BERKELEY LIBRARY UNfVERSJTY OP CALIFORNIA THREE PLAYS BY GRANVILLE BARKER These plays may also be obtained separately : in cloth, 2s, net each; in paper covers, \s, 6d. net each. THREE PLAYS BY GRANVILLE BARKER: THE MARRYING OF ANN LEETE — THE VOYSEY INHERITANCE— WASTE LONDON : SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD. 3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI. MCMIX. LOAN STACK Entered at the Library of Congress j Washington^ U.S.A. All rights reserved. Sdc^. First Impression, August 1909 Second Impression, September 1909 Third Impression^ Nowmbtr 1909 To the memory of my fellow-worker, St. John Hankin. 059 The Marrying of Ann Leete A COMEDY 1899 THE IVIARRYING OF ANN LEETE The first three acts of the comedy pass in the garden at Markswayde, mr. carnaby leete's house near Reading, during a summer day towards the close of the eighteenth century: the first act at four in the morning, the second shortly after mid-day, the third near to sunset. The fourth act takes place one day in the following winter; the first scene in the hall at Markswayde, the second scene in a cottage some ten miles off. This part of the Markswayde garden looks to have been laid out during the seventeenth century. In the middle a fountain; the centrepiece the figure of a nymph, now somewhat cracked, and pouring nothing from the amphora; the rim of the fountain is high enough and broad enough to be a comfortable seat. The close turf around is in parts worn bare. This plot pj ground is surrounded by a terrace three feet higher. Three sides of it are seen. From two comers broad steps lead down; stone urns stand at the bottom and top of the stone balustrades. The other two comers are rounded convexly into broad stone seats. Along the edges of the terrace are growing rose trees, close together; behind these, paths; behind those, shrubs and trees. No landscape is to be seen. A big copper beech overshadows the seat on the left. A silver birch droops over the seat on the right. The trees far to the left indicate an orchard, the few to the right are more of the garden sort. It is the height of summer, and after a long drought the rose trees are dilapidated. 1 B THE MARRYING OF Ucti It is very dark in the garden. Though there may be by now a faint morning light in the sky it has not penetrated yet among these trees. It is very still, too. Now and then the leaves of a tree are stirred, as if in its sleep; that is all. Suddenly a shrill, frightened, but not tragical scream is heard. After a moment AN'S leete runs quickly down the steps and on to the fountain, where she stops, panting, lord john CAUpfolbws her, but only to the top of the steps, evi- dently not knowing his way. ann is a girl of twenty: he an English gentleman, nearer forty than thirty. LORD JOHN. I apologise. ANN. Why is it so dark? LORD JOHN. Can you hear what I*m saying ? ANN. Yes. LORD JOHN. I apologise for having kissed you . . . almost unintentionally. ANN. Thank you. Mind the steps down. LORD JOHN. I hope I'm sober, but the air . . . ANN. Shall we sit for a minute.? There are several seats to sit on somewhere. LORD JOHN. This is a very dark garden. There is a slight pause. ANN. You've won your bet. LORD JOHN. So you did scream! ANN. But it wasn't fair. LORD JOHN. Don't reproach me. ANN. Somebody's coming. LORD JOHN. How d'you know? ANN. I can hear somebody coming. LORD JOHN. We're not sitting down. Ann's brother, george leete comes to the top of the steps, and afterwards down them. Rather an old young man. GEORGE. Ann! ACT 1 1 ANN LEETE ANN. Yes. GEORGE. My lord! LORD JOHN. Here. GEORGE. I can't see you. I'm sent to say we're all anxious to know what ghost or other bird of night or beast has frightened Ann to screaming point, and won you . . . the best in Tatton's stables — so he says now. He's quite annoyed. LORD JOHN. The mare is a very good mare. ANN. He betted it because he wanted to bet it; I didn't want him to bet it. GEORGE. What frightened her ? ANN. I had rather, my lord, that you did not tell my brother why I screamed. LORD JOHN. I kissed her. GEORGE. Did you? ANN. I had rather, Lord John, that you had not told my brother why I screamed. LORD JOHN. I misunderstood you. GEORGE. I've broke up the whist party. Ann, shall we return? LORD JOHN. She's not here. GEORGE. Ann. LADY COTTESHAM, ann's sistev and ten years older, and MR. DANIEL tatton, a well-living, middle-aged country gentleman, arrive together, tatton carries a double candlestick. . . the lights out. MR. TATTON. Three steps? SARAH. No . . . four. LORD JOHN. Miss Lccte. TATTON in the darkness finds himself close to george. MB. TATTON. I am in a rage with you, my lord. GEORGE. He lives next door. MR. TATTON. My mistake. [He passes on]. Confess that she did it to please you. 4 THE MARRYING OF [acti LORD JOHN. Screamed! MR. TATTON. Lost my bet. We'll say . . . won your bet ... to please you. Was skeered at the dark . . . oh, fie! LORD JOHN. Miss Lcete trod on a toad. MR. TATTON. I barred toads . . . here. LORD JOHN. I don't think it. MR. TATTON. I barred toads. Did I forget to? Well . . . it's better to be a sportsman. SARAH. And whereabout is she? ANN. [From the corner she has slunk to.] Here I am, Sally. MR. TATTON. Miss Aiin, I forgive you. I'm smiling, I assure you, I'm smiling. SARAH. We all laughed when we heard you. MR. TATTON. Which reminds me, young George Leete, had you the ace? GEORGE. King . . . knave . . . here are the cards, but I can't see. MR. TATTON. I had the king. ANN. [Quietly to her sister.] He kissed me. SARAH. A man would. GEORGE. What were trumps? MR. TATTON. What wcre we playing . . . cricket? ANN. [As quietly again.] D'you think I'm blushing? SARAH. It's probable. ANN. I am by the feel of me. SARAH. George, we left Papa sitting quite still. LORD JOHN. Didn't he approve of the bet ? MR. TATTON. He said nothing. SARAH. Why, who doesn't love sport! MR. TATTON. I'm the man to grumble. Back a woman's pluck again . . . never. My lord . . . you weren't the one to go with her as umpire. GEORGE. No. . . to be sure. ACTil ANN LEETE MR. TATTON. How was it I let that pass? Playing two games at once. Haven't I cause of complaint ? But a man must give and take. The master of the house, father of george and SARAH COTTESHAM and ANN, MR. CARNABY LEETE, comes slowly down the steps, unnoticed by tlie others. A man over fifty — a la Lord Chesterfield. GEORGE. [To Lord John^ Are you sure you're quite comfortable there .^ LORD JOHN. Whatever I'm sitting on hasn't given way yet. MR. TATTON. Don't forget that you're riding to Brighton with me. LORD JOHN. Tomorrow. GEORGE. To-day. Well . . . the hoiu* before sun- rise is no time at all. MR. TATTON. Sixty-fivc miles. LORD JOHN. What are we all sitting here for ? MR. TATTON. I say pcoplc ought to be in bed and asleep. CARNABY. But the momiug air is delightful. MR. TAiTON. [Jumping at the new voice i\ Leete! Now, had you the ace? CARNABY. Of course. MR. TATTON. We should have lost that too, Lady Charlie. SARAH. Bear up, Mr. Tat. MB. TATTON. Come, a game of whist is a game of whist. CARNABY. And so I strolled out after you all. MR. TATTON. She trod on a toad. CARNABY. [Carelessly l\ Does she say so? BIB. TATTON. \With mock roguishness.] Ah! GEORGE is on the terrace, looking to the left through the trees, tatton is sitting on the edge of the fountain. THE IVIARRYING OF GEORGE. Here's the sun ... to show us ourselves. MR. TATTON. Leete, this pond is full of water! CARNABT. Ann, if you are there . . . ANN. Yes, Papa. CARNABT, Apologise profusely; it's your garden. ANN. Oh . . . CARNABT. Coat-tails, Tatton ... or worse ? MR. TATTON. [Ruefully discovering damp spots about him.] Nothing vastly to matter. LORD JOHN. Hardy, well-preserved, country gentleman! MR. TATTON. I bet I'm a younger man than you, my lord. ANN. [Suddenly to the company generally.] I didn't tread upon any toad ... I was kissed. There is a pau^e of some discomfort. SARAH, Ann, come here to me. LORD JOHN. I apologised. GEORGE. [From the terrace.] Are we to be insulted? CARNABT. My dear Carp, say no more. There is another short pause. By this it is twilight^ faces can he plainly seen. SARAH. Listen . . . the first bird. MR. TATTON. Oh, dear no, they begin to sing long before this. CARNABT. What is it now ... a lark? MR. TATTON. I dou't knoW. ANN. [Quietly to sarah.] That's a thrush. SARAH. [Capping her.] A thrush. CARNABT. Charming! MR. TATTON. [To LORD JOHN.] I dou't SCC why yOU couldn't have told me how it was that she screamed. CARNABT. Our dear Tatton! [Sotto voce to his son.] Hold your tongue, George. MR. TATTON. I did bar toads and you said I didn't, and anyway I had a sort of right to know. ACTil ANN LEETE LORD JOHN. You know now. SARAH. I wonder if this seat is dry. LORD JOHN. There's been no rain for weeks. SARAH. The roads will be dusty for you, Mr. Tat. MR. TATTON. Just onc moment. You don't mind me, Miss Ann, do you ? ANN. I don't mind much. MR. TATTON. We Said distinctly ... To the orchard end of the garden and back and if frightened — that's the word — so much as to scream . . . ! Now, what I want to know is. . . LORD JOHN. Consider the bet off. MB. TATTON. Certainly not. And we should have added. . . Alone. CARNABY. Tatton has persistence. SARAH. Mr. Tat, do you know where people go who take things seriously? MR. TATTON. Miss Lcetc, were you frightened when Lord John kissed you? GEORGE. Damnation! CARNABY. My excellent Tatton, much as I admire your searchings after truth I must here parentally inter- vene, regretting, my dear Tatton, that my own carelessness of duennahood has permitted this — this ... to occur. After thisy there is silence for a minute. LORD JOHN. Can I borrow a horse of you, Mr. Leete ? CARNABY. My entire stable; and your Ronald shall be physicked. SARAH. Spartans that you are to be riding! LORD JOHN. I prefer it to a jolting chaise. MR. TATTON. You will havc my mare. LORD JOHN. [Ignoring him.] This has been a most enjoyable three weeks. CARNABY. Four. LORD JOHN. Is it four ? 8 THE MARRYING OF (acti CARNABY. We bow to the compliment. Our duty to his grace. LORD JOHN. When I see him. GEORGE. To our dear cousin. MR. TATTON. [To LADY coTTESHAM.] Sir Charles at Brighton ? SARAH. [Not answering.] To be sure ... we did discover . . . our mother was second cousin . . . once removed to you. CARNABY. If the prince will be there ... he is in waiting. LORD JOHN. Any message. Lady Cottesham? . . . since we speak out of session. SARAH. I won't trust you. CARNABY. Or trouble you while I still may frank a letter. But my son-in-law is a wretched correspondent. Do you admire men of small vices ? They make admir- able husbands though their wives will be grumbling — Silence, Sarah — but that's a good sign. SARAH. Papa is a connoisseur of humanity. ANN. [To the company as before.] No, Mr. Tatton, I wasn't frightened when Lord John . . . kissed me. I screamed because I was surprised, and I'm sorry I screamed. SARAH. [Quietly to ann.] My dear Ann, you're a fool. ANN. [Quietly to sarah.] I will speak sometimes. SARAH. Sit down again. Again an uncomfortable silence, a ludicrous air about it this time. TATTON. Now, we'll Say no more about that bet, but I was right. LORD JOHN. Do you kuow, Mr. Tatton, that I have a temper to lose ? MR. TATTON. What the devil does that matter to me, sir . . . my lord? ACTil ANN LEETE 9 LORD JOHN. I owe you a saddle and bridle. MR. TATTON. You'U obligc me by taking the mare. LORD JOHN. We'll discuss it to-morrow. MR. TATTON. I'vc Said all I have to say. GEORGE. The whole matter's ridiculous! MR. TATTON. I scc the joke. Good-night, Lady Cottesham, and I kiss your hand. SARAH. Good morning, Mr. Tat. MR. TATTON. Good moming, Miss Ann, I . . . SARAH. [Shielding her sister.] Good morrow is ap- propriate. MR. TATTON. I'll go by the fields. [jTo carnaby.] Thank you for a pleasant evening. Good morrow, George. Do we start at mid-day, my lord.? LORD JOHN. Any time you please. MR. TATTON. Not at all. [He hands the candlestick — of which he has never before left go — to george.] I brought this for a link. Thank you. CARNABY. Mid-day will be midnight if you sleep at all now; make it two or later. MR. TATTON. We put up at Guildford. I've done so before. I haven't my hat. It's a day and a half's ride. TATTON goes quickly up the other steps and away. It is now quite light, george stands by the stepsy LORD JOHN is on OTW of the seats, carnaby strolls round, now and then touching the rose trees, sarah and ANN are on the other seat. GEORGE. Morning! These candles still smell. SARAH. How lively one feels and isn't. CARNABY. The flowers are opening. ANN. [In a whisper l\ Couldn't we go in ? SARAH. Never run away. ANN. Everything looks so odd. SARAH. What's o'clock ... my lord? LORD JOHN. Half after four. 10 THE MARRYING OF jacti ANN. [To SARAH.] My cjcs are hot behind. GEORGE. What ghosts we seem! SARAH. What has made us spend such a night? CARNABY. Ann incited me to it. [He takes snuff.] SARAH. In a spirit of rebellion against good country habits. . . ANN. [To her sister again.] Don't talk about me. SARAH. They can see that you're whispering. CARNABY. . . . Informing me now she was a woman and wanted excitement. GEORGE. There's a curse. CARNABY. How cIsc d'ye conceive life for women ? SARAH. George is naturally cruel. Excitement's our education. Please vary it, though. CARNABY. I have always held that to colour in the world-picture is the greatest privilege of the husband. Sarah. SARAH. [Not leaving ann's side.] Yes, Papa. CARNABY. Sarah, when Sir Charles leaves Brighton. . . SARAH rises but will not move further. CARNABY. [Sweetly threatening.] Shall I come to you ? But she goes to him now. CARNABY. By a gossip letter from town . . . SARAH. [Tensely.] What is it? CARNABY. You mentioned to me something of his visiting Naples. SARAH. Very well. I detest Italy. CARNABY. Let's havc George's opinion. He leads her towards george. GEORGE. Yes ? CARNABY. Upon Naplcs. GEORGE. I remember Naples. CARNABY. Sarah, admire those roses. SARAH. [Cynically echoing her father.] Let's have George's opinion. ACTil ANN LEETE 11 Now CARNABY hds drawH them both away, upon the terracCy and, the coast being clear, lord john walks towards ann, who looks at him very scaredly. CARNABY. Emblem of secrecy among the ancients. SARAH. Look at this heavy head, won't it snap off ? The three move out of sight. LORD JOHN. I'm sober now. ANN. I'm not. LORD JOHN. Uncompromising young lady. ANN. And, excuse me, I don't want to . . . play. LORD JOHN. Don't you wish me to apologise quietly, to you? ANN. Good manners are all mockery, I'm sure. LORD JOHN. I'm very much afraid you're a cynic. ANN. I'm not trying to be clever. LORD JOHN. Do I tease you ? ANN. Do I amuse you ? LORD JOHN. How dare I say so! ANN. [After a moment] I was not frightened. LORD JOHN. You kisscd me back. ANN. Not on purpose. What do two people mean by behaving so ... in the dark ? LORD JOHN. I am exceedingly sorry that I hurt your feelings. ANN. Thank you, I like to feel. LORD JOHN. And you must forgive me. ANN. Tell me, why did you do it ? LORD JOHN. Honestly I don't know. I should do it again. ANN. That's not quite true, is it? LORD JOHN. I think so. ANN. What does it matter at all! LORD JOHN. Nothing. GEORGE, SARAH and then carnaby m/)ve into sight and along the terrace, lord john turns to them. 12 THE MARRYING OF [acti LORD JOHN. Has this place been long in your family, Mr. Leete? CARNABY. Markswayde my wife brought us, through the Peters's . . . old Chiltern people . . . connections of yours, of course. There is no entail. LORD JOHN walks hack to ann. SARAH. George, you assume this republicanism as you would — no, would not — a coat of latest cut. CARNABY. Never argue with him . . . persist. SARAH. So does he. The three pass along the terrace. ANN. [To LORD JOHN.j Will you sit down? LORD JOHN. It's not worth while. Do you know I must be quite twice your age ? ANN. A doubled responsibility, my lord. LORD JOHN. I suppose it is. ANN. I don't say so. That's a phrase from a book . . . sounded well. LORD JOHN. My dear Miss Ann. . . [He stops.] ANN. Go on being polite. LORD JOHN. If you'll keep your head turned away. ANN. Why must I ? LORD JOHN. There's lightning in the glances of your eye. ANN. Do use vulgar words to me. LORD JOHN. [With a sudden fatherly kindness.] Go to bed . . . you're dead tired. And good-bye . . . I'll be gone before you wake. ANN. Good-bye. She shakes hands with him, then walks towards her father who is coming down the steps. ANN. Papa, don't my roses want looking to ? CARNABY. [Pats her cheek.] These? ANN. Those. CARNABY. Abud is under your thumb, horticulturally speaking. ACTil ANN LEETE 13 ANN. Where's Sally? She goes on to sarah, who is standing with george at the top of the steps, carnaby boks lord john up and down. LORD JOHN. [Dusting his shoulder.] This cursed powder! CARNABY. Do wc lespect innocence enough . . . any of us? GEORGE comes down the steps and joins them. GEORGE. Respectable politics will henceforth be use- less to me. CARNABY. My lord, was his grace satisfied with the young man's work abroad or was he not ? LORD JOHN. My father used to curse everyone. CARNABY. That's a mere Downing Street custom. LORD JOHN. And I seem to remember that a letter of yours from . . . where were you in those days ? GEORGE. Paris . . . Naples . . . Vienna. LORD JOHN. One place . . . once lightened a fit of gout. CARNABY. George, you have in you the makings of a minister. GEORGE. No. CARNABY. Remember the Age tends to the disrepu- table. GEORGE moves away, sarah moves towards them. CARNABY. George is something of a genius, stuffed with theories and possessed of a curious conscience. But I am fortunate in my children. LORD JOHN. All the world knows it. CARNABY. [To SARAH.] It's lucky that yours was a love match, too. I admire you. Ann is *to come,' so to speak. SARAH. [To LORD JOHN.] Were you discussing affairs ? LORD JOHN. Not I. 14 THE MARRYING OF [acti GEORGE. Ann. ANN. Yes, George. She goes to him; they stroll together up the steps and along the terrace. SARAH. I'm desperately fagged. LORD JOHN. [Politely.] A seat. SARAH. Also tired of sitting. CARNABY. Let's have the Brighton news, Carp. LORD JOHN. If there's any. CARNABY. Probably I still command abuse. Even my son-in-law must, by courtesy, join in the cry ... ah, poor duty- torn Sarah! You can spread abroad that I am as a green bay tree. CARNABY paces slowly away from them. LORD JOHN. Your father's making a mistake. SARAH. D'you think so? LORD JOHN. He's played the game once. SARAH. I was not then in the knowledge of things when he left you. LORD JOHN. We remember it. SARAH. I should like to hear it. LORD JOHN. I have avoided this subject. SARAH. With him, yes. LORD JOHN. Oh! . . . why did I desert the army for politics ? SARAH. Better fighting. LORD JOHN. It sat so uobly upon him . . . the leaving us for conscience sake when we were strongly in power. Strange that six months later we should be turned out. SARAH. Papa was lucky. LORD JOHN. But this sccond time . . . ? SARAH. Listen. This is very much a private quarrel with Mr. Pitt, who hates Papa . . . gets rid of him. LORD JOHN. Shall I betray a confidence ? SARAH. Better not. ACTi! ANN LEETE 15 LORD JOHN. My father advised me to this visit. SARAH. Your useful visit. More than kind of his Grace. LORD JOHN. Yes . . . there's been a paragraph in the "Morning Chronicle," 'The Whigs woo Mr. Carnaby Leete.' SARAH. We saw to it. LORD JOHN. My poor father seems anxious to dis- cover whether the Leete episode will repeat itself entirely. He is chronically unhappy in opposition. Are your hus- band and his colleagues trembling in their seats ? SARAH. I can't say. LORD JOHN. Politics is a game for clever children, and women, and fools. Will you take a word of warning from a soldier ? Your father is past his prime. CARNABY 'paces hack towards them. CARNABY. I'm getting to be old for these all-night sittings. I must be writing to your busy brother. LORD JOHN. Arthur? ... is at his home. SARAH. Pleasantly sounding phrase. CARNABY. His grace deserted ? SARAH. Quite secretaryless! LORD JOHN. Lady Arthur lately has been brought to bed. I heard yesterday. SARAH. The seventh, is it not? Children require living up to. My congratulations. LORD JOHN. Won't you write them ? SARAH. We are not intimate. LORD JOHN. A good woman. SARAH. Evidently. Where's Ann ? We'll go in. LORD JOHN. You're a mother to your sister. SARAH. Not I. CARNABY. My wife went her ways into the next world; Sarah hers into this; and our little Ann was left with a most admirable governess. One must never reproach 16 THE MARRYING OF [acti circumstances. Man educates woman in his own good time. LORD JOHN. I suppose shc, or any young girl, is all heart. CARNABY. What is it that you call heart . . . sen- timentally speaking? SARAH. Any bud in the morning. LORD JOHN. That man Tatton's jokes are in shocking taste. CARNABY. Tatton is honest. LORD JOHN. I'm much to blame for having won that bet. CARNABY. Say no more. LORD JOHN. What can Miss Ann think of me? SARAH. Don't ask her. CARNABY. Innocency's opininons are invariably en- tertaining. LORD JOHN. Am I the first . . . ? I really beg your pardon. GEORGE and ANN come down the steps together. CARNABY. Ann, what do you think . . . that is to say — and answer me truthfully . . . what at this moment is your inclination of mind towards my lord here? ANN. I suppose I love him. LORD JOHN. I hope not. ANN. I suppose I love you. CARNABY. No . . no . . no . . no . . no . . no . . no. SARAH. Hush, dear. ANN. I'm afraid, papa, there's something very ill- bred in me. Down the steps and into the midst of them comes JOHN ABUD, carrying his tools, aTuong other things a twist of bass. A young ga/rdenery honesty clean and common. ABUD. [To CARNABY.] I ask pardou, sir. ACTil ANN LEETE 17 CARNABY. So early, Abud! . . . this is your territory. So late . . . Bed. ANN starts away up the stepSy sarah is following her. LORD JOHN. Good-bye, Lady Cottesham. At this ANN stops for a moment^ hut then goes straight on. SARAH. A pleasant journey. SARAH departs too. GEORGE [Stretching himself^ I'm roused. CARNABY. [To ABUD.] Leavc youp tools here for a few moments. ABUD. I will, sir. ABUD leaves them, going along the terrace and out of sight. CARNABY. My head is hot. Pardon me. CARNABY is fitting on the fountain rim; he dips his handkerchief in the water , and wrings it; then takes off his vng and binds the damp handkerchief round his head. CARNABY. Wigs are most comfortable and old fashioned . . . unless you choose to be a cropped republican like my son. GEORGE. Nature! CARNABY. Nature grows a beard, sir. LORD JOHN. I've seen Turks. CARNABY. Horrible . . . horrible! Sit down. Carp. LORD JOHN sits on the fountain rim, george begins to pace restlessly; he has been nursing the candlestick ever since tatton handed it to him. CARNABY. George, you look damned ridiculous strut- ting arm-in-arm with that candlestick. GEORGE. I am ridiculous. CARNABY. If you're cogitating over your wife and her expectations . . . 18 THE MARRYING OF (acti GEORGE paces up the steps and away. There is a paiLse. CARNABY. D'ye tell stories . . . good ones ? LORD JOHN. Sometimes. CARNABY. There'll be this. LORD JOHN. I shan't. CARNABY. Say no more. If I may so express myself, Carp, you have been taking us for granted. LORD JOHN. How wide awake you are! I'm not. CARNABY. My head's cool. Shall I describe your con- duct as an unpremeditated insult.^ LORD JOHN. Don't think anything of the sort. CARNABY. There speaks your kind heart. LORD JOHN. Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me ? CARNABY. As may be. LORD JOHN. Why? CARNABY. For the sake of appearances. LORD JOHN. Damn all appearances. CARNABY. Now I'll losc my temper. Sir, you have compromised my daughter. LORD JOHN. Nonsense! CARNABY. Villain! What's your next move .'^ For a moment lord john sits with knit brows. LORD JOHN, [brutally.] Mr. Leete, your name stinks. CARNABY. My point of dis-ad- vantage! LORD JOHN. [Apohgising.] Please say what you like. I might have put my remark better. CARNABY. I think not; the homely Saxon phrase is our literary dagger. Princelike, you ride away from Markswayde. Can I trust you not to stab a socially sick man ? Why it's a duty you owe to society ... to weed out ... us. LORD JOHN. I'm not a coward. How ? CARNABY. A little laughter ... in your exuberance of health. ACT ANN LEETE 19 LORD JOHN. You may trust me not to tell tales. CABNABY. Of what . . . of whom ? LORD JOHN. Of here. CARNABY. And what is there to tell of here ? LORD JOHN. Nothing. CARNABY. But how your promise betrays a capacity for good-natured invention! LORD JOHN. If I lie call me out. CARNABY. I don't deal in sentiment. I can't afford to be talked about otherwise than as I choose to be. Al- ready the Aunt Sally of the hour; having under pressure of circumstances resigned my office; dating my letters from the borders of the Chiltern Hundreds ... I am a poor politician, sir, and I must live. LORD JOHN. I can't see that yoiu- family's infected . . . affected. CARNABY. With a penniless girl you really should have been more circumspect. LORD JOHN. I might ask to marry her. CARNABY. My lord! In the pause that ensues he takes up the twist of bass to play with. LORD JOHN. What should you say to that ? CARNABY. The silly child supposed she loved you. LORD JOHN. Yes. CARNABY. Is it a match ? LORD JOHN. [Full in the other*sface.] What about the appearances of black-mail? CARNABY. [Compressing his thin lijys.] Do you care for my daughter ? LORD JOHN. I could ... at a pinch. CARNABY. Now, my lord, you are insolent. LORD JOHN. Is this whcn we quarrel ? CARNABY. I think I'll challenge you. LORD JOHN. That will look well. 20 ANN LEETE [act i CARNABY. You'll value that kiss when you've paid for it. Kindly choose Tatton as your second. I want his tongue to wag both ways. LORD JOHN. I was forgetting how it all began. CARNABY. George will serve me . . . protesting. His principles are vile, but he has the education of a gentleman. Swords or . . . ? Swords. And at noon shall we say ? There's shade behind a certain barn, midway between this and Tatton's. LORD JOHN. [Not taking him seriously yet] What if we both die horridly ? CARNABY. You are at liberty to make me a written apology. LORD JOHN. A joke's a joke. CARNABY deliberately strikes him in the face with the twist of bass. LORD JOHN. That's enough. CARNABY. [In explanatory apology.] My friend, you are so obtuse. Abud! LORD JOHN. Mr. Leete, are you serious ? CARNABY. Perfectly serious. Let's go to bed. Abud, you can get to your work. Wig in hand, mr. leete courteously conducts his guest towards the house, abud returns to his tools and his morning* s work. THE SECOND ACT Shortly after mid-day^ while the sun beats strongly upon the terrace, abud is working dexterously at the rose trees, dr. remnant comes down the steps, halted, and carrying a stick and a hook. He is an elderly man with a kind manner; type of the eighteenth century casuistical parson. On his way he stops to say a word to the gardener. DR. REMNANT. Will it rain before nightfall.^ ABUD. About then, sir, I should say. Doion the other steps comes mrs. opie, a prim, de- corous, hut well bred and unohjectionable woman. She is followed by ann. MRS. OPIE. A good morning to you, Parson. DR. REMNANT. And to you, Mrs. Opie, and to Miss Ann. ANN. Good morning, Dr. Remnant. [To abud.] Have you been here ever since . . . ? ABUD. I've had dinner, Miss. abud's work takes him gradually out of sight. MRS. OPIE. We are but just breakfasted. DR. REMNANT. I suTmise dissipation. ANN. [To MRS. OPIE.] Thank you for waiting five hours. MRS. OPIE. It is my rule to breakfast with you. DR. REMNANT. [Exhibiting the book.] I am come to re- turn, and to borrow. ANN. Show me. DR. REMNANT. Ballads by Robert Burns. 21 22 THE MARRYING OF [actii ANN. [Taking it.] I'll put it back. MRS. OPIE. [Taking it from her.] I've never heard of him. DR. REMNANT. Oh, ma'am, a very vulgar poet! GEORGE LEETE comes quickly down the steps. GEORGE. [To REMNANT.] How are you ? DR. REMNANT. YoUTS, sif. GEORGE. Ann. ANN. Good morning, George. GEORGE. Did you sleep well? ANN. I always do . . . but I dreamt. GEORGE. I must sit dowu for a minute. [Nodding.] Mrs. Opie. MRS. OPIE. I wish you a good morning, sir. GEORGE. [To ANN.] Don't look so solemn. LADY COTTESHAM comes quickly to the top of the steps. SARAH. Is Papa badly hurt.^ ANN. [Jumping up.] Oh, what has happened ? GEORGE. Not badly. SARAH. He won't see me. His three children look at each other. DR. REMNANT. [Tactfully.] May I go my ways to the library ? SARAH. Please do, Doctor Remnant. DR. REMNANT. I flatly Contradicted all that was being said in the village. SARAH. Thoughtful of you. DR. REMNANT. But tell me nothing. DR. REMNANT bows formally and goes, george is about to speak when sarah with a look at mrs. opie says. . . SARAH. George, hold your tongue. MRS. OPIE. [With much hauteur.] I am in the way. At this moment dimmuck, an old but unbenevolent- hoking butler y comes to the top of the steps. ACT 11 ANN LEETE 2S DiMMUCK. The master wants Mrs. Opie. MKs. OPIE. Thank you. GEORGE. Your triumph! MRS. OPIE is departing radiant. DIMMUCK. How was I to know you was in the garden ? MRS. OPIE. I am sorry to have put you to the trouble of a search, Mr. Dimmuck. DIMMUCK. He's in his room. And he follows her towards the house. GEORGE. Carp fought with him at twelve o'clock. The other two cannot speak from amazement. SARAH. No! GEORGE. Why, they didn't tell me and I didn't ask. Carp was laughing. Tatton chuckled . . . afterwards. SARAH. What had he to do? GEORGE. Carp's second. SARAH. Unaccountable children! GEORGE. Feather parade . . . throw in . . . parry quarter over the arm . . . put by: feint . . . flanconade and through his arm . . . damned easy. The father didn't wince or say a word. I bound it up . . . the sight of blood makes me sick. After a moment, sarah turns to ann. SARAH. Yes, and you've been a silly child. GEORGE. Ah, give me a woman's guess and the most unlikely reason to account for anything! ANN. I hate that man. I'm glad Papa's not hurt. What about a surgeon ? GEORGE. No, you shall kiss the place well, and there'll be poetic justice done. SARAH. How did you all part ? GEORGE. With bows and without a word. SARAH. Coming home with him ? GEORGE. Not a word. SARAH. Papa's very clever; but I'm puzzled. U THE MARRYING OF (actii GEORGE. Something will happen next, no doubt. ANN. Isn't this done with ? SARAH. So it seems. ANN. I should like to be told just what the game has been. GEORGE. Bravo, Ann. ANN. Tell me the rules ... for next time. SARAH. It would have been most advantageous for us to have formed an alliance with Lord John Carp, who stood here for his father and his father's party . . . now in opposition. GEORGE. Look upon yourself — not too seriously — Ann, as the instrument of political destiny. ANN. I'm afraid I take in fresh ideas very slowly. Why has Papa given up the Stamp OflSce ? SARAH. His colleagues wouldn't support him. ANN. Why was that.^ SARAH. They disapproved of what he did. ANN. Did he do right . . . giving it up ? SARAH. Yes. GEORGE. We hope so. Time will tell. An irreverent quipster once named him Carnaby Leech. SARAH. I know. GEORGE. I wonder if his true enemies think him wise to have dropped off the Stamp Office ? ANN. Has he quarrelled with Sir Charles ? SARAH. Politically. ANN. Isn't that awkward for you ? SARAH. Not a bit. GEORGE. Hear a statement that includes our lives. Markswayde goes at his death ... see reversionary mortgage. The income's an annuity now. The cash in the house will be ours. The debts are paid ... at last. ANN. And there remains me. GEORGE. Bad grammar. Meanwhile our father is a ACTii) ANN LEETE 25 tongue, which is worth buying; but I don't think he ought to go over to the enemy ... for the second time. SARAH. One party is as good as another; each works for the same end, I should hope. GEORGE. I won't argue about it. ANN. I suppose that a woman's profession is marriage. GEORGE. My lord has departed. ANN. There'll be others to come. I'm not afraid of being married. SARAH. What did Papa want Mrs. Opie for? AJSTN. There'll be a great many things I shall want to know about men now. GEORGE. Wisdom Cometh with sorrow . . , oh, my sister. SARAH. I believe you two are both about as selfish as you can be. GEORGE. I am an egotist . . . with attachments. AJ^N. Make use of me. GEORGE. Ann, you marry — when you marry — to please yourself. ANN. There's much in life that I don't like, Sally. SARAH. There's much more that you will. GEORGE. I think we three have never talked together before. ABUD, who has been in sight on the terrace for a few moments, now com£s down the steps. ABUD. May I make so bold, sir, as to ask how is Mrs. George Leete? GEORGE. She was well when I last heard. ABUD. Thank you, sir. And he returns to his work. ANN. I wonder will it be a boy or a girl. GEORGE. Poor weak woman. SARAH. Be grateful to her. ANN. A baby is a wonderful thing. 26 THE MARRYING OF (actii SARAH. Babyhood in the abstract . . . beautiful. ANN. Even kittens . . . She stopsy and then in rather childish embarrass- menty moves away from them. SARAH. Don't shudder, George. GEORGE. I have no wish to be a father. Why ? SARAH. It's a vulgar responsibility. GEORGE. My wayside flower! SARAH. Why pick it ? GEORGE. Sarah, I love my wife. SARAH. That's easily said. GEORGE. She should be here. SARAH. George, you married to please yourself. GEORGE. By custom her rank is my own. SARAH. Does she still drop her aitches .'* GEORGE. Dolly . . . SARAH. Pretty name. GEORGE. Dolly aspires to be one of us. SARAH. Child-bearing makes these women blowzy. GEORGE. Oh heaven! ANN. [Calling to abud on the terrace.] Finish to-day, Abud. If it rains . . . She stops, seeing mr. tetgeen standing at the top of the steps leading from the house. This is an in- tensely respectable, selfcontained-looking lawyer, but a man of the world too. MR. TETGEEN. Lady Cottcsham. SARAH. Sir ? MR. TETGEEN. My name is Tetgeen. SARAH. Mr. Tetgeen. How do you do ? MR. TETGEEN. The houschold appeared to be in some confusion and I took the liberty to be my own messenger. I am anxious to speak with you. SARAH. Ann, dear, ask if Papa will see you now. DiMMUCK appears. ACT II] ANN LEETE 27 DiMMUCK. The master wants you, Miss Ann. SARAH. Ask papa if he'll see me soon. ANN goes towards the hotise. SARAH. Dimmuck, Mr. Tetgeen has been left to find his own way here. DIMMUCK. I couldn't help it, my lady. And he follows ann. SARAH. Our father is confined to his room. GEORGE. By your leave. Then george takes himself off up the steps, and out of sight. The old lawyer bows to lady cottesham, who regards him steadily. MR. tetgeen. From Sir Charles ... a talking machine. SARAH. Please sit. He sits car ef idly upon the rim of the fountain, she upon the seat opposite. SARAH. [Glancing over her shoulder.] Will you talk nonsense until the gardener is out of hearing? He is on his way away. You have had a tiring journey ? MR. tetgeen. Thank you, no ... by the night coach to Reading and thence I have walked. SARAH. The country is pretty, is it not.^ MR. tetgeen. It compares favourably with other parts. SARAH. Do you travel much, Mr. Tetgeen? He has gone. MR. TETGEEN. [Deliberately and sharpening his tone ever so little.] Sir Charles does not wish to petition for a divorce. SARAH. [Controlling even her sense of humour.] I have no desire to jump over the moon. MR. TETGEEN. His scFuplcs are religious. The case would be weak upon some important points, and there has been no public scandal ... at the worst, very little. SARAH. My good manners are, I trust, irreproachable, 28 THE MARRYING OF [actii and you may tell Sir Charles that my conscience is my own. MR. TETGEEN. YouT husband's in the matter of . . . SARAH. Please say the word. MR. TETGEEN. Pardon me . . . not upon mere sus- picion. SARAH. Now, is it good policy to suspect what is in- capable of proof.? MR. TETGEEN. I advisc Sir Charles, that, should you come to an open fight, he can afford to lose. SARAH. And have I no right to suspicions ? MR. TETGEEN. Certainly. Are they of use to you? SARAH. I have been a tolerant wife, expecting tolera- tion. MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charlcs is anxious to take into con- sideration any complaints you may have to make against him. SARAH. I complain if he complains of me. MR. TETGEEN. For the first time, I think . . . formally. SARAH. Why not have come to me ? MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles is busy. SARAH. [Disguising a little spasm of pain.] Shall we get to business? MR. TETGEEN uow takes a moment to find his phrase. MR. TETGEEN. I dou't kuow the mau's name. SARAH. This, surely, is how you might address a seduced housemaid. MR. TETGEEN. But Sir Charlcs and he, I understand, have talked the matter over. The shock of this brings sarah to her feet, white with anger. SARAH. Divorce me. MR. TETGEEN. [Sharply^ Is there ground for it? SARAH. \With a magnificent recovery of self control.'] I won't tell you that. MR. TETGEEN. I have Said we have no case . . . that ACTiil ANN LEETE 29 is to say, we don't want one; but any information is a weapon in store. SARAH. You did quite right to insult me. MR. TETGEEN. As a Tulc I dcspise such methods. SARAH. It's a lie that they met . . . those two men? MR. TEixjEEN. It may be. SARAH. It must be. MR. TETGEEN. I have Sir Charles's word. Now he takes from his pocket some notes, putting on his spectacles to read them. SARAH. What's this ... a written lecture? MR. TETGEEN. We proposc . . . first: that the present complete severance of conjugal relations shall continue. Secondly: that Lady Cottesham shall be at liberty to re- move from South Audley Street and Ringham Castle all personal and private ejffects, excepting those family jewels which have merely been considered her property. Thirdly: Lady Cottesham shall undertake, formally and in writing not to molest — a legal term — Sir Charles Cottesham. [Her handkerchief has dropped, here he picks it up and restores it to her.] Allow me, my lady. 8AR\H. I thank you. MR. TETGEEN. [Continuing.] Fourthly: Lady Cottes- ham shall undertake . . . etc. . . . not to inhabit or frequent the city and towns of London, Brighthelmstone, Bath, The Tunbridge Wells, and York. Fifthly: Sir Charles Cottesham will, in acknowledgement of the main- tenance of this agreement, allow Lady C. the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds per annum, which sum he con- siders sufficient for the upkeep of a small genteel establish- ment; use of the house known as Pater House, situate some seventeen miles from the Manor of Barton-le- Street, Yorkshire; coals from the mine adjoining; and from the home farm, milk, butter and eggs. [Then he finds a further note.] Lady Cottesham is not to play cards. 30 THE MARRYING OF [actii SARAH. I am a little fond of play. MR. TETGEEN. There is no question of jointure. SARAH. None. Mr. Tetgeen ... I love my husband. MR. TETGEEN. My lady ... I will mention it. SARAH. Such a humorous answer to this. No . . . don't. What is important? Bread and butter . . . and eggs. Do I take this ? MR. TETGEEN. [Handing her the paper.] Please. SARAH. [With the ghost of a smile.] I take it badly. MR. TETGEEN. [Courteously capping her jest.] I take my leave. SARAH. This doesn't call for serious notice? I've done nothing legal by accepting it? MR. TETGEEN. There's no law in the matter; it's one of policy. SARAH. I might bargain for a bigger income, [mr. TETGEEN bows.] On the whole I'd rather be divorced. MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles detests scandal. SARAH. Besides there's no case ... is there? MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles congratulates himself. SARAH. Sir Charles had best not bully me so politely . . . tell him. MR. TETGEEN. My lady! SARAH. I will not discuss this impertinence. Did those two men meet and talk . . . chat together ? What d'you think of that? MR. TETGEEN. 'Twas vcry practical. I know that the woman is somehow the outcast. SARAH. A bad woman ... an idle woman! But I've tried to do so much that lay to my hands without ever questioning . . . ! Thank you, I don't want this re- tailed to my husband. You'll take a glass of wine before you go? MR. TETGEEN. Port is grateful. She takes from her dress two sealed letters. ACTiil ANN LEETE 81 SARAH. Will you give that to Sir Charles ... a letter he wrote me which I did not open. This, my answer, which I did not send. He takes the one letter courteously, the other she puts back. SARAH. I'm such a coward, Mr. Tetgeen. MR. TETGEEN. May I say how sorry . . . ? SARAH. Thank you. MR. TETGEEN. And let me apologise for having ex- pressed one opinion of my own. SARAH. He wants to get rid of me. He's a bit afraid of me, you know, becaiise I fight . . . and my weapons are all my own. This'll blow over. MR. TETGEEN. [With a shttke of the head.] You are to take this offer as final. SARAH. Beyond this? MR. TETGEEN. As I hinted, I am prepared to advise legal measures. SARAH. I could blow it over . . . but I won't perhaps. I must smile at my husband's consideration in suppressing even to you . . . the man's name. Butter and eggs . . . and milk. I should grow fat. ANN appears suddenly. ANN. We go to Brighton to-morrow ! [And she comes excitedly to her sister.] SARAH. Was that duel a stroke of genius ? ANN. All sorts of things are to happen. SARAH. [Turning from her to mr. tetgeen.] And you'll walk as far as Reading ? MR. TETGEEN. Dear me, yes. SARAH. [To ANN.] I'll comc back. SARAH takes mr. tetgeen towards the house, ann seats herself. After a moment lord john carp, his clothes dusty with some riding appears from the other quarter. She looks up to find him gazing at her. S2 THE MARRYING OF [act ii LORD JOHN. Ann, I've ridden back to see you. ANN. [After a Tnoment] We're coming to Brighton tomorrow. LORD JOHN. Good. ANN. Papa's not dead. LORD JOHN. [With equal cheerfulness.] That's good. ANN. And he said we should be seeing more of you. LORD JOHN. Here I am. I love you, Ann. [He goes on his knees.] ANN. D'you want to marry me ? LORD JOHN. Yes. ANN. Thank you very much ; it'll be very convenient for us all. Won't you get up ? LORD JOHN. At your feet. ANN. I like it. LORD JOHN. Give me your hand. ANN. No. LORD JOHN. You're beautiful. ANN. I don't think so. You don't think so. LORD JOHN. I do think so. ANN. I should like to say I don't love you. LORD JOHN. Last night you kissed me. ANN. Do get up, please. LORD JOHN. As you wish. Now he sits by her. ANN. Last night you were nobody in particular . . . to me. LORD JOHN. I love you. ANN. Please don't; I can't think clearly. LORD JOHN. Look at me. ANN. I'm sure I don't love you because you're making me feel very uncomfortable and that wouldn't be so. LORD JOHN. Then we'll think. ANN. Papa . . . perhaps you'd rather not talk about Papa. ACTiil ANN LEETE 33 LORD JOHN. Give yourself to me. ANN. [Drawing away from him.] Four words! There ought to be more in such a sentence . . . it's ridiculous. I want a year to think about its meaning. Don't speak. LORD JOHN. Papa joins our party. ANN. That's what we're after . . . thank you. LORD JOHN. I loathe politics. ANN. Tell me something against them. LORD JOHN. In my opinion your father's not a much bigger blackguard — I beg your pardon — than the rest of us. ANN. . . . Miserable sinners. LORD JOHN. Your father turns his coat. Well . . . ? ANN. I see nothing at all in that. LORD JOHN. What's right and what's wrong ? ANN. Papa's right ... for the present. ANN. When shall we be married? LORD JOHN. Tomorrow? ANN. [Startled.] If you knew that it isn't easy for me to be practical you wouldn't make fun. LORD JOHN. Why not tomorrow? ANN. Papa — LORD JOHN. Papa says yes . . suppose. ANN. I'm very young . . not to speak of clothes. I must have lots of new dresses. LORD JOHN. Ask me for them. ANN. Why do you want to marry me? LORD JOHN. I love you. ANN. It suddenly occurs to me that sounds unpleasant. LORD JOHN. I love you. ANN. Out of place. LORD JOHN. I love you. ANN. What if Papa were to die? LORD JOHN. I want you. ANN. I'm nothing . . I'm nobody . . I'm part of my family. 34> THE MARRYING OF [act n LORD JOHN. I want you. ANN. Won't you please forget last night ? LORD JOHN. I want you. Look straight at me. She looks, and staj/s fascinated. LORD JOHN. If I say now that I love you — ANN. I know it. LORD JOHN. And love me ? ANN. I suppose so. LORD JOHN. Make sure. ANN. But I hate you too . . I know that. LORD JOHN. Shall I kiss you ? ANN. [Helplessli/.] Yes. He kisses her full on the lips. ANN. I can't hate you enough. LORD JOHN. [Triumphantly. '\ Speak the truth now. ANN. I feel very degraded. LORD JOHN. Nonsense. ANN. [Wretchedly.'] This is one of the things which don't matter. LORD JOHN. Ain't you to be mine } ANN. You want the right to behave like that as well as the power. LORD JOHN. You shall command me. ANN. [With a poor laugh.'] I rather like this in a way. LORD JOHN. Little coquette ! ANN. It does tickle my vanity. For a moment he sits looking at her, then shakes himself to his feet. LORD JOHN. Now I mUSt gO. ANN. Yes . . I want to think. LORD JOHN. For Heaven's sake . . no ! ANN. I came this morning straight to where we were last night. ACT ii] ANN LEETE 35 LORD JOHN. As I hung about the garden my heart was beating. AJ^N. I shall like you better when you're not here. LORD JOHN. We*re to meet in Brighton? ANN. I'm afraid so. LORD JOHN. Good-bye. ANN. There's just a silly sort of attraction between certain people, I believe. LORD JOHN. Can you look me in the eyes and say you don't love me? ANN. If I looked you in the eyes you'd frighten me again. I can say anything. LORD JOHN. You're a deep child. GEORGE LEETE appears on the terrace. GEORGE. My lord! LORD JOHN. [Cordially.] My dear Leete. GEORGE. No . . I am not surprised to see you. ANN. George, things are happening. LORD JOHN. Shake hands. GEORGE. I will not. ANN. Lord John asks me to be married to him. Shake hands. GEORGE. Why did you fight ? _ ANN. Why d i d you fight ? ^ LORD JOHN, [^ftrugging.] Your father struck me. ANN. Now you've hurt him . . that's fair. Theii the two men do shake hands, not heartily. GEORGE. We've trapped you, my lord. LORD JOHN. I know what I want. I love your sister. ANN. I don't like you . . but if you're good and I'm good we shall get on. GEORGE. Why shouldn't one marry politically ? LORD JOHN. [/« Anns ear.] I love you. 36 THE MARRYING OF [act ii ANN. No . . no . . no . . no . . no . . [discovering in this an echo of her father ^ she stops short] GEORGE. We're a cold-blooded family. LORD JOHN. I don't think so. GEORGE. I married for love. LORD JOHN. Who doesn't ? But, of course there should be other reasons. GEORGE. You won't receive my wife. LORD JOHN. Here's your sister. LADY COTTESHAM comcs fiovi the direction of the house. SARAH. Back again? LORD JOHN. You SCC. From the other side appears mr. tatton. MR. TATTON. As you all seem to be here I don't mind interrupting. GEORGE. [Hailing him.] Well . . neighbour? MR. TATTON. Comc . . comc . . what's a little fighting more or less! GEORGE. Bravo, English sentiment . . relieves a deal of awkwardness. The two shake hands. BARAH. [Who by this has reached lord john.] . . And back so soon? ANN. Lord John asks to marry me. LORD JOHN. Yes. MR. TATTON. I gucsscd SO . . givc me a bit of romance! SARAH. [Suavely.] This is perhaps a little sudden, my dear Lord John. Papa may naturally be a little shocked. GEORGE. Not at all, Sarah. MR. TATTON. How's the wouud ? GEORGE. Not serious . . nothing's serious. SARAH. You are very masterful, wooing sword in hand. ANN. George and I have explained to Lord John that we are all most anxious to marry me to him and he doesn't mind — ACT III ANN LEETE 37 LORD JOHN. Being made a fool of. I love — ANN. I will like you. GEORGE. Charming cynicism, my dear Sarah. MR. TATTON. Oh, Lord! ANN. [To her ajffianced.] Good-bye now. LORD JOHN. When do I see you? ANN. Papa says soon. LORD JOHN. Very soon, please. Tatton, my friend, Brighton's no nearer. MR. TATTON. Lady Cottesham . . Miss Leete . . I kiss your hands. LORD JOHN. [Ebulliently clapping george on the back.] Look more pleased. [Then he bends over lady cottesham's hand.] Lady Charlie . . my service to you . . all. Ann. [And he takes ann's hand to kiss.] ANN. If I can think better of all this, I shall. Good-bye. She turns away from him. He stands for a moment considering her, but follows tatton away through the orchard, george and sarah are watching their sister y who then comments on her little affair with life. ANN. I'm growing up. [Then with a sudden tremor.] Sally, don't let me be forced to marry. GEORGE. Force of circumstances, my dear Ann. ANN. Outside things. Why couldn't I run away from this garden and over the hills . . I suppose there's some- thing on the other side of the hills. SARAH. You'd find yoiu-self there . . and circum- stances. ANN. So I'm trapped as well as that Lord John. SARAH. What's the injury? ANN. I'm taken by surprise and I know I'm ignorant and I think I'm learning things backwards. GEORGE. You must chccr up and say: John's not a bad sort. SARAH. A man of his age is a young man. 38 THE MARRYING OF [actii ANN. I wish you wouldn't recommend him to me. SARAH. Let's think of Brighton. What about your gowns ? ANN. I've nothing to wear. SARAH. We'll talk to Papa. GEORGE. The war-purse is always a long one. SARAH. George . . be one of us for a minute. GEORGE. But I want to look on too, and laugh. SARAH. [Caustically.] Yes . . that's your privilege . . except occasionally. [Then to her sister.] I wish you all the happiness of courtship days. GEORGE. Arcadian expression! ANN. I believe it means being kissed . . often. SARAH. Have you not a touch of romance in you, little girl? ANN. Am I not like Mr. Dan Tatton.'* He kisses dairy-maids and servants and all the fanner's daughters . . I beg your pardon, George. GEORGE. [Nettled.] I'll say to you, Ann, that — in all essentials — one woman is as good as another. SARAH. That is not so in the polite world. GEORGE. When you consider it no one lives in the polite world. ANN. Do they come outside for air sooner or later? SARAH. [Briskly.] Three best dresses you must have and something very gay if you're to go near the Pavilion. ANN. You're coming to Brighton, Sally? SARAH. No. ANN. Why not? SARAH. I don't wish to meet my husband. GEORGE. That man was his lawyer. ANN. The political difference, Sally? SARAH. Just that. [Then with a deft turn of the subject] I don't say that yours is a pretty face, but I should think you would have charm. Acrnl ANN LEETE 39 GEORGE. For fashion's sake cultivate sweetness. SARAH. You dance as well as they know how in Reading. ANN. Yes . . I can twiddle my feet. SARAH. Do you like dancing? ANN. I'd sooner walk. GEORGE. What . . and get somewhere! ANN. Here's George laughing. SARAH. He's out of it. ANN. Are you happy, George? GEORGE. Alas . . Dolly's disgraceful ignorance of etiquette damns us both from the beautiful drawing-room. SARAH. That laugh is forced. But how can you. . . look on ? There is a slight pause in their talk. Then . . . ANN. He'll bully me with love. SARAH. Your husband will give you just what you ask for. ANN. I hate myself too. I want to take people mentally. GEORGE. You want a new world . . you new woman. ANN. And I'm a good bit frightened of myself. SARAH. We have our places to fill in this. My dear child, leave futile questions alone. GEORGE. Neither have I any good advice to give you. ANN. I think happiness is a thing one talks too much about. DiMMUCK appears. And by now abud's work has brought him back to the terrace. DIMMUCK. The master would like to see your Ladyship now. SARAH. I'll say we've had a visitor . . Guess. GEORGE. And you've had a visitor, Sarah. ANN. Papa will know. SARAH. Is he in a questioning mood? ANN. I always tell everything. SARAH. It saves time. She departs towards the house. 40 THE MARRYING OF (actii DiMMUCK. Mr. George. GEORGE. What is it? DIMMUCK. He said No to a doctor when I haven't even mentioned the matter. Had I better send . . ? GEORGE. Do . . if you care to waste the doctor's time. DIMMUCK gives an offended sniff and follows lady COTTESHAM. ANN. I could sit here for days. George, I don't think 1 quite beheve in anything I've been told yet. GEORGE. What's that man's name? ANN. John — John is a common name — John Abud. GEORGE. Abud! abud. Sir ? GEORGE. Come here. ABUD obediently walks towards his young master and stands before him. GEORGE. Why did you ask after the health of Mrs. George Leete? ABUD. We courted once. GEORGE. [After a moment] Listen, Ann. Do you hate me, John Abud? ABUD. No, sir. GEORGE. You're a fine looking fellow. How old are you ? ABUD. Twenty-seven, sir. GEORGE. Is Once long ago? ABUD. Two years gone. GEORGE. Did Mrs. Leete quarrel with you? ABUD. No, sir. GEORGE. Pray tell me more. ABUD. I was beneath her. GEORGE. But you're a fine-looking fellow. ABUD. Farmer Crowe wouldn't risk his daughter being unhappy. GEORGE. But she was beneath me. ACTII ANN LEETE 41 ABUD. That was another matter, sir. GEORGE. I don't think you intend to be sarcastic. ABUD. And . . being near her time for the first time, sir . . I wanted to know if she is in danger of dying yet. GEORGE. Every precaution has been taken. . a nurse. . there is a physician near. I need not tell you . . but I do tell you. ABUD. Thank you, sir. GEORGE. I take great interest in my wife. ABUD. We all do, sir. GEORGE. Was it ambition that you courted her? ABUD. I thought to start housekeeping. GEORGE. Did you aspire to rise socially? ABUD. I wanted a wife to keep house, sir. GEORGE. Are you content? ABUD. I think so, sir. GEORGE. With your humble position? ABUD. I'm a gardener, and there'll always be gardens. GEORGE. Frustrated affections . . I beg your pardon. . . To have been crossed in love should make you bitter and ambitious. ABUD. My father was a gardener and my son will be a gardener if he's no worse a man than I and no better. GEORGE. Are you married? ABUD. No, sir. GEORGE. Are you going to be married? ABUD. Not especially, sir. GEORGE. Yes . . you must marry . . some decent woman; we want gardeners. ABUD. Do you want me any more now, sir ? GEORGE. You have interested me. You can go back to your work. ABUD obeys. GEORGE. [Almost to hvnself.^ I am hardly human. He slowly moves away and out of sight. 42 THE MARRYING OF (actii ANN. John Abud. He comes hack and stands before her too. ANN. I am very sorry for you. ABUD. I am very much obligated to you, Miss. ANN. Both those sayings are quite meaningless. Say something true about yourself. ABUD. I'm not sorry for myself. ANN. I won't tell. It's very clear you ought to be in a despairing state. Don't stand in the sun with your hat off, ABUD. [Putting on his hat.] Thank you. Miss. ANN. Have you nearly finished the rose-trees? ABUD. I must work till late this evening. ANN. Weren't you ambitious for Dolly's sake? ABUD. She thought me good enough. ANN. I'd have married her. ABUD. She was ambitious for me. ANN. And are you frightened of the big world ? ABUD. Fine things dazzle me sometimes. ANN. But gardening is all that you're fit for? ABUD. I'm afraid so, Miss. ANN. But it's great to be a gardener . . to sow seeds and to watch flowers grow and to cut away dead things o ABUD. Yes, Miss. ANN. And you're in the fresh air all day. ABUD. That's very healthy. ANN. Are you very poor? ABUD. I get my meals in the house. ANN. Rough clothes last a long time. ABUD. I've saved money. ANN. Where do you sleep? ABUD. At Mrs. Hart's . . at a cottage . . it's a mile off. ANN. And you want no more than food and clothes and a bed and you earn all that with your hands. ABUD. The less a man wants, Miss, the better. ACT II I ANN LEETE 48 ANN. But you mean to marry? ABUD. Yes . . I've saved money. ANN. Whom will you marry? Would you rather not say? Perhaps you don't know yet? ABUD. It's all luck what sort of a maid a man gets fond of. It won't be a widow. ANN. Be careful, John Abud. ABUD. No . . I shan't be careful. ANN. You'll do very wrong to be made a fool of. ABUD. I'm safe. Miss; I've no eye for a pretty face. DiMMUCK arrives asthmatically at the top of the steps. DIMMUCK. Where's Mr. George ? Here's a messenger come post. ANN. Find him, Abud. ABUD. [To DIMMUCK.] From Dolly? DIMMUCK. Speak respectfuL ABUD. Is it from his wife? DIMMUCK. Go find him. ANN. [As ABUD IS immovable.] Dimmuck . . . tell me about Mrs. George. DIMMUCK. She's doing well. Miss. ABUD. [Shouting joyfully now.] Mr. George! Mr. George! ANN. A boy or a girl, Dimmuck? DIMMUCK. Yes, Miss. ABUD. Mr. George! Mr. George! DIMMUCK. Ecod . . is he somewhere else? DIMMUCK, somewhat excited himself returns to the house. ANN. George! ABUD. Mr. George! Mr. George! GEORGE comes slowly along the terrace, in his hand an open booky which some people might suppose he was reading. He speaks with studied calm. 44 ANN LEETE [agth GEORGE. You are very excited, my good man. ABUD. She's brought you a child, sir. ANN. Your child! GEORGE. Certainly. ABUD. Thank God, Sir! GEORGE. I will if I please. ANN. And she's doing well. ABUD. There's a messenger come post. GEORGE. To be sure . . it might have been bad news. And slowly he crosses the garden towards the house. ABUD. [Suddenly, beyond all 'patience.] Run . . damn you! George makes one supreme effort to mxiintain his dignity, but fails utterly. He gasps out . . . GEORGE. Yes, I will. [And runs off as hard as he can.] ABUD. [In an ecstasy.] This is good. Oh, Dolly and God . . this is good! ANN. [Round eyed.] I wonder that you can be pleased. ABUD. [Apologising . . without apology.] It's life. ANN. [Struck.] Yes, it is. And she goes towards the hov^e, thinking this over. THE THIRD ACT It IS near to sunset. The garden is shadier than before. ABUD is still working, carnaby leete comes from the house followed by dr. remnant. He wears his right arm in a sling. His face is flushed, his speech rapid. carnaby. Parson, you didn't drink enough wine . . . damme, the wine was good. DR. REMNANT. I am Very grateful for an excellent dinner. carnaby. a good dinner, sir, is the crown to a good day's work. DR. REMNANT. It may also be a comfort in affliction. Our philosophy does ill, Mr. Leete, when it despises the more simple means of contentment. CARNABY. And which will be the better lover of a woman, a hungry or a well-fed man ? DR. REMNANT. A good meal digests love with it; for what is love but a food to live by . . but a hungry love will ofttimes devour its owner. CARNABY. Admirable! Give me a man in love to deal with. Vous I'avez vu? DR. REMNANT. Speak Latin, Greek or Hebrew to me, Mr. Leete. CARNABY. French is the language of little things. My poor France! Ours is a little world, Parson ... a man may hold it here. [His open hand.] Lord John Carp's a fine fellow. 45 46 THE MARRYING OF [actiii DR. REMNANT. Son of a Duke. CARNABY. And I commend to you the originality of his retm-n. At twelve we fight ... at one-thirty he proposes marriage to my daughter. D'ye see him humbly on his knees? Will there be rain, I wonder? DR. REMNANT. We need rain . . Abud? ABUD. Badly, sir. CARNABY. Do wc want a wet journey tomorrow! Where's Sarah? DR. REMNANT. Lady Cottesham's taking tea. CARNABY. [To ABUD With a sudden start ^ And why the devil didn't you marry my daughter-in-law . . my own gardener ? GEORGE appears dressed for riding. GEORGE. Good-bye, sir, for the present. CARNABY. Boots and breeches! GEORGE. You shouldn't be about in the evening air with a green wound in your arm. You drank wine at dinner. Be careful, sir. CARNABY. Off to your wife and the expected? GEORGE. Yes, sir. CARNABY. Riding to Watford? GEORGE. From there alongside the North Coach, if I'm in time. CARNABY. Don't founder my horse. Will ye leave the glorious news with your grandfather at Wycombe? GEORGE. I won't fail to. [Then to abud.] We've been speaking of you. ABUD. It was never any secret, sir. GEORGE. Don't apologise. Soon after this abud passes out of sight. CARNABY. Nature's an encumbrance to us, Parson. dr. REMNANT. One disapproves of flesh uninspired. CARNABY. She allows you no amusing hobbies . . always takes you seriously. ANN LEETE 47 GEORGE. Good-bye, Parson. DR. REMNANT. [As fie bows.] YoiiT most obedient. CARNABY. And you trifle with damnable democracy, with pretty theories of the respect due to womanhood and now the result . . . hark to it squalling. DR. REMNANT. Being fifty miles off might not one say : The cry of the new-born? CARNABY. Ill-bred babies squall. There's no poetic glamour in the world will beautify an undesired infant . . George says so. GEORGE. I did say so. CARNABY. I feel the whole matter deeply. GEORGE half laughs. CARNABY. George, after days of irritability, brought to bed of a smile. That's a home thrust of a metaphor. GEORGE laughs again. CARNABY. Twins! GEORGE. Yes, a boy and a girl . . . I'm the father of a boy and a girl. CARNABY. [In dignified, indignant horror.] No one of you dared tell me that much! SARAH and ANN come from the house. GEORGE. You could havc asked me for news of your grandchildren. CARNABY. Twins is an insult. SARAH. But you look very cheerful, George. GEORGE. I am content. SARAH. I'm surprised. GEORGE. I am surprised. SARAH. Now what names for them? CARNABY. No family names, please. GEORGE. We'll wait for a dozen years or so and let them choose their own. DR. REMNANT. But, sir, christening will demand — CARNABY. Your SOU should have had my name, sir. 48 THE MARRYING OF [actiii GEORGE. I know the rule . . as I have my grandfather's which I take no pride in. SARAH. George! GEORGE. Not to say that it sounds his, not mine. CARNABY. Our hopes of you were high once. GEORGE. Sarah, may I kiss you ? [He kisses her cheek.] Let me hear what you decide to do. CARNABY. The begetting you, sir, was a waste of time. GEORGE. [Quite pleasantly.] Don't say that. At the top of the steps ann is waiting for him. ANN. I'll see you into the saddle. GEORGE. Thank you, sister Ann. ANN. Why didn't you leave us weeks ago? GEORGE. Why! They pace away, arm-in-arm. CARNABY. [Bitterly.] Glad to go! Brighton, Sarah. SARAH. No, I shall not come, Papa. CARNABY. Coward. [Then to REMNATy Coleman Walter Kent Vernon Steel Mrs. Farrant Miss Beryl Faber Miss Trebell Miss Henrietta Watson Mrs. O'Connell Miss Aimee De Burgh Lucy Davenport Miss Dorothy Thomas George Farrant Frederick Lloyd Russell Blackborough A. Holmes-Gore A Footman Allan Wade Henry Trebell Granville Barker Simpson Miss Mary Barton Gilbert Wedgecroft Berte Thomas Lord Charles Cantelupe Dennis Eadie The Earl of Horsham Henry Vibari Edmunds Trevor Lowe Justin O'Connell J. Fisher White 347 L^ \^ «^^^««VTODitS'^^ USE '^"'° "Mediate recaU. ^g.^'.U--V.e GENERAL LIBRARY - U.C. BERKELEY 11 i