events of national importance. I know it's not customary. We think about them — why can't we talk about them? If there was more honesty in the world there would be less sin. Ethel. Please, Margaret. (Turning) Peg. (Rises and crosses to Ethel c.) Now, let 2is be honest with each other. 84 PEG O^ xMY HEART Ethel. What do you mean? Peg. You like ^.Ir. Brent, don't ye? Ethel. (Instinctively [^uts letter behind her bock) Certainly, I do. He's a very old friend of the family. Peg. He has a wife? Ethel. He has. Peg. He has a baby? Ethel. Well ! Peg. Of course, Pve never seen them. Pie never brings them along with him when he calls on you, but ye'd know he had 'em if ye ever heard Alaric ask after 'em. Ethel. What of that? Peg. Is it customary for English husbands wi'Lii babies to kiss other women — (Ethel tiiriis on Iter) \\'eil, let us say, to kiss other women's hands? Ethel. {Pause. Checks her anger) It is a very old and very respected custom. Peg. Devil doubt it but it's old. P'm not so sure about the respect. Why doesn't he kiss my aunt when he comes to this house ? Ethel. Oh! You don't understand. {Crosses to foot of stairs) 1*EG. I know I don't, but Pm trying to. Ethel. {At foot of stairs) 1 suppose it is too much to expect that a child of the common people should understand the customs of decent people. Peg. Why should the common people have all the decency and why should the aristocracy have none of the decency. (Ethel goes to stairs and up tzvo steps. Peg, at foot of stairs, looks at her) Don't get mad. I didn't mean it. Pve heard my father say that in one of his speeches, and it cr.:;:e to my tongue first thing. Ethel. {Up yd stair, indignantly) Oh! Be good enough never to speak to me again as long as you're in this house. {Enter Jakvis) H I had my PEG O' MY HEART 85 way you'd leave it this moment. As it is — as it is — (Looks at letter. Peg to front of table. Jarvis l., shozvs in Jerry, zvho is in evening-dress, light sum- mer overcoat, and Hombiirg hat. Ethel shakes hands zvith Jerry) How do you do? Excuse me just a moment. Wait, Jarvis. (Goes to zvriting- desk, tears envelope opens, adds a postscript, ad- dresses another envelope, and seals it. The moment Jerry enters Peg's face lights up. She gives him her hand) Jerry. Well, and how^ is Miss Peg? Peg. Oh! Fm fine, Mr. Jerry. How are you? Let me take yer hat and coat. Jerry. No, thank you. Pni not going to stay. Peg. (c, disappointedly) Ye're not? Jerry, (c.) is your aunt in? Peg. Yes. Are you calling on her? Jerry. Yes. Ethel. (Rises, hands letter to Jarvis) Send that, please. {Exit Jarvis.) Jerry, (c, bringing Ethel into the scene) Fve come to ask your mother if she would let you both come to a dance to-night across at the Assembly Rooms. Ethel. Pm sorry. I can't go. I have a head- ache. (Turns and crosses l. to door) Jerry, (l. c.) What a pity! Do you suppose your mother would aliow Miss Margaret to go? Ethel. (Stops and turns) I'll ask her. {Goes to door L.) Peg. {Impulsively runs to her. In undertone) I didn't mean to hurt ye — (Ethel goes out l. Peg comes back ruefully and sits on couch, after zcliich Jerry puts hat and coat on chair l. of table) Jerry, (c.) What's the matter? 86 PEG O' :^IY HEART Peg. (Sits back of couch) I tell you, one of us girls has been brought up all wrong. I tried to make friends with her, but only made her hopping-niad. as I make everybody else in this house. The minute I open my mouth away they go. Jerry. Arn't you friends ? Peg. No. We're not. None of them are with me. Jerry. What a shame ! Peg. Wait until yc hear mc aunt when ye ask her about the dance. Jerry. Don't you think she will let you go? Peg. No. I know she won't let me go. I know that. The question is — are we going? {Deter- minedly, rises and goes to him) I want to go to that dance, Jerrv. Jerry. Why^ Peg Peg. (l.) I do want to go to that dance. Pm crazy mad to go to that dance. (Jerry shakes his head.) Jerry. W^'ll ask your aunt. Peg. I know we will. We'll ask her to-morrow. Jerry. No. We'll ask her to-night. Peg. Don't let's take any chances. I do want to go to that dance, Jerry. Jerry. No, Peg, no. Peg. Well, if you think Pm .<:oing to let a dance get by me you're very much mistaken. When the lights are all out and they're all asleep Pll creep down the stairs and meet you at the foot of the path. And if it goes against your tender conscience to take me — I'll take you — and that's how we'll settle th:it. Jerry, (c. Laughing) Rut there may not be any occasion to do any such wild, foolish thing. Your aunt may be delighted. Peg. ATy rumt doesn't know how to spell that. PEG O' MY HEART 87 Jerry. (Sits on tabic c, looking at books) Are these your books ? How are your studies progress- ing ? , Peg. The way they ahvays have. They re stand- ing still. I can't see the sense of learnin' the heiq^hts of^^a lot of mountains I'm never goin' to climb. And I want to tell you, I'm surprised at my aunt allowing me to read about the doings of those dead kings. I thinlv Charles II was a devil. Jerry. They made history. Peg. Did they? Well, they ought to have been ashamed of themselves. I don't care how high Mont Blanc is, and I don't care when William the Conqueror landed in England. Jerry. Oh, nonsense Peg. And I tell ye, I hate yer English history — it makes all m.y Irish blood boil, so it does. " What is England? Do you know what it is ? It's a bitof a counthry that's tramplin' down a fine race like ours." That's what my father says, and that's how my father says it, with his fist, and nobody ever co.i- tradicts him either. (Jerry laughs.) Jerry. Is it fair to your aunt? Peg. (Sullenly) I don't know. Jerry. Is it fair to yourself ? Peg. That sounds like my aunt, that does. Jerry. You'll be at such a disadvantage by-and- by with other girls with half your intelligence just because they know the things you refuse to learn. Then you'll be ashamed. Peg. Are you ashamed of me? Jerry. Not a bit. Peg. You're not ashamed of me, are ye? Jerry. Of course not. 88 PEG O' ]\IY HEART Peg. Then everything's all rii::lit then. What's the matter? (CrOCS to piano and sits on stool) Tekrv. I was just the same at your age. (Crosses to armchair r.) I used to scamp at school and shirk at colleije until I found myself so far behind fellows I des;")ise(l that I was ashamed. Then I went after them tooth and nail until I caught them up and passed them. {Kneels on chair r. c.) Peg. (Eagerly) Did ye now? Jerry. I did. Peg. I am going to do that, too. Jerry. \\'ill you? Peg. (Nods vigorously) From now on Pm going to learn everything they teach me, if it kills me Jerry. I wish you would. Vr.c. And after I know more than anybody else in all the world ever knew are you going to be very proud of me? (Wistfully) Jerry. (Kneeling on armchair r.) Very. Even more than I am now. Peg. Are ye proud of me now? Jerry. Yes, Peg, proud to think you're my friend. Peg. Faith, that's not news. I know very well that we're friends. Jerry. I am yours. Peg. Sure, I guess Pm you yours all right. (Looks at him, laughs sJiyly, presses her cheeks) Did ye ever hear what Tom Moore wrote about friendship? Jerry. No. Peg. (Excitedly) Would ye like to hear what Tom Moore wrote about friendship? Jerry. Yes. Peg. See if anybody's comin'. (Jerry crosses to stairs and listens. Peg starts playing) PEG O' ^lY HEART 89 Jerry. {Crosses to armchair r. c.) Oho! So you play? Peg. {Nods, laughing) A little bit.^ My father taught me. But my aunt can't bear it. Do you know what the teacher here told me"^ She said I should do this — {Plays scale) — for two years. I should do that before I played a tune. I told her I played by ear. She said I had no ear. Jerry. {Looking at her ears) I think they're very pretty. Peg. Do ye? Jerry. I do. Peg. Well, you watch them, and then you won't mind my singin'. Come on over in Jarvis' high- chair. (Jerry crosses to chair below piano. Peg smiles up at him) About a girl, this is, who built a shrine. And she thought the best Ihing in the world to put in it was an image of " Friendship " . Jerry. Yes. Peg. Yes. You see she was like you. She thought there was nothing in the world as nice as friendship. Jerry. Yes. Peg. Yes. And this is what happened to her. {Laughs a little elfish laugh, and then croons softly) " She flew to a sculptor, who set down before her A " Friendship," the fairest his art could invent. But so cold and so dull that this Youthful adorer Saw plainly that was not the Friendship she meant. {Sings.) Oh, never,' she cried, " could I think of enshrin- ing An image whose looks are so joyless and dim, But yon little Cupid— {Points to Cupid) midst roses reclining. 90 PEG O' MY HEART We'll make, if vou please, sir, a Friendship of him." A Friendship of Cupid. (Jerry looks at the statuette. Peg nods, smiling, and excitedly sings) " * Farewell,' said the sculptor, 'Sure, you're not the first maiden \Mio came but for Friendship and took away — (Pause) T..ove. {Her voice dies aivay to a zvhisper) Terry. {Amazed) Where in the world did you learn that? Peg. ]\Iy father taught me that. Tom Moore's my father's prayer-book. Jerry. {Rises and crosses c.) " Who came but for Friendship and took away Love." Peg. {On piano-stool) Isn't that beautiful? Jerry. Is there anything better than friendship between man and woman? Peg. Of course there is. {Crosses r. c, nods, goes to him) My father felt it toward my mother or I wouldn't be here now. Jerry. Could you ever feel it. Peg? (Peg nods.) Peg. I wish I'd studied — I'd be moie worthy of — [Crosses l. c, suddenly breaking off. Jerry, c, turns to her. Peg covering up zcJnit is in her mind and on her tongue) I'm just an Irish nothing. Jerry. Don't say that. Peg. Yet I'm sure there is something good in me, but the bad little something always beats the good little something out, so it does. Jerry. What you call the bad in you is just the cry of youth that resents being curbed, and the PEG O' MY HEART 91 good in vou is the woman struggling for an outlet. Peg. Will you help me to give it an outlet, Mr. Jerry ? Jerry. Yes. In every way in my power. Peg. {RoguisJily) Well, would ye mind very much if the bad little something had just one more spurt before I killed it alto^-ether. Jerry. What do you mean? Peg. I want to go to the dance. It's the last bad thing I'll ask you to let me do. I'll behave like a Saint from Heaven after that. I'll die happy if I can waltz once around the floor with you. (P lead- ing. Dances up to him, and zvalt::es round him, to R. Enter L. Mrs. Chichester, who looks at Peg in Jwrrified amazcuient) Mrs. Chichester. Oh! What does this mean? (l. c.) Jerry. {Crossing to Mrs. Chichester) I want you to do something that will make the child very happy. Will you allow her to go to a dance at the Assembly Rooms to-night? Mrs. Chichester. Certainly not. I'm surprised at your asking such a thing. Peg. {Sits armchair r. c.) I could have toid you that backwards. Jerry. {Straightening up) I asked Ethel as well, but she can't go, as she's got a headache. I thought you might be pleased at giving your niece a little pleasure. Mrs. Chichester. Go to a dance? Un- chaperoned ? Jerry. My mother and sisters will be there. Mrs. Chichester. {Crossing him to c.) A child of her age ! Peg. '"{Vehemently) A child of my age! :\Iv father lets me go any place I want to ever since I was six. Ye can't raise the Irish on a lot of books. 92 PEG O' MY HEART It's never been done. They'll die on yer hands, they will. I'm crazy mad to go to thiit dance. Mrs. Ciiiciiesteu. No, Margaret. Peg. rU study my head olt in the morning if ye'U let nvi dance' my feet ofi a little bit to-night. Mrs. Chichester. No. Peg. ( Pleadingly) 1 ask ye on my bended knees, — Please let me go to the dance. Mrs. Chichester. No, Margaret. No. Peg. All right. I give ye fair warning, Pm going to the dance. Mrs. Chichester. {To Jerry) It was very good of you to trouble to come over. Forgive me if I seem ungracious, but it's quite out of the ques- tion. (Peg z^'inhs of Jerry behind aIrs. Chichester's back, and rises.) Jerry. (Gets hat and coat from chair l. of table) I'm sorry. (Shakes hands with Mrs. Chi- chester) ?Jrs. Chichester, (c.) Kindly remember me to your mother and sisters. Jerry. With pleasure. Good-night! {Goes to door l.) Peg. Good-night, Mr. Jerry. {Pantoniiines Jerry that she ivill be doivn to meet him and go to the dance after they're all in bed. Mrs. Chichester looking round and seeing her making signs, I'eg pretends to be catching a fly. Exit Jerry) Mrs. Chichester, (l.)' What do you mean bv twirling around in that disgraceful way? Are y(ui ever going to learn how to behave? Peg. (c.) Yes, aunt. I'm never going to annoy you after to-night. I'm going to work very hard. too, — after to-night. Don't ye sec what a' disad- vantage Pd be at with other girls of half my age and PEG O' MY HEART 93 half my intelligence. I'm going after them tooth and nail, and I'll catch them up and pass them, and then he'll be proud of me, he will. Mrs. Chichester. What? Peg. Ye'll be proud of me, I said, ye will. Mrs. Chichester. What is all this ? Peg. It's what I'm going to do — after to-night. Mrs. Chichester. Well, I'm very glad to hear it. Peg. I knew ye would be. And I'll never be any trouble to ye — after to-night. Mrs. Chichester. I hope you will be of the same opinion in the morning. Peg. I hope so, too. D'ye mind very much if I sit up for an hour Mrs. Chichester. What? Peg. Study, I mean. (Mrs. Chichester crosses to piano.) Mrs. Chichester. Study just one hour. That will be very nice. (Peg goes to back of table ^ sits, and opens afhis.) Peg. Are you going to bed now ? Mrs. Chichester. Yes. Peg. Everybody in the house going to bed novr ? Mrs. Chichester. Yes. Everybody. {Shuts piano, goes 2ip and closes zcindo'ccs, turns off hiOJl lamp) Peg. That's good. (Sinc/s song) *' Man, dear, I remember when coming home the rain began. I wrapped my frieze coat round her, and devil a waistcoat had I on. My shirt was rather fine-drawn, but, oh, the false and cruel one. For all o' that she's gone and left me here for to die." j. PEG O' MY HEART Mrs. Ciiiciiestek. Where on earth did you hear a song Hke that ? Peg. That's a fine song, that is. That's my father's hest song. An Irish song, that is. AIrs. Chichester. I should think it was. (Closes curiuins) Peg. It has twenty-two verses. ?dRS. Chichester. {Comes doivn l. of Peg) Has it, indeed? Peg. Yes. I know them all, too. {Sings again) Man, dear, and did ye never hear of pretty AlcUy Brannigan ? Faith, and she has left me, and I'll never he a man again. ■Irs. Chichester. Now, now ! Don't make any noise. Peg. That's not a noise. That's my best sing- ing. That's very discouraging to a young singer. Mrs. Chichester. Good-night, Margaret. And, oh, if only you would keep your hair out of your eyes. Peg. Well, why don't you let me wear one of your fishnets? (Mrs. Chichester goes upstairs saying " Fishnets!" Peg calling) Oh, Aunt! Mrs. Chichester. Yes? Peg. Do you remember 1 said I had to be getting back home? Well, I've changed my mind. I'd like to stay here anotjier month, please. Mrs. Chichester. {Top of stairs) W'oil. we'll talk it over with Mr. Hawkes in the morning. {JTarnijig.) Peg. Yes, Aunt. Mrs. Chichester. Good-night, .Margaret. Peg. God bless you. {Exit Mrs. Chichester. Business. Sings) PEG O' MY HEART 95 " The left side of my carcass is as weak as water- gruel, man. There's not a pick upon my bones since Molly's proved so cruel, man. And if I had a bkmdcr-frun I'd go and fight a duel man. 'Tis better I should shoot myself than live here to die." (Or) ** The place where my heart was you could easy roll a turnip in. Tis as wide as old Dublin, and from Dublin to the Devil's Glyn. If she wished to take another, sure, she might have left mine back again, And not have gone and left me here alone for to die." (Ethel enters, goes upstairs, and exits zvithout a li'ord as Peg sings.) " I'm cool and determined as any Alexander man [ Will ye come to my wake when I go the long ! , meander, man ? " 'Hello, Ethel! (il//??r/r.y Ethel) " How do ye do. Margaret ? " " Im' studying for an hour." {Turning leaves of atlas) " I'm trving to find England." (Pause) " Good night, Ethel." " Good night, Mar- garet, dear." " Sleep tight, Ethel." " Oh, that's all right, Margaret." " Don't mention it, Ethel." {Miniies Alaric) "What's the population of Turkey? Ye little devil! Study all the pretty maps. Model yourself on Ethel. Sit down like Ethel." {Noise with mouth. Goes up c. and^ pulls curtains open. Clock strikes nine) I wonder if he's coming back. {Comes down and sits chair R. of 96 PEG O' :\IY HEART tabic. IJ'nnics ]\Iks. Chichester and Jerry) " Go to a dance imchaperoned? Oh, no. Not nnchap- eroncd." ** Mv mother and sisters will be there. Eh, what? What, what?" "Go to a dance? A child of her age? Margaret, I'm surprised. No, sir. No dance. Not until she's — eighty." Curfai}! falls for about ten seconds (As soon as curtain is doz^ni start music under stage) Curtain (Curtain rises Dance music " Valse Mauve" heard faintly in the distance. Jerry enters througJi opening r. u. e., goes to slairs, liste}is. tlien goes back to r. u. e.) Jerry It's all right. (Peg enters, goes to stairs, listens, then comes to Jerry, who has gone to piano and put doivn his hat) Peg. Oh, I'm so happy ! So happy ! The whole world's goin' round in or.c grand waltz, and it's all been through you, Mr. Jerry. (Dances to the dis- tant music) Jerry. (Up r. c.) I'm glad it's been through me. Peg. Peg, I don't see why it can't all be like this. \\' by can't we laugh and dance our way through it all? Jerry I wish I could make the world one great ballroom for you. Peg. And no creepin' back like a thief in the night ! Jerry. No — your own mistress, free to do what- ever you wish. Peg. (Suddenly, tc/V/z a little elfish laugh) Yet, you know, half the fun to-night has been that while I'm supposed to be sleepin' upstairs I've been at PEG O' MY HEART 97 the dance stealin' time. Do ye know " the best of all ways to ieni2:then vour days?" Terry. No." Peg. " It's to steal a few hours from the night, my dear." Jerry. (By piano) Well, you'ye stolen them. ^Y,G. Pm a thief, I am. Terry. No. You're the sweetest, dearest — (Bends over her, checks himself, goes to piano for hat) I think 3^ou'd better go to bed now. Peg. I know that. But what were ye goin' to say to me? Jerry. Something it would be better to say in daylight. Peg. But why in the daylight, with the beautiful bright moon so high in the heavens? Jerry. Go now. Someone may hear us. Peg. I'll not sleep a whik thinkin' of all the wonderful things that have happened this night. Must I go? Jerry. You must. Peg. With the music coming in across the lawn? Jerry. Someone might come. Peg. And the moon so high in the heavens ? Jerry. I don't want to cause you any trouble. Peg. That's a grand moon, so it is. Jerry. Go, Peg, go. Peg. (Crosses over to l. by post) All right. T suppose you do know best, but that's a magnificent moon. Good-night, Mr. Jerry. (Stop music) Jerry. Good-night, Peg. (Kisses her hand. She gives a little sigh and looks at her hand. Foot- steps are heard in the garden. At opening r.) Take care! Someone is coming. (Goes out. Feg sits on stairs, hiding behind newel post. Brent appears outside opening r.) Hello, Brent ! qS PEG O' MY HEART Brent. Why, what in the world- Jerry. Ssh! The house is asleep. Rrext. So I see. Jerry. Just coining from the dance? I didn't sec you there. Brent. No. I was restless, and just strolled here. Jerry. (Takes Bre^t'^^ arr.i) Shall we go along to the road together? Brent. Right Jerry. Strolled here ? \M"iy. you've got your car. Brent. Car? Yes. It's a hright night for a spin. (They disappear) (Peg remains in the same position til! they are out of hearinq, then she creeps up the stairs. At the top she starts back, and Ethel appears, fillip dressed, carrying a small dressing-bag. Ethel zvaits to come dozjn till Peg is nearly at the top of the stairs. Peg. Ethel! Ethel. (At head of stairs. In guarded to)!es) Go down into the room. (Peg goes dozoistairs to c, Ethel follozving her to l. front of table) Peg. (r. front of table) Ye won't tell your mother, will ye? She'd send me away, and I don't want to go away now. Eve been to the dance. Ethel. To the dance? Peg. Yes. Mr. Jerry took me. Ethel. Jerry? Peg. Yes. Ye won't tell your mother, will ye? (Backing to c.) Ethel. (FoUozving) I most certainly shall see that mv mother knows it. Peg.' You will ? Ethel. I will, ^'ou had no right to go. Peg. Why arc you so hard on mc, Ethel? PEG O' MY HEART 99 Ethel. (Crossing r. and up R.) Because I de- test you. .^ ,, . Peg. Pm sorry. Ye'vc spoilt all my pleasure now so you have.' (Starts to stairs and goes slozvly lip. 'stops, think, looks at Ethel) Wait a minute ! What are you doin' yourself with your hat and coat on at this time of night? (Coming back l. c.) Ethel, (r., turning to Peg) Go to your room! Peg. (l. c.) Were you goin' away? Ethel, (c.) Keep your voice down. Peg. He was here a minute ago— Jerry took him away. Ethel. Who was here? Peg. Mr. Brent was here. (Ethel starts. Peg grips her zurist) Were ye goin' away with hnn? Were ye? Ethel. Take your hands off me. Peg. Were ye? Answer me. Ethel. Yes. And I am. Peg. (Turns Ethel round to l. c.) No, yc're not. Ethel. Let me go. Peg. Ye're not going out of this house to-night if I have to v/ake everyone in it. Ethel, (c, front of table) Wake them ! They can't stop me. Nothing can stop me now. I'm sick of this living on charity, sick of meeting you every day — an implied insult in your every tone and lock, as much as to say, " Pm giving you your daily bread, Pm keeping the roof over you." Pm sick of it, and I end it to-night. Let me go, or Pit — PU — (Starts) Peg. What d'ye mean, Pm keepin' the roof over ye, Pm givin' ye yer daily bread? What arc ye ravin' about? Ethel. Pm at the end to-night. Pm going — (Struggles with Peg) Peg. And what d'ye suppose ye'd be agoin' to? A wakin' and sleepin' hell, sure ! 100 PEG O MY HEART Ethel, rm going. Peg. Ye'd take him from his wife r.r.cl her baby? Ethel. He hates them, and I hate this. And Pm going Peg. So ye'd break yer mother's heart and his V" wife's just to satisfy yer own selfish pleasures? Well, Pm glad I sinned to-night in doin' what I wanted to do, since it's given me the chance to save you from doin' the most shameful thing a woman ever did. Ethel. (Turiis) Will you ? Peg. Ye'll stay here if I have to wake up the whole world. Ethel, (c, frightencdh:) No, no, you mustn't do that! Peg. Ye just told me yer own mother couldn't stop ye. Ethel. She mustn't know ! She mustn't know 1 (Sobs) Let me go. He's waiting. {Moves for- zi'ard) Peg. You let him v^ait. He gave his name and his life to a woman, and it's your duty to protect her and the child she brought him. Ethel, (c.) Pd kill myself first. Peg. (k. c.) Not first. That's what would happen to ye after ye'd gone with him. He'd lave ye in an hour to sorrow alone. Doesn't he want to leave the woman he swore to cherish at the altar of God? What do we suppose he'd do to one he took no oath with at all? You have some sense about this. And I want to tell ye it's no compliment the man's payin' ye either. Faith, he'd have made love to me if Pd let him. Ethel. (Turns to Peg slozvly) What? To you? Peg. If ye hadn't come in when ye did to-dav Pd have taught him a lesson he'd have carried to his grave, so I would. PEG O' MY HEART toi Ethel. (Crossing to Peg) He tried to make love to you? Peg. ' (r. c.) A dozen times since Pve been in yer house. And to-day he walked toward me with his arms outstretched, saying, " Come. Let's kiss and be friends," and in you came. Ethel. (Coming forzvard r.) Is that true? Peg. On my poor mother's memory that's true, so it is. Ethel. Oh! The wretch! The wretch! (Sinks in chair R. of tabic, drops hag) Peg. That's what he is. And ye'd give yer life into his keepin' to blacken so that no decent man or woman would ever lock at ye again. Ethel. No. That's over. It's over. I hate myself. Oh, hov/ I hate myself! (Crying and sobbing) Peg. (Li a moir.cnt all pity) Ethel! AcuslVa! Don't cry. Don't do that. Don't. Don't ye know he's not v/orth it ? Don't ye know ye've got to kape yer life and yer heart clean till the one man in all the world com.es to ye, and then ye'li know what real happiness means. Don't cry, dear. (Ethel buries her face in her hands to deaden the sobs. Peg beside her, comforting her. Ethel still crying) Well, then, cry. And may the salt of yer tears v/ash away the sins of this night and fail like holy water on yer soul ! And with the sunlight the thought of all this will go from ye. Come to my room and I'll sit by yer side till morning. (Peg helps her up. Ethel, on the verge of fainting, picks up bag, her body trembling with suppressed sobs, totters. Peg 7valks her across to staircase l.) I don't know at all how you could think of going away wiih a married man, Ethel. Ethel. (Cries) Oh, J\ I a rga ret ! Peg. Ssh, dear! You'll wake yer mother up. \ 102 PEG O' :\IY HEART Not a sound ! Not a sound now ! We'll talk when we get upstairs. Aisy now! (Both creep up the stairs. When they are almost at the top Peg slips and rolls all the icay to the bottom, knocking over a brass jardiniere at the top of the stairs, zchich rolls all tlie zcay dozun. Peg rises, runs across to R. corner. Ethel follozus her. Peg listens) Peg. Holy Mary! Ethel. What shall we do? What shall wc do? Peg. Well, that's all Pm going to do, I tell you. If that doesn't wake them up they're sleeping the sleep of the dead. (Voices off L.) Alakic. (Off L.) Pleko, ]\Iater! Did you hear it, too? Etc. Mrs. Chichester. (Off l.) Oh, Alaric! A most fearful crash! Etc. Ethel. Oh, what shall we do, ]\Iargaret? What shall we do? Peg. Give me your hat and coat, and sit in that chair. (Takes off her cap and cloak and puts on Ethel's hat and coat) Pll do all the talking, though what the devil Pll say I don't know. Don't you say a word. Your mother mustn't know you were going out of the house with th:it man. It would hrealc her heart. Where's your bag? (Takes bag quickly from Ethel. Door l. opens and Jahvis enters. Mrs. Chichester and Alaric coming dozk'n tJie stairs zcith candles, Mrs. Chichester /;/ wrapper, Alaric in dressing- gown) Alaric. It's all right. Mater. Don't be fright- ened. I'm not a bit timid. Thank God you've' -< a man in the house. Jak\ IS. Who's there? (Alaric jnoz'cs care- fully L., collides zvith Jarvis, and takes him b\ the throat) PEG O' MY HEART 103 Alaric. Ah! I've got you? Tarvis. It's only me, sir. Alaric. Oh, get' out of the way Jarvis. (Jarvis exits L. Alaric moves sloidy c, flashing his light all over the room) Now then, come out! Where are vou? (Sees the two girls) Ethel! Mrs. Chichester. Margaret! Alaric. Well! I mean to say! What I want to know is — {Szvitches on lights. Ethel is dis- covered very zvhite and tear-stained in the chair, Peg standing beside her, ivearing^ Ethel',? coat and hat and carrying her hand-hag in her right hand) What are you two girls playing at? Mrs. Chichester {To Peg) What does this mean ? Peg. Sure, I was c:oino- out, and when I came in Ethel said to me-^ Mrs. Chichester Where were you going ?^ Peg. I was going out, and — when I came in — - Ethel said to me Mrs. Chichester. Where were you going? Peg. I was going out, I said, and — Ethel came in Mrs. Chichester. Why, that's Ethel's cloal:. Peg. I got her hat on, too. And Pve got her bag. {Trying to distract Mrs. Chichester's attention from Ethel, wJio is half -fainting, puts hag or. corner of tahle) Mrs. Chichester. Her has:! Ethel's bag! {Opens hag, takes out wash-leather hag) Her jewel-bag! Peg. Jewel-bag ! Mrs. Chichester. Where did you get this? Peg. I took them. Mrs. Chichester. You took them? Peg. Yes. I took them. Mrs. Chichester. You were stealing them? Peg. No. I wasn't stealincr them. I took 'em. 104 PEG O' MY HEART Mrs. Chichester. IVJiy did you take them? Peg. I wanted to wear them. Mrs. Chichester, (c.) IVcar them? Peg. I always had an idea I should like to wear Ethel's jewels and her hat and coat. Mrs. Chichester. At this time of night? Peg. (r. c. Jumping at the explanation) I went to the dance, I did. Mrs. Chichester, (l. c.) What dance? Peg. (r. c.) I went to the dance with Mr. Jerry, and I thought it would he a good chance to wear Ethel's jewels and her hat and coat. So I put on her hat and coat, and I wore her jewels, and I went to the dance, and when I came back I made a noise, and Ethel heard me. She put on some clothes and came downstairs and said, " ^^'here have you been?" I said, "Eve been to the dance with Air. Jerry." She said, " You'd better go to bed," and I said, " All right, "and I started up the stairs, and some noisy thing came all the way down and forninst me. Alaric. [Crosses hack of table to arch r.) There's someone prowling in the garden. Mrs. Chichester. 0\ Alaric! {Puts back jewel-bag and closes hand-bag) Alaric He's on the path. Ethel. (Rise's, but sits again as Peg soothes her) Mr. Brent! Alaric He's coming here. Don't be frightened, Mater. Ell deal with him. (Ethel straightens up, here eyes distended. Peg grips her hand to quiet her) Now, then! What do you want here? Good Lord ! Jerry ! (Music False Mauve begins again very faint in the distance. Enter Jerry.) Jerry. (Comes dotvn r.) I saw your lights go up and T ran back. I guessed something like this PEG O' UY HEART 105 had happened. Don't be hard on your niece. The Avholc tbinp^ was entirely my fault. I asked her to go. Mr.s. Chichester. You took my niece to a dance in spite of my absolute refusal to allow her to ^o? Peg. He had nothing to do with it all. 1 took him to the dance, I did. I took him. Mrs. Chichester. Surely Sir Gerald Adair knows better than to take a girl of eighteen to a public ball without the sanction of her relatives? (Jerry crosses into c.) Peg. (r.) Sir Gerald? (To Jerry) So you have a title, have yez? Jerry, (r. c.) Yes, Peg. Mrs. Chichester. Novv^ I hope you realize what you've done. Peg. I am just beginning to realize what Eve done, so I am. Mrs. Chichester. You've disgraced us all. Peg. (Fiercely) Have I? Mrs. Chichester. Em ashamed of you. Peg. Are you? Well, Em going back to my father, who's never ashamed of me. Everything I do is right because I do it. Eve disgraced you, have I? There's not one of you in this house will tel' the truth to me — (To Jerry) — and Em going back to my father. Mrs. Chichester. Well, go back to your father. Peg. (Starts forzvard angrily to -Mrs. Chiches- ter) Eve never been mad about your house. ( Warning. ) Ethel. (Hysterically. Rising from chair) No, no ! Wait ! Don't go. Mother, we are not treating her fairly. You found her here to-night because — io6 PEG O' MY HEART because — (Faints in chair. General movement. Peg bends over her) Peg. She's fainted. Get some water and some smellin.^-salts. (Jerry exit l. for "water) Alaric. (Runs upstairs) Smelling-salts. Mrs. Chichester. (Conies running over to chair) Ethel? Peg. (Hysterically) That's all right. What help can you be to her now that she's fainted, I'd like to know. You don't know how to ra'se her. You don't know one thought in yoijir daughter's mind. You don't know who she sees or who she goes with. Why don't you try to ^nd out i-omething about your own child once in a while r A lot you know about motherhood ! My father knows more about motherhood than any man in the world. (First curtain.) (Jerry comes in l. with water, hands it to Mrs. Chichester, Alaric comes dozvnstairs with smelling-salts and over to r. Second curtain. Act plays fifty-three minutes.) PEG O' MY HEART 107 ACT III Scene: Same as Act I. N. B. Same flozvers as in Act II, a few fallen leaves on table and floor (on zvriting desk zanld flozvers). Time : Next morning. Discovered: Alaric sitting on zjuindozv-seat up at back reading a nezvspaper. (Enter Mrs. Chichester, pale and iveary, from up- stairs L.) Alaric. Jumps up, puts dozvn paper, meets Mrs. Chichester at foot of stairs) Mornin', Mater. (Kisses her on forehead) How are you feelin'? Mrs. Chichester. (Crossing him to table l.) I didn't close my eyes all night. Alaric. (l. c.) Isn't that rotten? I was a bit plungy myself. You know — first one side and then the other. (Yazvns) Mrs. Chichester. (Sits) What is to be done? Alaric. (l. c. stretching Jiis arms) Get in forty winks during the day, I suppose. Mrs. Chichester. I mean about ]\Iargaret. Alaric. Oh! The little devil. (Crosses and sits on couch l.) Nothin' that I can see. She's got it into her stubborn little head that she means to leave us, and that's the end of it. Mrs. Chichester. And the end of our income, Alaric. Well, you were a bit rough on her, Mater. Now I come to think, we've all been a bit rough on her, except me. I did make her laugh once or twice. Poor little soul ! After all, suppose io8 PEG O' MY HEART she did want to dance. What's the use of fussinc,'? Let her, I say. Let her dance. Let her dance. Mrs. Chichester. A child of her age? Alakic. Child! V\'hy, in America they're grown women with famiUes at her age. Mrs. Chichester. Thank Heaven they're not in England. Alaric. No. But they will be, Mater. They're kickin' over the traces every day. One time they kept to the pavement. Now they're out in the middle of the road, and in thousands. What ho ! Mrs. Chichester. Yes. That's true. Alartc. Bless me, yes. I know it's true. I've met 'em. And some of 'em were rippers. \Miy, there's one little woman 1 know — well, when I sav little — she's — she's — you might say magnificent Mrs. CnrciiESTER. Oh, Alaric Alaric. Well, perhaps you're right. Mrs. Chichester. And just when I had begun to have some hope of her. Alaric. Who ? Mrs. Chicester. Why, Margaret. Alaric. Oh ! The imp. (Rises and goes up l. to back of table c.) Well, I never did. Not a hope. I've always felt she ought to have the inscription on dear old Shakespeare's grave waving in front of her ill the time. How does it go? You know. Mater. " Good friend, for goodness sake forbear." Mrs. Chichester. But under our influence — in time Alaric. No, no Mater. Peg will alwavs be a Peter Pan. (Crosses around table to u.)' Shc'l! never grow up. She'd play elfish tricks if she had a nursery full of infants. Mrs. Chichester. Some good man, some dav. might change that. Alaric. Ah ! But where is he ? Xo. Back she goes to-day, and off I go to-morrow to work. PEG O' INIY HEART 109 Mrs. Chichester. Oh, Alaric. Alaric. Must hold the roof up, Mater, and pacify the tradesmen. (Sits R. on table) Mrs. Chichester. (M^itli a sudden thought) Alaric ! Alaric. Yes ? Mrs. Chichester. Do you like her? Alaric. Oh, here and there. She amuses me like anything at times. She drew a map of Europe the other dav that was the most fearful and wonder- ful thing I ever saw. Looked like some marvellous sin. Mostly Ireland. Mrs. Chichester. (Rising) Oh, my boy! Alaric. Vv^hat is it? (Rises) You're not going to crv? Mrs. Chichester, (l. c, weeps) Oh, if you only could ! Alaric. Couldf What? Mrs. Chichester, (c.) Take that little way- ward child into your life and mould her. Alaric. Me? Mrs. Chichester. Yes. Alaric. (c.) No, Mater. I can do most things, but as a " Moulder " oh, no. Let Ethel do it. (Moves azvay down r.) Mrs. Chichester. (Following him dozen r.) I mean to take her really into your life — to have and to hold ! Alaric. I don't want to hold her. Mrs. Chichester. It would be the saving of her. Alaric. That's all very well, but what about me? Mrs. Chichester. It would be the saving of us. Alaric. How would my holding and moulding her save us? j\Irs. Chichester. She'd stay with us if you were engaged. no PEG O' MY HEART Alartc. Enc^aged ! Don't. Mother, please. (Sits armchair r., shivers) Good Lord ! Engaged to that tomboy ! Mrs. Chichester, (r. c.) She has the blood of the Kingsnorths. Alaric. Pretty well covered up in O'Connell — Irish. Mrs. Chichester. She has the breeding of my sister, Angela. Alaric. {In armchair r.) Well, you wouldn't think it to watch her. Mrs. Chichester, (r. c.) And she'll have five thousand a year when she's twenty-one. .'Vlaric. iJVhistlcs — business. Rises and looks at ]\Irs. Chichester) Five thousand of the very best, eh? ^'Irs. Chichester. {Embraces him) Oh, my boy! Alaric. Wait a minute. One can't burn all one's boats. Mrs. Chichester. Think what it means. Your family preserved, and a brand snatched from the burning. Alaric. Ah! That's just it! {Crossing into l. c.) I cannot see myself as a brand-snatcher. Be- sides, there's that little girl wild about me, and I don't dislike her at all, and I've half-promised Mrs. Chichester. {Crossing to him) It would unite our blood. Alaric. Oh, hang our blood. Mrs. Chichester. It would settle you for life. Alaric. (l. c.) Yes. It certainly would. Mrs. Chichester. Think what i^ would mean. Alaric. I am. I'm thinking really awfully hard. (She mores to him) Just a minute! Give me a chance, Mater. {Reasoning) Of course she's not half bad lookin', here and there. {Mildl\ enthu- siastic, sits on bench l.) PEG O' MY HEART m Mrs. Chichester. At times she's beautiful. Alaric. (Depressed) She has a shockin' temper. Mrs. Chichester. That would soften under the restraining hand of affection. (Alaric, shaking his head, turns to Mrs. Chi- chester.) Alaric. She'd have to dress her hair and drop that dog. I will not have that dog all over the place. In that I would be obeyed. Mrs. Chichester. The woman who loves always obeys. Alaric. Ah! There we have it. Do^.? she love me? Mrs. Chichester. How could she be near you for the last month and not love you? (Crossing to him, embracing him) Alaric. Of course there is that. (Thinks) Well, as you say, if she loves me— and for your sake, Mother,— and for darling Ethel's sake— and for me—zvell, anyway, it's a go ! I'll do it. (Crosses to c, straightens up. Mrs. Chichester turns to him) It'll take a bit of doin' but I'll do it. (Enter Peg from stairs. She, too, is pale and zvorried, her eyes sleepless. When she see.'^ Mrs. Chichester she stops at bottom of stairs. ) Mrs. Chichester. Good-morning, Margaret! Peg. Good-mornin', Ant. Mrs. Chichester. Now, Alaric. (Puts his tie straight, then exit l.) (Peg looks quickly at Alaric, who is nervously argu- ing with himself, his back to her. She hurries to R. corner, turns piano-cover up, and takes 112 PEG O' MY HEART out book. Alaric funis and sees her. She puts book under her arm.) Alaiuc. (c.) Hello! What have we got there all tncked away? Peg. {Hohiing it up) The only thing I'm takin' away that I didn't bring with me. Alaric. Oh ! A book ? Peg. Shiire, you're a very ![;ood guesser when you see a thing. That's what it is, a book. Alaric. You're takin' it away? Peg. That's what I said, Pm takin' it away. (Crossing behind tabic to stairs) Alaric. (Following Peg) You're not really goin' to leave us, Cousin? Peg. I am, Cousin. And ye can forget the relationship the minit the cab drives away from yer door. Cousin. (Goes to stairs, stops on third step) Alaric. (Runs upstairs above her) Wait a minute. There's something I want to tell you. Do you know, Pve grown really — (He sivallozvs) awfuHy fond of you. Peg. It nearly choked ye, didn't it? Alaric. Awfully fond of you. Sit down. (Peg goes to sit on stairs) Not there. Over there. Someone may hear us. Peg. (Sitting on ehair below stairs, looking at him wifh a mischievous tzcinkle in her eyes) When did ye find out yc were fond of me, Alaric? Alaric. Just now. Over there. No, over there. W^hcn the thought flashed through me that perhaps you really meant to leave us. The idea bruises me — Peg. Does it? Alaric. — positively bruises ! Peg. You'll get over that. Alaric. 1 don't think I will. (JVith a supreme effort) You know, meeting a girl like you day after PEG O' MY HEART 113 day for a month has an awful effect on a fellow. Peg. Awful effect? Alaric. Awful ! Not to see you running up and downstairs, lying about the place, studying all those jolly maps and things, it hurts, really hurts. (Comes doz.'u to her) Do you know, Pm goin' to do some- thing Pve never done before in all my life. Peg. Somethin' useful? Alaric. No, no. Pm goin' to ask a very charm- ing young lady to marry me, eh? Peg. What do ou think of that, now? Alaric. And — who — do — you — think — it — is ? Peg. I don't know. Alaric. Guess. Pea. I couldn't guess who'd marry you, Alaric. Alaric. Who would it be ? Peg. That's the question, who would it be? Alaric. Who is it? Peg. Who is it? Alaric. Who is it? Peg. Who is it ? Alaric. Who is it? Peg. Pm asking you. You're not asking me. Who is it ? Alaric. (With all the fervor he can rnii'ster) You. Peg. Me? (She falls back against the balustrade, then laughs long and unrestrainedly) Alaric. (Cheerfully) Aha! Laughing! That's a splendid sign. Splendid ! I always heard that girls cry when they're proposed to. Peg. Fm half laughin' and half cryin'. Alaric. 'course ye know Pve nothin' to offer you Peg. I know that. Alaric. — except a life-long devotion, a decent old name, and mv career Peg. What? ' 114 PEG O' MY HEART Alaric. — my career, when once I ^et it goir/. I on!}' need a little incentive to make no end of a sp!ash in the world. And you'd be my little in- centive. Peg. That's fine. Alaric. (Runs upstairs again a fezv steps and then back) Then it's all right? Peg. That's the most wonderful thing Pve ever heard in my life. Alaric. {Runs upstairs again) Good! Fine! Splendid ! Peg. Can't you make up your mind whether you want to be upstairs or downstairs. Alaric. Of course there are one or two little thin^^s to be settled first. (Sits, top of stairs, facing front) Peg. Only one or two? Alaric. Just little things. (Emboldened by her manner) A little obedience. Peg You must obey nic? Alaric No, no. You must obey me. Peg. That's funnier. Alaric. That's most essential. A little care about ordinary things, such as dress, speech, hair, etc., and — no Michael. Peg Oh! Coukln't I have Michael? Alaric. (Firmly) In that Pm absolutely de- termined. (Rises) No Michael. Peg. You're very firm about it. Alaric. Very firm. Peg. It wouldn't be, love me love my dog? Alaric. (Prepared to compromise) No. It would not. I've never seen a dog I loved less than Michael. Peg. (Pause. Rises and goes up level ^uith him) What could you olTer me in place of Michael? Alaric. What could I oiVer you in place of — ? Oh! There we have it, dear Cousin, Myself. PEG O' MY HEART 115 Peg. I'll keep my dog. Alaric. O/i, come, I say ! You don't mean that f Peg. I get more affection out of his bark of greetin' than Pve ever got from any human bein' in this house. If it makes no difference to you I'd rather have Michael. Alaric. You don't mean to say you refuse me? Peg. I refuse you. Alaril. You actually decline my hand and heart ? Peg. I decline your hand, and I wouldn't deprive 3^ou of what you've got left of a heart. Alari\ (Unable to believe his ears) Really? Peg. (On the brink of laughing) Really! Alaric. Positively ? Peg. Positively ! Alaric. {Overjoyed. All the tension relieved) I say ! You're a brick ! (Shakes her hand violently) Peg. Am I? Alaric. It's really awfully good of you. Some girls in your position would have jumped at me. (Comes down and back c.) But you're a genuine, hall-marked, A-number-one little brick. I'm ex- tremely obliged to you. (Shakes her zvarmly by tJie hand over balustrade) You're a plucky little girl, that's what you are. A plucky little girl. (Goes towards alcove r.) Peg. Am I ? Alaric. (Comes back to her. She hands him book) I'll never forget it. Never. If there's any- thing I can do — at any time — call on me. I'll be there — on the spot. (Puts donni book on nezvel post, crosses r. behind table) Bless you, Cousin! You've taken an awful load off my mind. I was really worried. Had to ask you — promised to. Peg. Well, I said, " No." I refused to have you. Alaric. Yes. I know. I know. Ta, ta! See you before you go. Whew! What an escape! Ii6 PEG O' MY HEART (Hurries out through alcove r., into garden. Peg zvatchcs him go tJirougJi zcindoic, a)id hitighs) Peg. But I said I wouldn't have you. (Door L. opens and Havvkes and Mrs. Chichester enter. Hawkes, l., looks around for Peg. Peg shakes hands zviih Havvkes) Hello, Mr. Hawkes! How do ye do? Hawkes. Well, and how is our little protegee? I declare you're quite a young lady. Peg. {Coming doivn-stage) Am I? Ask my aunt. (Hawkes crosses over to c.) Mrs. Chichester. Mr. Hawkes wishes to talk to 3^ou, dear. Peg. And Pd like to talk to him. Mrs. Chichester. Margaret! Why do you al- ways have your hair over your eyes? Excuse me, Mr. Hawkes. {To door l.) Oh, it's hopeless. {Exit L.) Peg. {Comes and sits on bench) I tell you, if I ever cut my hair off her occupation will be gone. I have to pin it up, and band it up. My father used to cut it every six months, and that's ail the trouble we had with it. Hawkes. What's all this nonsense about your going away? Peg. Pm going back to my father. Hawkes. Why are you going back to him? Peg. Pm going back. Hawkes. Aren't you happy here? Pec. Devil a bit. HaVv'kes. What's the trouble? Peg. All the men have gone crazy in this house. Hawkes. Has anyone been making iuve to vou? Peg. Yes. Two of them. Hawkes. What? PEG O' MY HEART 117 Peg. One man tried to kiss me and I slapped his face Hawkes, Good. Peg. The other man asked me to marry him and I sassed him. Hawkes. Who was it? Peg. Alaric. Hawkes. What did you say to him? Peg. I told him Pd rather have Michael. Hawkes. Michael? Peg. . Yes. My dog. Hawkes. (Laughing) Oh, the dog. So you refused him? Peg. Of course. What would I be doing marry- ing Alaric? Hawkes. Oh, I don't know. Is he too young? Peg. Too young, too silly, and too selfish. And everything I don't like in a man Alaric is. Hawkes. And what do you like in a man? Peg. Precious little. Hawkes. Listen, my dear Miss O'Connell. Pm speaking now as your late uncle's friend, and your well-wisher. You've a wonderful chance here. Remain with Mrs. Chichester. Continue your course of training. Then marry. Marry in England. And uphold the dignity and traditions of the Kingsnorths. Peg. There's not a man in the world Pd marry now. Hawkes. Really, Miss O'Connell, your future would then be absolutely assured. {Taking her hand) Come, now. Marry here. Peg. Are you proposing to me? Hawkes. {Laughingly) Well, I didn't mean to, but now you suggest it Peg. I suggest it? Hawkes. You're alone in the world. Pm alone in the world. Peg. (Rises and goes to staircase) And as far ii8 PEG O' MY HEART as I'm concerned you'll stay alone in the world. Fin going to get out of this crazy house. You're all mad. Hawkes. You're determined to go back to America ? Peg. Yes, I am. And I was going to ask you to buy me a passage on the steamer. Hawkes. {Comes to foot of stairs) I'll see that a passage is reserved for you, and will escort you down to the steamer myself. Peg. Thank you very much, Mr. Hawkes. (Mrs. Chichester enters ivith Jerry.) Mrs. Chichester. Margaret. Jerry. {Going to foot of stairs) Peg. Peg. (Looking at Jerry) I'm going back to my father in half-an-hour. Jerry. In half-an-hour? Peg. Yes. In thirty minutes. {Exit l.) Jerry. {Turning to Hawkes) What does she mean, Hawkes, by going in thirty minutes? Hawkes. She's returning to America. She ap- pears absolutely discontented here. I've reasoned with her, but she seems determined to go. {Goes a little R.) {Enter Alaric.) Alaric. Hello, Jerry! (Alaric shakes hands zvith Hawkes, They talk) Jerry. Hello, A1 ! (7^7