THE MARRYING 
 OF ANN LEETE 
 A COMEDY, IN FOUR ACTS, 
 BY GRANVILLE BARKER 
 
 BOSTON 
 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY 
 
 1916 
 
Copyright, igog, igi6. 
 By Granville Barker. 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
 Published, February, 191 6 
 
 THE MjIRRYING OF ANN LEETE it fully protected by copy- 
 right. It must not be performed either by amateurs or professionals 
 without written permission. For such permission, and for the '■'■acting 
 version " with full stage directions, apply to The Paget Dramatic 
 jtgenty, 2S H^itt 4Sth Street, New Tort City. 
 
 ^tintnfl 
 8. J. PAltKBILJ. & Co., BOSXOK, U.S.A. 
 
To the memory of my fellow-worker, 
 
 333733 
 
The Marrying of Ann Leete 
 
 A COMEDY 
 1899 
 
THE MARRYING OF ANN LEETE 
 
 The first three acts of the comedy pass in the garden at 
 Markswayde, mr. carnaby leete's house near Read- 
 ing, during a summer day towards the close of the 
 eighteenth century: the first act at four in the morn- 
 ing, 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 of 
 ground is surrounded by a terrace three feet higher. 
 Three sides of it are seen. From two corners broad 
 steps lead down; stone urns stand at the bottom and 
 top of the stone balustrades. The other two corners 
 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, 
 I 
 
g THE MAKRYING OF [act i 
 
 It is very dark in the garden. Though there may he by 
 now a faint morning light in the sky, it has not pen- 
 etrated 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, fright- 
 ened, but not tragical, scream is heard. After a 
 moment ann leete runs quickly down the steps and 
 on to the fountain, where she stops, panting, lord 
 JOHN CARP follows her, but only to the top of the 
 steps, evidently 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 rm 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. 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 3 
 
 GEORGE. Ann ! 
 
 ANN. Yes. 
 
 GEORGE. My lord ! 
 
 LORD JOHN. Here. 
 
 GEORGE. I can't see you. I*m sent to say we're all anx- 
 ious 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 Lectc. 
 
 TATTON, in the darkness, -finds himself close to 
 
 GEORGE. 
 
 MR. TATTON. I am in a rage with you, my lord. 
 GEORGE. He lives next door. 
 
4 THE MARRYING OF [act i 
 
 MR. TATTON. My mistake. [He passes on.'] Confess 
 that she did it to please you. 
 
 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 Leete 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 whereabouts is she? 
 
 ANN. [From the corner she has slunk ^o.] Here I am, 
 Sally. 
 
 MR. TATTON. Miss Ann, 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 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 
 
 pluck again . . . never. My lord . . . you weren't the 
 one to go with her as umpire. 
 
 GEORGE. No ... to be sure. 
 
 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 the oth- 
 ers. 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 forgct that you're riding to Brighton 
 with me. 
 
 LORD JOHN. To-morrow. 
 
 GEORGE. To-day. Well . . . the hour before sunrise is 
 no time at all. 
 
 MR. TATTON. Sixty-fivc milcs. 
 
 LORD JOHN. What are we all sitting here for? 
 
 MR. TATTON. I say pcoplc ought to be in bed and asleep. 
 
 CARNABY. But the moming air is delightful. 
 
 MR. TATTON. [Jumping at the new voice.'] Leete ! Now, 
 had you the ace? 
 
 CARNABY. Of course. 
 
 MR. TATTON. We should have lost that, too. Lady 
 Charlie. 
 
 SARAH. Bear up, Mr. Tat. 
 
 MR. 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.] Does she say so? 
 
 MR. TATTON. [With mock roQuishncss.] Ah! 
 
 GEORGE is on the terrace, looking to the left through 
 
6 THE MARRYING OF [act t 
 
 the trees, tatton is sitting on the edge of the 
 fountain. 
 
 GEORGE. Here's the sun ... to show us ourselves. 
 
 MR. TATTON. Leete, this pond is full of water ! 
 
 CARNABY. Ann, if you are there . . . 
 
 ANN. Yes, Papa. 
 
 CARNABY. Apologise profusely; it's your garden. 
 
 ANN. Oh . . . 
 
 CARNABY. 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 Vvci 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 pause of some discomfort, 
 
 SARAH. Ann, come here to me. 
 
 LORD JOHN. I apologised. 
 
 GEORGE. {From the terrace.] Are we to be insulted? 
 
 CARNABY. 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 be- 
 fore this. 
 
 CARNABY. What is it now ... a lark? 
 
 MR. TATTON. I don't kuOW. 
 
 ANN. {Quietly to sarah.] That's a thrush. 
 
 SARAH. [Capping her.] A thrush. 
 
 CARNABY. Charming. 
 
 MR. TATTON. [To LORD JOHN.] I don't See why you 
 couldn't have told me how it was that she screamed. 
 
 CARNABY. Our dear Tatton ! [Sotto voce to his son."] 
 Hold your tongue, George. 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 
 
 MR. TATTON. I did bar toads, and you said I didn't ; and 
 anyway, I had a sort of right to know. 
 
 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 one momcnt. 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. 
 
 MR. 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 Lcctc, wcre 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 intervene, 
 regretting, my dear Tatton, that my own carelessness of 
 duennahood has permitted this — this ... to occur. 
 After this, 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 have my mare. 
 
 LORD JOHN. [Ignoring him.'] This has been a most 
 enjoyable three weeks. 
 
8 THE MARRYING OF [act i 
 
 CARNABY. Four. 
 
 LORD JOHN. Is it four? 
 
 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 dis- 
 cover . . . our mother was second cousin . . . once re- 
 moved 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 let- 
 ter. But my son-in-law is a wretched correspondent. Do 
 you admire men of small vices? They make admirable 
 husbands though their wives will be grumbhng — 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 know, Mr. Tatton, that I have a 
 temper to lose? 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 
 
 MR. TATTON. What the devil does that matter to me, 
 sir . . . my lord ? 
 
 LORD JOHN. I owe you a saddle and bridle. 
 
 MR. TATTON. You'U oblige me by taking the mare. 
 
 LORD JOHN. We'll discuss it to-morrow. 
 
 MR. TATTON. Fve said all I have to say. 
 
 GEORGE. The whole matter's ridiculous ! 
 
 MR. TATTON. I see the joke. Good-night, Lady Cotte- 
 sham, and I kiss your hand. 
 
 SARAH. Good morning, Mr. Tat. 
 
 MR. TATTON. Good momiug, Miss Ann, I . . . 
 
 SARAH. [Shielding her sister. 1 Good morrow is appro- 
 priate. 
 
 MR. TATTON. I'll go by the fields. [To 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 ^11 
 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 steps, 
 LORD JOHN is on One 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. 1 Couldn't we go in? 
 
 SARAH. Never run away. 
 
 ANN. Everything looks so odd. 
 
10 THE MARRYING OF [act i 
 
 SARAH. What's o'clock . . . my lord? 
 
 LORD JOHN. Half after four. 
 
 ANN. [To SARAH.] My cycs 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 clsc 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? 
 
 CARNAEY. You mentioned to me something of his visit- 
 ing 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. 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 11 
 
 SARAH. [Cynically echoing her father. '\ Let's have 
 George's opinion. 
 
 Now CARNABY has drawn them both away, upon the 
 terrace, 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 Hke 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. 
 
1« THE MARRYING DF [act i 
 
 GEORGE_, SARAH Qftd then CARNABY tHove ifito Sight 
 and along the terrace, lord john turns to them. 
 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 hock 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.] 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. 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 13 
 
 CARNABY. Abud IS Under your thumb, horticulturally 
 speaking. 
 
 ANN. Where's Sally? 
 
 She goes on to sarah, who is standing with george 
 at the top of the steps, carnaby looks lord john 
 up and down. 
 
 LORD JOHN. [Dusting his shoulder."] This cursed powder ! 
 
 CARNABY. Do wc respcct innocence enough . . . any 
 of us? 
 
 GEORGE comes down the steps and joins them. 
 
 GEORGE. Respectable politics will henceforth be useless 
 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 disreputable. 
 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.] Wcrc you discussing affairs? 
 
 LORD JOHN. Not I. 
 
 GEORGE. Ann. 
 ANN. Yes, George, 
 
14! THE MARRYING OF [act i 
 
 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 nobly 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. 
 
 LORD JOHN. My father advised me to this visit. 
 
 SARAH. Your useful visit. More than kind of his Grace. 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 1^ 
 
 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 discover 
 whether the Leete episode will repeat itself entirely. He 
 is chronically unhappy in opposition. Are your husband 
 and his colleagues trembling in their seats ? 
 
 SARAH. I can't say. 
 
 LORD JOHN. PoHtics 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 back towards them. 
 
 CARNABY. I'm getting to be old for these all-night sit- 
 tings. 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 womau. 
 
 SARAH. Evidently. Where's Ann? We'll go in. 
 
 LORD JOHN. You're a mother to your sister. 
 
 SARAH. Not L 
 
 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 cir- 
 cumstances. Man educates woman in his own good time. 
 
 LORD JOHN. I suppose shc, or any young girl, is all 
 heart. 
 
16 THE MARRYING OF [act i 
 
 CARNABY. What is it that you call heart . . . senti- 
 mentally 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 opinions are invariably enter- 
 taining. 
 
 LORD JOHN. Am I the first . . . ? I really beg your 
 pardon. 
 
 GEORGE and ANN come downJhe 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 . . uo . . no . . HO . . no . , na, 
 SARAH. Hush, dear. 
 
 ANN. I'm afraid. Papa, there's something very ill-bred 
 in me. 
 
 DoTJim the steps, and into the midst of 'them, comes 
 JOHN ABUD, carrying his tools, among other things 
 a twist of bass. A young gardener, honest, clean 
 and common. 
 ABUD. [To CARNABY.] I ask pardou, sir. 
 CARNABY. So early, Abud! . . . this is your territory. 
 So late . . . Bed. 
 
 ANN starts away up the steps jsarab. is following her, 
 LORD JOHN. Good-bye, Lady Cottesham, 
 
ACT i] ANN LEETE 17 
 
 At this ANN stops for a moment, but then goes 
 straight on. 
 
 SARAH. A pleasant journey. 
 SARAH departs, too. 
 
 GEORGE. [Stretching himself. 1 I'm roused. 
 
 CARNABY. [To ABUD.] Lcavc your 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 Sitting on the fountain rim; he dips his 
 handkerchief in the water, and wrings it; then takes 
 off his wig and hinds 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 candle- 
 stick ever since tatton handed it to him. 
 
 CARNABY. George, you look damned ridiculous strutting 
 arm-in-arm with that candlestick. 
 
 GEORGE. I am ridiculous. 
 
 CARNABY. If you're cogitating over your wife and her 
 expectations . . . 
 
 GEORGE paces up the steps and away. There is a 
 pause. 
 
 CARNABY. D'ye tell stories . . . good ones? 
 
 LORD JOHN. Sometimes. 
 
 CARNABY. There'll be this. 
 
18 THE MARRYING OF [act i 
 
 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 com- 
 promised my daughter. 
 
 LORD JOHN. Nonsense! 
 
 CARNABY. Villain! What's your next move? 
 
 For a moment lord joii^*sits with knit brows. 
 
 LORD JOHN. ^Brutally.'] Mr. Leete, your name stinks. 
 
 CARNABY. My point of dis-ad-vantage ! 
 
 LORD JOHN. {^Apologising.'] 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 Marks- 
 wayde. 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. 
 
 LORD JOHN. You may trust me not to tell tales. 
 
 CARNABY. Of what . . . of whom ? 
 
 LORD JOHN. Of here. 
 
 CARNABY. And what is there to tell of here? 
 
 LORD JOHN. Nothing. 
 
ACT 
 
 i] ANN LEETE 19 
 
 CARNABY. But Iiow youF promisc 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. Already 
 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 your 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's face.'] What about the 
 appearances of black-mail? 
 
 CARNABY. [Compressing his thin lips.] 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. 
 
 CARNABY. You'll valuc 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 
 
so THE MARRYING OF [act i 
 
 principles are vile, but he has the education of a gentle- 
 man. Swords or . . . ? Swords. And at noon shall we 
 say? There's shade behind a certain barn, midway be- 
 tween 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. 
 
ACT III ANN LEETE ^1 
 
 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, 
 hatted, and carrying a stick and a hook. He is an 
 elderly man, with a kind manner; type of the eight- 
 eenth century casuistical parson. On his way he 
 stops to say a word to the gardener. 
 
 DR. rem:nant. Will it rain before nightfall? 
 
 abud. About then, sir, I should say. 
 
 Down the other steps comes mrs. opie, a prim, de- 
 corous, hut well bred and unobjectionable 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. Fve had dinner. Miss. 
 
 ABUD^s work takes him gradually out of sight. 
 
 MRS. OPIE. We are but just breakfasted. 
 
 DR. REMNANT. I surmisc 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 
 return, and to borrow. 
 
 ANN. Show me. 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Ballads by Robert Burns. 
 
 ANN. [Taking iV.] I'll put it back. 
 
 ^ 
 
22 THE MARRYING OF [act ii 
 
 MRS. OPiE. [Taking it from her.'] I've never heard of 
 him. 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Oh, ma'am, a very vulgar poet! 
 
 GEORGE LEETE contes quickly down the steps, 
 GEORGE. [To REMNANT.] How are you? 
 DR. REMNANT. Yours, sir. 
 GEORGE. Ann. 
 
 ANN. Good morning, George. 
 GEORGE. Did you sleep v^^ell? 
 ANN. I always do . . . but I dreamt. 
 GEORGE. I must sit down 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. [Toctfully.] 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 dim muck, an old but unbenevolent- 
 
 looking butler, comes to the top of the steps. 
 
ACT n] ANN LEETE 
 
 DiMMUCK. The master wants Mrs. Opie. 
 MRS. 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 quarte : 
 over the arm . . . put by: feint . . . flanconade and 
 through his arm . . . damned easy. The father didn't 
 wince or say a word, I boimd 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. 
 
M THE MARRYING OF [act n 
 
 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. Tm afraid I take in fresh ideas very slowly. 
 Why has Papa given up the Stamp Office? 
 
 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 mort- 
 gage. 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 
 
ACT ii] ANN LEETE ^5 
 
 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. 
 
 GE0RG£. 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? 
 
 ANN. 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. 
 
 ANN. 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 comes 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. 
 
 SARAH. Babyhood in the abstract . . . beautiful. 
 
^e THE MARRYING OF [act n 
 
 ANN. Even kittens . . . 
 
 She stops, and then in rather childish embarrass- 
 ment, 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 Cottesham. 
 
 SARAH. Sir? 
 
 MR. tetgeen. My name is Tetgeen. 
 
 SARAH. Mr. Tetgeen. How do you do? 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. The household 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. 
 
 DiMMUCK. The master wants you, Miss Ann. 
 
 \ 
 
ACT n] ANN LEETE «7 
 
 SARAH. Ask Papa if he'll see me soon. 
 ANN goes towards the house. 
 
 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 hows to lady cottesham, 
 who regards him steadily. 
 
 MR. tetgeen. From Sir Charles ... a talking machine. 
 
 SARAH. Please sit. 
 
 He sits carefully 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 favorably 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 humor.] I have 
 no desire to jump over the moon. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. His scruplcs are religious. The case 
 would be weak upon some important points, and there has 
 been no ptiblic scandal ... at the worst, very little. 
 
 SARAH. My good manners are, I trust, irreproachable, 
 and you may tell Sir Charles that my conscience is my own. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. Your husband's in the matter of . . . 
 
28 THE MARRYING OF [act ii 
 
 SARAH. Please say the word. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. Pardon me . . . not upon mere suspicion. 
 
 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 Charles 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.l Shall we 
 get to business ? 
 
 MR. TETGEEN fiow tokcs a moment to find his phrase. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. I don't kuow the man's name. 
 
 SARAH. This, surely, is how you might address a se- 
 duced 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 havc Said we have no case . . . that 
 is to say, we don't want one; but any information is a 
 weapon in store. 
 
 SARAH, You did quite right to insult me. 
 
ACT II] ANN LEETE 29 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. As a rulc, I dcspise such methods. 
 
 SARAH. It's a He that they met . . . those two men? 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. It may be. 
 
 SARAH. It must be. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. I havc 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 propose . . . first: that the present 
 complete severance of conjugal relations shall continue. 
 Secondly: that Lady Cottesham shall be at Hberty to re- 
 move from South Audley Street and Ringham Castle all 
 personal and private effects, 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. 
 
 SARAH. I thank you. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. [Continuing.'] Fourthly: Lady Cottes- 
 ham shall undertake . . . etc. . . . not to inhabit or fre- 
 quent 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 fur- 
 ther note.'] Lady Cottesham is not to play cards. 
 
 SARAH. I am a little fond of play. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. There is no question of jointure. 
 
 SARAH. None. Mr. Tetgeen ... I love my husband. 
 
so THE MARRYING OF [act ii 
 
 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 hows.] 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 Charlcs 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 retailed 
 to my husband. You'll take a glass of wine before you go ? 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. Port is gratcful. 
 
 She takes from her dress two sealed letters. 
 
 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. 
 
ACT n] ANN LEETE 31 
 
 He takes the one letter courteously, the other she 
 puts hack. 
 
 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, because I fight . . . and my weapons 
 are all my own. This'll blow over. 
 
 MR. TETGEEN. [With a shokc of the head.l 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 6o 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 come back. 
 
 SARAH takes MR. TETGEEN tOWOrds the house. ANN 
 
 seats herself. After a moment lord john carp, his 
 clothes dusty with some riding, appears from the oth- 
 er quarter. She looks up to find him gazing at her, 
 
 LORD JOHN. Ann, I've ridden back to see you. 
 
 ANN. [After a moment.] WeJre coming to Brighton 
 to-morrow. 
 
 y 
 
32 THE MARRYING OF [act u 
 
 LORD JOHN. Good. 
 
 ANN. Papa's not dead. 
 
 LORD JOHN. [With equal cheerfulnessJ] 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. 
 
 LORD JOHN. Give yourself to me. 
 
 ANN. [Drawing away from him.'] Four words ! There 
 
ACT n] ANN LEETE 
 
 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. To-morrow? 
 
 ANN. lStartled.'\ If you knew that it isn't easy for me 
 to be practical you wouldn't make fun. 
 
 LORD JOHN. Why not to-morrow? 
 
 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. 
 
 LORD JOHN. I want you. 
 
 ANN. Won't you please forget last night? 
 
84J THE MARRYING OF [act n 
 
 LORD JOHN. I want you. Look straight at me. 
 She looks, and stays 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. [Helplessly.'] 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. 
 
 LORD JOHN. As I hung about the garden my heart was 
 beating. 
 
 ANN. I shall like you better when you're not here. 
 
 LORD JOHN. We're to meet in Brighton ? 
 
ACT n] ANN LEETE 35 
 
 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. [Shrugging.'] Your father struck me. 
 
 ANN. Now you've hurt him . . that's fair. 
 
 Then 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. [In ann's ear.] I love you. 
 
 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. 
 
 C5S0RGE. I married for love. 
 
36 THE MARRYING OF [act n 
 
 LORD JOHN. Who doesn't? But, of course, there should 
 be other reasons. 
 
 GEORGE. You won't rcceive my wife. 
 LORD JOHN. Here's your sister. 
 
 LADY coTTESHAM comcs froM 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 . . come . . what's a little fighting 
 more or less ! 
 
 GEORGE. Bravo, English sentiment . . relieves a deal of 
 awkwardness. 
 
 The two shake hands. 
 
 SARAH. [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 mc a bit of romance! 
 
 SARAH. [Stiavely.'} 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 
 
 lord JOHN. Being made a fool of. I love 
 
 ANN. I will like you. 
 
 GEORGE. Charming cynicism, my dear Sarah. 
 
 MR. TATTON. Oh, Lord ! 
 
ACT ii] ANN LEETE 37 
 
 ANN. ITo her affianced.'] 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 cottes- 
 
 ham'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, 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 
 something on the other side of the hills. 
 
 SARAH. You'd find yourself there . . and circumstances. 
 
 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. 
 
 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. 
 
38 THE MARRYING OF [act ii 
 
 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. ICaustically.'] Yes . . that's your privilege . . 
 except occasionally. IThen 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 farmers' daughters . . I 
 beg your pardon, George. 
 
 GEORGE. INettled.'] 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. IBriskly.'] 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 poHtical difference, Sally? 
 
 SARAH. Just that. [Then with a deft turn of the sub- 
 ject.~\ I don't say that yours is a pretty face, but I should 
 think you would have charm. 
 
 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? 
 
ACT ii] ANN LEETE 89 
 
 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? s 
 
 GEORGE. Alas . . Dolly's disgraceful ignorance of eti- 
 quette 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. 
 
 DIM MUCK appears. And by now abud's work has 
 brought him back to the terrace, 
 
 DIM MUCK. 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, 
 
 DiMMUCK. Mr. George, 
 
 GEORGE. What is it? 
 
40 THE MARRYING OF [act ii 
 
 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 I 
 quite believe 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 ?i 
 
 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. 
 
 ABUD. That was another matter, sir. 
 
 GEORGE. I don't think you intend to be sarcastic. 
 
ACT n] ANN LEETE 41 
 
 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. lAlmost to himself. 1 I am hardly human. 
 He slowly moves away and out of sight. 
 
 'ANN. John Abud. 
 
 'He comes hack and stands before her too. 
 
4a 
 
 THE MARRYING OF 
 
 [act n 
 
 Say 
 
 ^ ANN. I am very sorry for you. 
 
 ABUD. I am very much obligated to you, Miss. 
 ANN. Both those sayings are quite meaningless, 
 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, 
 ABUD. Yes, Miss. 
 
 And you're in the fresh air all day. 
 That's very healthy. 
 Are you very poor ? 
 I get my meals in the house. 
 Rough clothes last a long time. 
 I've saved money. 
 Where do you sleep? 
 At Mrs. Hart's . . at a cottage 
 
 ANN. 
 ABUD. 
 ANN. 
 ABUD. 
 ANN. 
 ABUD. 
 ANN. 
 ABUD. 
 Oflf. 
 
 ANN. 
 
 It's a mile 
 
 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. 
 ANN. But you mean to marry? 
 ABUD. Yes . . I've saved money. 
 
!act n] ANN LEETE 48 
 
 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. 
 
 DIM MUCK 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 Doll}r?, 
 DIMMUCK. speak respectful. 
 ABUD. It is from his wife? 
 DIMMUCK. Go find him. 
 
 ANN. l^As ABUD IS imttwvable.'] 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 hook, which some people might suppose 
 
 he was reading. He speaks with studied calm. 
 GEORGE. You are very excited, my good man. 
 ABUD. She's brought you a child, sir. 
 
M THE MARRYING OF [act n 
 
 — r -' I 
 
 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 maintain 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. 
 
 Attd she goes towards the house, thinking this ov^r. 
 
ACT m] ANN LEETE m 
 
 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. 
 
46 THE MARRYING OF [act m 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Son of a Duke. 
 
 CARNABY. And I commend to you the originality of his 
 return. 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 Hccd rain . . Abud? 
 
 ABUD. Badly, sir. 
 
 CARNABY. Do wc want a wet journey to-morrow! 
 Where's Sarah? 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Lady Cottesham's taking tea. 
 
 CARNABY. [To ABUD, with o sudden start J\ 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 g^een 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 . . al- 
 ways takes you seriously. 
 
ACT m] ANN LEETE M 
 
 GEORGE. Good-bye, Parson. 
 
 DR. REMNANT. [As he hows.'\ Youf most obedient. 
 
 CARNAEY. 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. [/w 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 son should have had my name, sir. 
 
48 THE MARRYING OF [act m 
 
 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 hopcs of you were high once. 
 
 GEORGE. Sarah, may I kiss you? [He kisses her cheek. 1 
 Let me hear what you decide to do. 
 
 CARNABY. The begetting of 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. 
 
 GEORGE. Thank you, sister Ann. 
 
 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 remnant.] Good-night. 
 
 DR. REMNANT. [Covering the insolent dismissal.] With 
 your kind permission I will take my leave. [Then he bows 
 to SARAH.] Lady Cottesham. 
 
 SARAH. [Curtseying.] Doctor Remnant, I am yours. 
 
 CARNABY. [Sitting by the fountain, stamping his foot.] 
 Oh, this cracked earth ! Will it rain . . will it rain ? 
 
 DR. REMNANT. I doubt now. That cloud has passed. 
 
 CARNABY. Soft, pellucid rain ! There's a good word, 
 and I'm not at all sure what it means. 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Per . . luccrc . . . letting light through. 
 REMNANT Icavcs them. 
 
 CARNABY. Solt, pellucid rain ! . . thank you. Brightoa- 
 Sarah. 
 
 SARAH. Ann needs new clothes. 
 
 CARNABY. See to it. 
 
 SARAH. I shall not be there. 
 She turns from him. 
 
ACT m] ANN LEETE 49 
 
 CARNABY. Pretty climax to a quarrel! 
 
 SARAH. Not a quarrel. 
 
 CARNABY. A political difference. 
 
 SARAH. Don't look so ferocious. 
 
 CARNABY. My arm is in great pain and the wine's in 
 my head. 
 
 SARAH. Won't you go to bed? 
 
 CARNABY. I'm well enough . . to travel. This marriage 
 makes us safe, Sarah . . an anchor in each camp . . 
 There's a mixed metaphor. 
 
 SARAH. If you'll have my advice, Papa, you'll keep 
 those plans clear from Ann's mind. 
 
 CARNABY. John Carp is so much clay . . a man of 
 forty ignorant of himself. 
 
 SARAH. But if the Duke will not . . 
 
 CARNABY. The Duke hates a scandal. 
 
 SARAH. Does he detest scandal? 
 
 CARNABY. The girl is well-bred and harmless . . why 
 publicly quarrel with John and incense her old brute of a 
 father? There's the Duke in a score of words. He'll take 
 a little time to think it out so. 
 
 SARAH. And I say : Do you get on the right side of the 
 Duke once again — that's what we've worked for — and 
 leave these two alone. 
 
 CARNABY. Am I to lose my daughter? 
 
 SARAH. Papa . . your food's intrigue. 
 
 CARNABY. Scold at Society . . and what's the use? 
 
 SARAH. We're over-civilized. 
 
 ANN rejoins them now. The twilight is gathering. 
 
 CARNABY. My mother's very old . . . your grand- 
 father's younger and seventy-nine . . he swears I'll never 
 come into the title. There's little else. 
 
 SARAH. You're feverish . . why are you saying this? 
 
 CARNABY. Ann . . George . . George via Wycombe . . 
 Wycombe Court . . Sir George Leete baronet, Justice of 
 
60 THE MARRYING OF [act m 
 
 the Peace, Deputy Lieutenant . . the thought's tumbled. 
 Ann, I first saw your mother in this garden . . there. 
 
 ANN. Was she Hke me ? 
 
 SARAH. My age when she married. 
 
 CARNABY. She was not beautiful . . then she died. 
 
 ANN. Mr. Tatton thinks it a romantic garden. 
 
 CARNABY. IPause.l^ D'ye hear the wind sighing through 
 that tree? 
 
 ANN. The air's quite still. 
 
 CARNABY. I hear myself sighing . . when I first saw 
 your mother in this garden . . . that's how it was done. 
 
 SARAH. For a woman must marry. 
 
 CARNABY. [Rises.'] You all take to it as ducks to water 
 . . but apple sauce is quite correct . . I must not mix 
 metaphors. 
 
 MRS. opiE comes from the house. 
 
 SARAH. Your supper done, Mrs. Opie? 
 
 MRS. opiE. I eat little in the evening. 
 
 SARAH. I believe that saves digestion. 
 
 MRS. OPIE. Ann, do you need me more to-night ? 
 
 ANN. Not any more, 
 
 MRS. OPiE. Ann, there is gossip among the servants 
 about a wager . . . 
 
 ANN. Mrs. Opie, that was . . . yesterday. 
 
 MRS. opiE. Ann, I should be glad to be able to contra- 
 dict a reported . . embrace. 
 
 ANN. I was kissed. 
 
 MRS. OPiE. I am shocked. 
 
 CARNABY. Mrs. Opie, is it possible that all these years 
 I have been nourishing a prude in my . . back drawing- 
 room? 
 
 MRS. opiE. I presume I am discharged of Ann's educa- 
 tion; but as the salaried mistress of your household, Mr. 
 Leete, I am grieved not to be able to deny such a rumour 
 to your servants. 
 
ACT m] ANN LEETE 61 
 
 She sails hack, righteously indignant. 
 
 CARNABY. Call out that you're marrying the wicked 
 man . . comfort her. 
 
 SARAH. Mrs. Opie! 
 
 CARNABY. Consider that existence. An old maid . . so 
 far as we know. Brevet rank . . missis. Not pleasant. 
 
 ANN. She wants nothing better . . at her age. 
 
 SARAH. How forgetful! 
 
 CARNABY. \The force of the phrase growing,"] Brigh- 
 ton, Sarah. 
 
 SARAH. Now you've both read the love-letter which 
 Tetgeen brought me. 
 
 CARNABY. Come to Brighton. 
 
 ANN. Come to Brighton, Sally. 
 
 SARAH. No. I have been thinking. I think I will 
 accept the income, the house, coals, butter and eggs. 
 
 CARNABY. I give you a fortnight to bring your husband 
 to his knees . . to your feet. 
 
 SARAH. I'm not sure that I could. My marriage has 
 come naturally to an end. 
 
 CARNABY. Sarah, don't annoy me. 
 
 SARAH. Papa, you joined my bridegroom's political 
 party . . now you see fit to leave it. 
 
 She glances at ann, who gives no sign, however. 
 
 CARNABY. What have you been doing in ten years ? 
 
 SARAH. Waiting for this to happen . . now I come to 
 think. 
 
 CARNABY. Have ye the impudence to tell me that ye've 
 never cared for your husband? 
 
 SARAH. I was caught by the first few kisses ; but he . . . 
 
 CARNABY. Has he ever been unkind to you? 
 
 SARAH. Never. He's a gentleman through and through 
 . . . quite charming to live with. 
 
 CARNABY. I see what more you expect. And he neither 
 
53 THE MARRYING OF [act m 
 
 drinks nor . . nor . . no one even could suppose your 
 leaving him, 
 
 SARAH. No. I'm disgraced. 
 
 CARNABY. Fight for your honour. 
 
 SARAH. You surprise me sometimes by breaking out 
 into cant phrases. 
 
 CARNABY. What is more useful in the world than 
 honour ? 
 
 SARAH. I think we never had any . . we! 
 
 CARNABY. Give me more details. Tell me, who is this 
 man? 
 
 SARAH. I'm innocent* . . if that were all, 
 
 ANN. Sally, what do they say you've done? 
 
 SARAH. I cry out like any poor girl. 
 
 CARNABY. There must be no doubt that you're innocent. 
 Why not go for to force Charles into court ? 
 
 SARAH. My innocence is not of the sort which shows 
 up well. 
 
 CARNABY. Hold publicity in reserve. No fear of the 
 two men arranging to meet, is there ? 
 
 SARAH. They've met . . and they chatted about me. 
 
 CARNABY. [After a moment.'] There's sound humour 
 in that. 
 
 SARAH. I shall feel able to laugh at them both from 
 Yorkshire. 
 
 CARNABY. God f orbid ! Come to Brighton . . we'll 
 rally Charles no end. 
 
 SARAH. Papa, I know there's nothing to be done. 
 
 CARNABY. Coward ! 
 
 SARAH. Besides, I don't think I want to go back to my 
 happiness. 
 
 They are silent for a little. 
 
 CARNABY. How Still! Look . . leaves falling already. 
 Can that man hear what we're saying? 
 
 SARAH. [To ANN.] Can Abud overhear? 
 
ACT m] ANN LEETE 5S 
 
 ANN. I've never talked secrets in the garden before 
 to-day. [Raising her voice but a very little.'] Can you 
 hear me, Abud? 
 
 No reply comes. 
 
 CARNABY. Evidently not. There's brains shown in a 
 trifle. 
 
 SARAH. Does your arm pain you so much? 
 
 ANN. Sarah, this man that you're fond of and that's 
 not your husband is not by any chance Lord John Carp ? 
 
 SARAH. No. 
 
 ANN. Nothing would surprise me. 
 
 SARAH. You are witty . . but a little young to be so 
 hard. 
 
 CARNABY. Keep to your innocent thoughts. 
 
 ANN. I must study politics. 
 
 SARAH. We'll stop talking of this. 
 
 ANN. No . . let me listen . . quite quietly. 
 
 CARNABY. Let her listen . . she's going to be married. 
 
 SARAH. Good luck, Ann. 
 
 CARNABY. I have great hopes of Ann. 
 
 SARAH. I hope she may be heartless. To be heartless 
 is to be quite safe. 
 
 CARNABY. Now we dctcct a taste of sour grapes in your 
 mouth. 
 
 SARAH. Butter and eggs. 
 
 CARNABY. We must all start early in the morning. 
 Sarah will take you, Ann, round the Brighton shops . . 
 fine shops. You shall have the money . . . 
 
 SARAH. I will not come with you. 
 
 CARNABY. [Vexedly.'] How absurd . . how ridiculous 
 . . to persist in your silly sentiment. 
 
 SARAH. [Her voice rising.'] I'm tired of that world . . 
 which goes on and on, and there's no dying . . . one 
 grows into a ghost . . visible . . then invisible. I'm glad 
 
54 THE MARRYING OF [act hi 
 
 paint has gone out of fashion . . . the painted ghosts 
 were very ill to see. 
 
 CARNABY. D'ye scoff at civilisation? 
 
 SARAH. Look ahead for me. 
 
 CARNABY. Banished to a hole in the damned provinces ! 
 But you're young yet, you're charming . . you're the wife 
 . . and the honest wife of one of the country's best men. 
 My head aches. D'ye despise good fortune's gifts? Keep 
 as straight in your place in the world as you can. A 
 monthly packet of books to Yorkshire . . no . . you never 
 were fond of reading. Ye'd play patience . . cultivate 
 chess problems . . kill yourself ! 
 
 SARAH. When one world fails take another. 
 
 CARNABY. You have no more right to commit suicide 
 than to desert the society you were born into. My head 
 aches. 
 
 SARAH. George is happy. 
 
 CARNABY. D'ye dare to think so ? 
 
 SARAH. No . . it's a horrible marriage. 
 
 CARNABY. He's losing refinement . . mark me . . he 
 no longer polishes his nails. 
 
 SARAH. But there are the children now. 
 
 CARNABY. You nevcr have wanted children. 
 
 SARAH. I don't want a little child. 
 
 CARNABY. She to be Lady Leete . . some day . . soon ! 
 What has he done for his family? 
 
 SARAH. I'll come with you. You are clever, Papa. And 
 I know just what to say to Charles. 
 
 CARNABY. [With a curious change of tone.'] H you 
 study anatomy you'll find that the brain, as it works, press- 
 ing forward the eyes . . thought is painful. Never be de- 
 feated. Chapter the latest . . the tickling of the Carp. 
 And my throat is dry . . shall I drink that water ? 
 
 SARAH. No, I wouldn't 
 
ACT m] ANN LEETE 65 
 
 CARNABY. Not out of my hand? 
 
 ANN. [Speaking in a strange, quiet voice, after her 
 long silence.'] I will not come to Brighton with you. 
 
 CARNABY. Very dry! 
 
 ANN. You must go back, Sally. 
 
 CARNABY. [As he looks at her, standing stiffly."] Now 
 what is Ann's height . . five feet . . ? 
 
 ANN. Sally must go back, for she belongs to it . . but 
 I'll stay here where I belong. 
 
 CARNABY. You've spokcn three times, and the words 
 are jumbling in at my ears meaninglessly. I certainly 
 took too much wine at dinner . . or else . . . Yes . . 
 Sally goes back . . and you'll go forward. Who stays 
 here? Don't burlesque your sister. What's in the air . , 
 what disease is this? 
 
 ANN. I mean to disobey you . . to stay here . . never 
 to be unhappy. 
 
 CARNABY. So plcascd ! 
 
 ANN. I want to be an ordinary woman . . not clever 
 . . not fortunate. 
 
 CARNABY. I can't hear. 
 
 ANN. Not clever. I don't believe in you, Papa. 
 
 CARNABY. I exist . . I'm very sorry. 
 
 ANN. I won't be married to any man. I refuse to be 
 tempted . . I won't see him again. 
 
 CARNABY. Yes. It's raining. 
 
 SARAH. Raining ! 
 
 CARNABY. Don't you stop it raining. 
 
 ANN. [In the same level tones, to her sister now, who 
 otherwise would turn, alarmed, to their father.] And I 
 curse you . . because, we being sisters, I suppose I am 
 much what you were, about to be married; and I think, 
 Sally, you'd have cursed your present self. I could become 
 all that you are and more . . but I don't choose. 
 
B6 THE MARRYING OF [act m 
 
 SARAH. Ann, what is to become of you? 
 CARNABY. Big drops . . big drops ! 
 
 At this moment abud is passing towards the house, 
 his work finished. 
 ANN. John Abud . . you mean to marry. When you 
 marry . . will you marry me? 
 
 A blank silence, into which breaks carnaby's sick 
 voice. 
 CARNABY. Take me indoors. I heard you ask the gar- 
 dener to marry you. 
 ANN. I asked him. 
 
 CARNABY. I heard you say that you asked him. Take 
 me in . . but not out of the rain. 
 
 ANN. Look . . he's straight-limbed and clear-eyed . . 
 and Tm a woman. 
 
 SARAH. Ann, are you mad? 
 
 ANN. If we two were alone here in this garden, and 
 everyone else in the world were dead . . what would you 
 answer? 
 ABUD. [Still amazed.] Why . . yes. 
 CARNABY. Then that's settled . . pellucid. 
 
 He attempts to rise, but staggers backwards and 
 forwards, sarah goes to him, alarmed. 
 SARAH. Papa ! . . there's no rain yet. 
 CARNABY. Hush, I'm dead. 
 
 ANN. [Her nerves failing her.'] Oh . . oh . . oh . . ! 
 SARAH. Abud, don't ever speak of this. 
 ABUD. No, my lady. 
 
 ANN. [With a final effort.] I mean it all. Wait three 
 months. 
 CARNABY. Help me up steps . . son-in-law. 
 
 CARNABY has Started to grope his way indoors. But 
 he reels and falls, helpless. 
 ABUD. I'll carry him. 
 
ACT m] ANN LEETE 67 
 
 Throwing down his tools abud lifts the frail sick 
 man and carries him towards the hoiise. sarah 
 follows. 
 ANN. \_Sohhing a little and weary,"] Such a long day 
 it has been . . now ending. 
 She follows too. 
 
68 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 THE FOURTH ACT 
 
 The hall at Markswayde is square; in decoration strictly 
 eighteenth century. The floor polished. Then comes six 
 feet of soberly painted wainscot and above the greenish 
 blue and yellowish green wall painted into panels. At 
 intervals are low relief pilasters; the capitals of these are 
 gilded. The ceiling is white and in the centre of it there 
 is a frosted glass dome through which a dull light strug- 
 gles. Two sides only of the hall are seen. 
 
 In the corner is a hat stand and on it are many cloaks 
 and hats and beneath it several pairs of very muddy boots. 
 
 In the middle of the left hand wall are the double doors 
 of the dining-room led up to by three or four stairs with 
 balusters, and on either side standing against the wall 
 long, formal, straight backed sofas. 
 
 In the middle of the right hand wall is the front door; 
 glass double doors can be seen and there is evidently a 
 porch beyond. On the left of the front door a small 
 window. On the right a large fireplace, in which a large 
 fire is roaring. Over the front door, a clock {the hands 
 pointing to half -past one.) Over the fireplace a family 
 'portrait {temp. Queen Anne), below this a blunderbuss 
 and several horse-pistols. Above the sofa full-length 
 family portraits {temp. George I.) Before the front door 
 a wooden screen, of lighter wood than the wainscot, and 
 in the middle of it a small glass panel. Before this a 
 heavy square table on which are whips and sticks, a hat 
 or. two and brushes; by the table a wooden chmr. On 
 
ACT it] ANN LEETE 59 
 
 either side of the fire stand tall closed-in armchairs, and 
 between the fireplace and the door a small red-haise screen. 
 
 When the dining-room doors are thrown open another 
 wooden screen is to he seen. 
 
 There are a few rugs on the floor, formally arranged. 
 MRS. opiE stands in the middle of the hall, holding 
 out a woman's brown cloak: she drops one side to 
 fetch out her handkerchief and apply it to her eye. 
 DiMMUCK comes in by the front door, which he 
 carefully closes behind him. He is wrapped in a 
 hooded cloak and carries a pair of boots and a news- 
 paper. The boots he arranges to warm before the 
 fire. Then he spreads the Chronicle newspaper 
 upon the arm of a chair, then takes off his cloak and 
 hangs it upon a peg close to the door. 
 
 DIMMUCK. Mrs. Opie . . will you look to Its not 
 scorching ? 
 
 MRS. opiE still mops her eyes, dimmuck goes 
 towards the dining-room door, but turns. 
 
 DIMMUCK. Will you kindly, see that the Chronicle 
 newspaper does not burn? 
 
 MRS. OPIE. I was crying. 
 
 DIMMUCK. I leave this to-morrow sennight . . thank- 
 ful, ma'am, to have given notice in a dignified manner. 
 
 MRS-. opiE. I understand . . Those persons at table . . 
 
 DIMMUCK. You give notice. 
 
 MRS. OPiE. Mr. Dimmuck, this Is my home. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR CARP comcs out of the dining-room. 
 He is a thinner and more earnest-looking edition of 
 his brother, mrs. opie turns a chair and hangs 
 the cloak to warm before the fire, and then goes 
 into the dining-room. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. My chalsc round? 
 
 DIMMUCK. I've but just ordered it, my lord. Your 
 lordship's man has give me your boots. 
 
60 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. DoCS it SHOW? 
 
 DiMMUCK. Rather rain than snow. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR takes Up the newspaper, 
 DIMMUCK. Yesterday's, my lord. 
 LORD ARTHUR. I've sccn it. The mails don't hurry 
 hereabouts. Can I be in London by the morning? 
 DIMMUCK. I should say you might be, my lord. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR stts by the Hre, while dimmuck takes 
 
 off his pumps and starts to put on his hoots. 
 LORD ARTHUR. Is this E horse called "Ronald?" 
 DIMMUCK. Which horse, my lord? 
 LORD ARTHUR. Which I'm to take back with me . . my 
 brother left here. I brought the mare he borrowed. 
 DIMMUCK. I remember, my lord. I'll enquire. 
 LORD ARTHUR. Tell Parker . . 
 DIMMUCK. Your lordship's man? 
 LORD ARTHUR. . . He'd better ride the beast. 
 
 SARAH comes out of the dining-room. He stands 
 
 up; one hoot, one shoe. 
 SARAH. Please put on the other. 
 LORD ARTHUR. Thank you . . I a m in haste. 
 SARAH. To depart before the bride's departure? 
 LORD ARTHUR. Docs the bride go with the bridegroom? 
 SARAH. She goes away. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. I shall nevcr see such a thing again. 
 SARAH. I think this entertainment is unique. 
 LORD ARTHUR. Any commissious in town? 
 SARAH. Why can't you stay to travel with us to-morrow 
 and talk business to Papa by the way? 
 
 DIMMUCK carrying the pumps and after putting on 
 
 his cloak goes out through the front door. When 
 
 it is closed, her voice changes, 
 SARAH. Why . . Arthur? 
 
 He does not answer. Then mrs. opie comes out 
 
 of the dining-room to fetch the cloak. The two. 
 
ACT iv] ANN LEETE 61 
 
 with an effort, reconstruct their casical disjointed 
 conversation. 
 
 SARAH. . . Before the bride's departure? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Docs the bride go away with the bride- 
 groom ? 
 
 SARAH, She goes. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. I shall never see such an entertainment 
 again. 
 
 SARAH. We are quite unique. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Any commissions in town? 
 
 SARAH. Is she to go soon, too, Mrs. Opie? 
 
 MRS. opiE. It is arranged they are to walk . . in this 
 weather . . ten miles . . to the house. 
 
 SARAH. Cottage. 
 
 MRS. OPIE. Hut. 
 
 MRS. OPIE takes the cloak into the dining-room. 
 Then sarah comes a little towards lord Arthur, 
 hut waits for him to speak. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. [A little owkwardly.'] You are not look- 
 ing well. 
 
 SARAH. To our memory . . and beyond your little chat 
 with my husband about me . . I want to speak an epitaph. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Charlie Cottesham behaved most hon- 
 ourably. 
 
 SARAH. And I think you did. Why have you not let 
 me tell you so in your ear till now, to-day ? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Sarah . . we had a narrow escape 
 from . . . 
 
 SARAH. How^s your wife? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Well . . thank you. 
 
 SARAH. Nervous, surely, at your travelling in winter? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. I was SO glad to receive a casual invita- 
 tion from you and to come . . casually. 
 
 SARAH. Fifty miles. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Your father has been ill? 
 
62 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 SARAH. Very ill through the autumn. 
 LORD ARTHUR. Do you think he suspects us? 
 SARAH. I shouldn't care to peep into Papa's innermost 
 mind. You are to be very useful to him. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. No. 
 
 SARAH. Then he'll go back to the government. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. If he plcascs . . if they please . . if you 
 please. 
 
 SARAH. I am not going back to my husband. Arthur 
 . . be useful to him. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. No . . you are not coming to me. Al- 
 ways your father ! [After a moment.'] It was my little 
 home in the country somehow said aloud you didn't care 
 for me. 
 
 SARAH. I fooled you to small purpose. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. I wish you had once made friends with 
 my wife. 
 
 SARAH. If we . . this house I'm speaking of . . had 
 made friends where we've only made tools and fools we 
 shouldn't now be cursed as we are . . all. George, who is 
 a cork, trying to sink socially. Ann is mad . . and a 
 runaway. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Sarah, I've been devilish fond of you. 
 
 SARAH. Be useful to Papa. [^He shakes his head ob- 
 stinately.'] Praise me a little. Haven't I worked my best 
 for my family ? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Supposc I could be uscful to him now, 
 would you, in spite of all, come to me . . no half measures ? 
 
 SARAH. Arthur . . [He makes a little passionate move- 
 ment towards her, hut she is cold.] It's time for me to 
 vanish from this world, because I've nothing left to sell. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. I Can't help him. I don't want you. 
 He turns away, 
 
 SARAH. I feel I've done my best. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR, Keep your father quiet. 
 
ACT IV] ANN LEETE Oa 
 
 SARAH. I mean to leave him. 
 LORD ARTHUR. What does he say to that ? 
 SARAH. IVe not yet told him. 
 LORD ARTHUR. What happens? 
 
 SARAH. To sell my jewels . . spoils of a ten years* war. 
 Three thousand pound . . how much a year? 
 LORD ARTHUR. I'll buy them. 
 
 SARAH. And return them? You have almost the right 
 to make such a suggestion. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Stick to your father. He'll care for you? 
 SARAH, No . . we all pride ourselves on our lack of 
 sentiment. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. You must take money from your hus- 
 band. 
 
 SARAH. I have earned that and spent it. 
 LORD ARTHUR. [Yielding once again to temptation,'] 
 I'm devilish fond of you . . . 
 
 At that moment abud comes out of the dining-room. 
 
 He is dressed in his best, sarah responds readily 
 
 to the interruption. 
 
 SARAH. And you must give my kindest compliments to 
 
 Lady Arthur and my . . affectionately . . to the children, 
 
 and I'll let Papa know that you're going. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Letters under cover to your father? 
 SARAH. Papa will stay in town through the session, of 
 course . . but they all tell me that seventy-five pounds a 
 year is a comfortable income in . . Timbuctoo. 
 
 She goes into the dining-room, abud has selected his 
 hoots from the corner, and now stands with them in 
 his hand, looking rather helpless. After a moment — 
 LORD ARTHUR. I congratulate you, Mr. Abud. 
 abud. My lord . . I can't speak of myself. 
 
 CARNABY comes out of the dining-room. He is evi- 
 dently by no means recovered from his illness. He 
 
64 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 stands for a moment with an ironical eye on john 
 
 ABUD. 
 
 CARNABY. Son-in-law. 
 
 ABUD. I'm told to get on my boots, sir. 
 
 CARNABY. Allow me to assist you. 
 
 ABUD. I couldn't, sir. 
 
 CARNABY. Desole ! 
 
 Then he passes on. abud sits on the sofa, furtively 
 puts on his boots, and afterwards puts his shoes in 
 his pockets. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. You wcre SO busy drinking health to the 
 two fat farmers that I wouldn't interrupt you. 
 
 CARNABY. Good-bye. Describe all this to your brother 
 John. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. So Confirmed a bachelor ! 
 
 CARNABY. Please say that we missed him. 
 LORD ARTHUR honds him the newspaper. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Fve out-raced your Chronicle from Lon- 
 don by some hours. There's a paragraph . . second col- 
 umn . . near the bottom. 
 
 CARNABY. [Looking at it blindly.'] They print villain- 
 ously now-a-days. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Inspired. 
 
 CARNABY. I trust his Grace is well? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Gouty. 
 
 CARNABY. Now docsn't the social aspect of this case 
 interest you? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. I objcct to feeding with the lower classes. 
 
 CARNABY. There's pride ! How useful to note their 
 simple manners ! From the meeting of extremes new 
 ideas spring . . new life, 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Take that for a new social-political 
 creed, Mr. Leete. 
 
 CARNABY. Do I lack one? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Plcasc make my adieux to the bride. 
 
ACT IV] ANN LEETE 66 
 
 CARNABY. Appropriate . . . *a Dieu' . . she enters Na- 
 ture's cloister. My epigram. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. But . . good heavcHS . . are we to 
 choose to be toiling animals? 
 
 CARNABY. To be such is my daughter's ambition. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. You have not read that. 
 
 CARNABY. IGiving back the paper, vexedly.'] I can't 
 see. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. "The Right Honourable Carnaby Leete 
 is, we are glad to hear, completely recovered and will re- 
 turn to town for the opening of Session." 
 
 CARNABY. I mentioned it. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. "Wc Understand that although there has 
 been no reconciliation with the Government it is quite 
 untrue that this gentleman will in any way resume his 
 connection with the Opposition." 
 
 CARNABY. Inspired ? 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. I am here from my father to answer any 
 questions. 
 
 CARNABY. [With some dignity and the touch of a 
 threat."] Not now, my lord. 
 
 DIM MUCK comes in at the front door, 
 
 DiMMUCK. The chaise, my lord. 
 
 CARNABY. I will couduct you. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Plcasc don't risk exposure. 
 
 CARNABY. Nay, I insist. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR. Health and happiness to you both, Mr. 
 Abud. 
 
 LORD ARTHUR gOCS OUt, folloWcd by CARNABY, fol- 
 
 lowed by dimmuck. At that moment mr. small- 
 PEICE skips excitedly out of the dining-room, A 
 ferret-like little lawyer. 
 MR. smallpeice. Oh . . where is Mr. Leete? 
 
 Not seeing him mr. smallpeice skips as excitedly 
 hack into the dining-room, dimmuck returns and 
 
66 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 hangs up his cloak then goes towards abud, whom 
 he surveys. 
 DiMMUCK. Sir! 
 
 With which insult he starts for the dining-room 
 reaching the door just in time to hold it open for 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE who COmCS OUt. He SUrVCyS ABUD 
 
 for a moment, then explodes. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. Damn you . . stand in the presence 
 of your grandfather-in-law. 
 
 ABUD stands up. carnaby returns coughing, and 
 
 SIR GEORGE looks him up and down. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. I shall attend your funeral. 
 CARNABY. My daughter Sarah still needs me. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. I wonder at you, my son. 
 CARNABY. Have you any money to spare? 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. No. 
 
 CARNABY. For Sarah, my housekeeper ; I foresee a busy 
 session. 
 
 ABUD is now gingerly walking up the stairs. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. Carnaby . . look at that. 
 CARNABY. Sound in wind and limb. Tread boldly, 
 son-in-law. 
 
 ABUD turns, stands awkwardly for a moment and 
 then goes into the dining-room. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. [Relapsing into a pinch of snuif.} 
 I'm calm. 
 
 CARNABY. Regard this marriage with a wise eye . . as 
 an amusing little episode. 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. Do yOU ? 
 
 CARNABY. And forget its oddity. Now that the hu- 
 miHation is irrevocable, is it a personal grievance to you? 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. Give me a dinner a day for the rest 
 of my Hfe and I'll be content. 
 
 CARNABY. Lately, one by one, opinions and desires 
 have been failing me . . a flicker and then extinction. 
 
ACT iv] ANN LEETE f^T 
 
 I shall shortly attain to being a most able critic upon 
 life. 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. Shall I tell you again? You came 
 into this world without a conscience. That explains you 
 and it's all that does. That such a damnable coupling as 
 this should be permitted by God Almighty . . or that the 
 law shouldn't interfere ! I've said my say. 
 
 MR. SMALLPEICE again comes out of the dining- 
 room. 
 
 MR. SMALLPEICE. Mr. Lecte. 
 
 CARNABY. [Ironically polite.] Mr. Shallpeice. 
 
 MR. SMALLPEICE. Mr. Crowc is proposing your health. 
 MR. CROWE comes out. A crop-headed beefy-looking 
 farmer of sixty. 
 
 MR. CROWE. Was. 
 
 CARNABY. There's a good enemy! 
 
 MR. CROWE. Get out of my road . . lawyer Smallpeice. 
 
 CARNABY. Leave enough of him living to attend to my 
 business. 
 
 MR. SMALLPEICE. [Wriggling a bow at carnaby.] Oh . . 
 dear sir! 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. {DisguStcdly tO MR. SMALLPEICE.] YoU ! 
 
 MR. SMALLPEICE. Employed in a small matter . . as yet. 
 CARNABY. \To CROWE.] I hope you spoke your mind 
 of me. 
 
 MR. CROWE. Not behind your back, sir. 
 
 MRS. GEORGE LEETE leads LADY LEETE from the 
 
 dining-room, lady leete is a very old, blind and 
 decrepit woman, dolly is a buxom young mother; 
 whose attire borders on the gaudy. 
 CARNABY. [With some tenderness.'] Well . . Mother 
 . . dear? 
 
 MR. CROWE. [Bumptiously to sir george leete.] Did 
 my speech offend you, my lord? 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. [SulkHy.] I'm a baronet. 
 
68 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 LADY LEETE. Who's thlS hefC? 
 
 CARNABY. Carnaby. 
 
 DOLLY. Step down . . grandmother. 
 
 LADY LEETE. Who did yc say you were? 
 
 DOLLY. Mrs. George Leete. 
 
 LADY LEETE. Take me to the fire-side. 
 
 So CARNABY and DOLLY lead her slowly to a chair 
 by the fire where they carefully bestow her. 
 
 MR. SMALLPEicE. \_To FARMER CROWE.] He's leaving 
 Markswayde, you know . . and me agent. 
 
 LADY LEETE. [Suddenly bethinking her."] Grace was 
 not said. Fetch my chaplain . . at once. 
 
 MR. SMALLPEICE. I will rUU. 
 
 He runs into the dining-room. 
 DOLLY. [Calling after with her country accent. '\ Not 
 parson Remnant . . t'other one. 
 LADY LEETE. [Demanding.'] Snuff. 
 CARNABY. [To his father.] Sir . . my hand is a little 
 unsteady. 
 
 SIR GEORGE and CARNABY bctwcen them give lady 
 LEETE her snuff. 
 MR. CROWE. Dolly . . ought those children to be left 
 so long? 
 dolly. All right, father . . I have a maid. 
 
 lady LEETE snccses. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. She'll do that once too often alto- 
 gether. 
 
 LADY LEETE. I'm COld. 
 
 DOLLY. I'm cold . . I lack my shawl. 
 
 CROWE. Call out to your man for it. 
 
 DOLLY. [Going to the dining-room door.] Will a gen- 
 tleman please ask Mr. George Leete for my Cache-y-mire 
 shawl ? 
 
 MR. CROWE. [To CARNABY.] And I drank to the health 
 of our grandson. 
 
ACT iv] ANN LEETE 
 
 CARNABY. Now supposc GeoTge were to assume your 
 name, Mr. Crowe? 
 
 MR. TOZER comes out of the dining-room. Of the 
 worst type of eighteenth century parson, for which 
 one may see Hogarth's 'Harlot's Progress/ He is 
 very drunk. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. [/» his Wife's ^flf.] Tozcf ! 
 LADY LEETE. When . . why ! 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. To Say gracc. 
 
 LADY LEETE folds her withered hands. 
 MR. TOZER. [Through his hiccoughs,'] Damn you all. 
 LADY LEETE. [Reverently, thinking it is saidJ] Amen. 
 MR. TOZER. Only my joke. 
 
 CARNABY. [Rising to the height of the occasion.] Mr. 
 Tozer, I am indeed glad to see you, upon this occasion, so 
 delightfully drunk. 
 
 MR. TOZER. Always a gen'elman . . by nature. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. Lie dowu . . you dog. 
 
 GEORGE comes out carrying the cashmere shawl. 
 GEORGE. [To his father.] Dolly wants her father to 
 rent Markswayde, sir. 
 
 MR. CROWE. Not me, my son. You're to be a farmer- 
 baronet. 
 
 SIR GEORGE. Curse your impudence! 
 CARNABY. My one regret in dying would be to miss 
 seeing him so. 
 
 GEORGE goes hack into the dining-room. 
 MR. CROWE. I am tickled to think that the man marry- 
 ing your daughter wasn't good enough for mine. 
 
 CARNABY. And yet at fisticuffs I'd back John Abud 
 against our son George. 
 
 DR. REMNANT has comc out of the dining-room. 
 TOzer has stumbled towards him and is wagging an 
 argumentative finger. 
 MR, TOZER, . . Marriage means enjoyment 1 
 
70 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 DR. REMNANT. [Controlling his indignation.'] I repeat 
 that I have found in my own copy of the prayer book no 
 insistence upon a romantic passion. 
 
 MR. TOZER. My 'terpretation of God's word is 'bove 
 criticism. 
 
 MR. TOZER reaches the door and falls into the dining- 
 room. 
 
 CARNABY. [Weakly to dr. remnant.] Give me your 
 arm for a moment. 
 
 DR. remnant. I think Lady Cottesham has Mrs. John 
 Abud prepared to start, sir. 
 
 CARNABY. I trust Ann will take no chill walking through 
 the mud. 
 
 DR. remnant. Won't you sit down, sir? 
 
 CARNABY. No. 
 
 For some moments crowe has been staring indig- 
 nantly at SIR GEORGE. Now he breaks out. 
 MR. CROWE. The front door of this mansion is opened 
 to a common gardener and only then to me and mine ! 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. [Virulently.] Damn you and yours 
 and damn them . . and damn you again for the worse 
 disgrace. 
 
 MR. CROWE. Damn you, sir . . have you paid him to 
 marry the girl ? 
 
 He turns away, purple faced, and sir george chokes 
 impotently. abud and mr. prestige come out talk- 
 ing. He is younger and less assertive than farmer 
 
 CROWE. 
 
 MR. PRESTIGE. [Pathetically.] All our family always has 
 got drunk at weddings. 
 
 ABUD. [In remonstrance.] Please, uncle. 
 
 CARNABY. Mr. Crowe . . I have been much to blame 
 for not seeking you sooner. 
 
 MR. CROWE. [Mollified.] Shake hands. 
 
 CARNABY. [Offering his with some difficulty. "l My arm 
 
ACT iv]; ANN LEETE Ttt 
 
 is stiff . . from an accident. This is a maid^s marriage, 
 I assure you. 
 
 MR. PRESTIGE. lOpcfi mouthed to DR. REMNANT.] One 
 could hang bacon here ! 
 
 DOLLY. [Very high and mighty.'] The family don't. 
 
 CARNABY. [To his father.'] And won't you apologise 
 for your remarks to Mr. Crowe, sir ? 
 
 LADY LEETE. [Demanding.] Snuff ! 
 
 CARNABY. And your box to my mother, sir. 
 SIR GEORGE attends to his wife. 
 
 DOLLY. [Anxiously to dr. remnant.] Can a gentleman 
 change his name? 
 
 MR. CROWE. Parson . . once noble always noble, I take 
 it. 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Certainly . . but I hope you have money 
 to leave them, Mr. Crowe. 
 
 DOLLY. [To ABUD.] John. 
 
 ABUD. Dorothy. 
 
 DOLLY. You've not seen my babies yet. 
 
 LADY LEETE sneezes. 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. Camaby . . d'ye intend to murder 
 that Crowe fellow . . or must I ? 
 
 MR. SMALLPEiCE skips from the dining-room. 
 MR. SMALLPEICE. Mr. Johu Abud . . 
 
 MR. CROWE. [To DR. REMNANT OS he HOds tOWOrdS 
 
 CARNABY.] Don't tell me he's got over that fever yet. 
 
 MR. SMALLPEICE. . . The ladlcs say . . are you ready 
 or are you not? 
 
 MR. PRESTIGE. I'll get thy cloak, John. 
 
 MR. PRESTIGE goes for the cloak, carnaby has taken 
 a pistol from the mantel-piece and now points it at 
 
 ABUD. 
 
 CARNABY. He's fit for heaven! 
 
 GEORGE LEETE comcs from the dining-room, and, 
 noticing his father's action, says sharply . . 
 
7^ THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 GEORGE. I suppose you know that pistol's loaded. 
 
 Which calls everyone's attention, dolly shrieks. 
 CARNABY. What if there had been an accident! 
 
 And he puts back the pistol, abud takes his cloak 
 
 from PRESTIGE. 
 
 ABUD. Thank you, uncle. 
 
 MR. PRESTIGE. I'm a proud man, Mr. Crowe . . 
 CARNABY. Pride ! 
 
 GEORGE. IHas a sudden inspiration, and strides up to 
 ABUD.] Here ends the joke, my good fellow. Be off with- 
 out your wife. 
 
 ABUD stares, as do the others. Only carnaby sud- 
 denly catches remnant's arm. 
 MR. prestige. [Solemnly.'] But it's illegal to separate 
 them. 
 
 GEORGE. [Giving up.'] Mr. Prestige . . you are the 
 backbone of England. 
 CARNABY. [To REMNANT.] Where are your miracles? 
 MRS. PRESTIGE comcs out. A mothcrly farmer's wife, 
 a mountain of a woman. 
 MRS. PRESTIGE. John . . kiss your aunt. 
 
 ABUD goes to her, and she obliterates him in an 
 embrace. 
 GEORGE. [To his father.] Sense of humour . . Sense 
 of humour ! 
 
 LADY LEETE. Snuff. 
 
 But no one heeds her this time, 
 CARNABY. It doesn't matter. 
 GEORGE. Smile. Let's be helpless gracefully. 
 
 CARNABY. There are moments when I'm not sure^ 
 
 GEORGE. It's her own life. 
 
 TOZER staggers from the dining-room drunker than 
 
 ever. He falls against the baluster and waves his 
 
 arms. 
 MR. TOZER. Silence there for the corpse ! 
 
ACT iv] ANN LEETE 7S 
 
 MR. CROWE. You beast! 
 MR. TOZER. Respect my cloth . . Mr. Prestige. 
 MR. CROWE. That's not my name. 
 MR. TOZER. I'll have you to know that I'm Sir George 
 Leete's baronet's most boon companion and her la'ship 
 never goes nowhere without me. [He subsides into a 
 chair.'] 
 LADY LEETE. [Tearfully J] Snuff. 
 
 From the dining-room comes ann; her head bent. 
 She is crossing the hall when sarah follows, call- 
 ing her. 
 SARAH. Ann ! 
 
 ANN turns back to kiss her. The rest of the com- 
 pany stand gating, sir george gives snuif to lady 
 
 LEETE. 
 
 ANN. Good bye, Sally. 
 
 SARAH. [In a whisper.] Forget us. 
 
 GEORGE. [Relieving his feelings.] Good-bye, everybody 
 . . good-bye, everything. 
 
 ABUD goes to the front door and opening it stands 
 waiting for her. She goes coldly but timidly to 
 her father, to whom she puts her face up to be 
 kissed. 
 
 ANN. Good-bye, Papa. 
 
 CARNABY. [Quietly, as he kisses her cheek.] I can do 
 without you. 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. [Raging at the draught.] Shut that 
 idoor. 
 
 ANN. I'm gone. 
 
 She goes with her husband, mrs. opie comes 
 hurriedly out of the dining-room, too late. 
 
 MRS. OPIE. Oh! 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Run . . Mrs. Opie. 
 
 CARNABY. There has started the new century ! 
 
 MRS. OPIE opens the front door to look after them. 
 
74 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 SIR GEORGE LEETE. {With doublc energy. '\ Shut that 
 door. 
 
 LADY LEETE sneeses and then chokes. There is much 
 commotion in her neighbourhood. 
 
 SIR GEORGE. Now shc's huft again. 
 
 DOLLY. Water ! 
 
 MR. CROWE. Brandy! 
 
 SARAH. [^Going.'] ril fetch both. 
 
 GEORGE. We must all die . . some day. 
 
 MR. TOZER. [Who has struggled up to see what is the 
 matter.'] And go to 
 
 DR. REMNANT. Hell. You do believc in that, Mr. Tozer. 
 
 MRS. OPIE. [Fanning the poor old lady.} She's better. 
 
 CARNABY. [To his guests.'] Gentlemen . . punch. 
 
 PRESTIGE and smallpeice; mrs. prestige, george 
 and DOLLY move towards the dining-room. 
 
 MR. prestige. [To smallpeice.] You owe all this to 
 me. 
 
 MR. CROWE. Dolly . . I'm going. 
 
 MRS. PRESTIGE. [To her husband as she nods towards 
 CARNABY.] Nathaniel . . look at 'im. 
 
 GEORGE. [To his father-in-law.] Must we come too? 
 
 MRS. PRESTIGE. [As before.] I can't help it . . a sneer- 
 in' carpin* cavillin' devil! 
 
 MRS. opiE. Markswayde is to let . . as I hear . . Mr. 
 Leete ? 
 
 CARNABY. Markswayde is to let. 
 
 He goes on his way to the dining-room meeting 
 SARAH who comes out carrying a glass of water 
 and a decanter of brandy, sir george leete is 
 comfortably warming himself at the fire. 
 
 The living room of john abud's new cottage has bare 
 plaster walls and its ceilings and floor are of red. 
 
ACT iv] ANN LEETE 75 
 
 brick; all fresh looking but not new. In the middle 
 of the middle wall there is a latticed window, dimity 
 curtained; upon the plain shelf in front are several 
 flower-pots. 
 
 To the right of this, a door, cross beamed and with a large 
 lock to it besides the latch. 
 
 Against the right hand wall, is a dresser, furnished with 
 dishes and plates: below it is a common looking 
 grandfather clock; below this a small door which 
 when opened shows winding stairs leading to the 
 room above. In the left hand wall there is a door 
 which is almost hidden by the fireplace which juts 
 out below it. In the fireplace a wood fire is laid 
 but not lit. At right angles to this stands a heavy 
 oak settle opposite a plain deal table; just beyond 
 which is a little bench. On either side of the win- 
 dow is a Windsor armchair. Between the window 
 and the door hangs a framed sampler. 
 
 In the darkness the sound of the unlocking of a door and 
 of ABUD entering is heard. He walks to the table, 
 strikes a light upon a tinder-box and lights a candle 
 which he finds there, ann is standing in the door- 
 way. ABUD is in stocking feet. 
 ABUD. Don't come further. Here are your slippers. 
 
 He places one of the Windsor chairs for her on which 
 she sits while he takes off her wet shoes and puts 
 on her slippers which he found on the table. Then 
 he takes her wet shoes to the fireplace. She sits 
 'still. Then he goes to the door and brings in his 
 own boots from the little porch and puts them in 
 the fireplace too. Then he locks the door and hangs 
 up the key beside it. Then he stands looking at 
 her; but she does not speak, so he takes the candle, 
 lifts it above his head and walks to the dresser. 
 ABUD. [Encouragingly. 1 Our dresser . . Thomas Jupp 
 
76 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 made that. Plates and dishes. Here's Uncle Prestige's 
 clock. 
 ANN. Past seven, 
 
 ABUD. That's upstairs. Table and bench, deal. Oak 
 settle . . solid. 
 ANN. Charming. 
 
 ABUD. Windsor chairs . . Mother's sampler. 
 ANN. Home. 
 
 ABUD. Is it as you wish? I have been glad at your 
 not seeing it until to-night. 
 
 ANN. I'm sinking into the strangeness of the place. 
 ABUD. Very weary? It's been a long nine miles. 
 
 She does not answer. He goes and considers the 
 Hower-pots in the window, 
 ANN. I still have on my cloak. 
 
 ABUD. Hang it behind the door there . . no matter if 
 the wet drips. 
 ANN. I can wipe up the puddle. 
 
 She hangs up her cloak. He selects a -flower-pot 
 and brings it to her. 
 ABUD. Hyacinth bulbs for the spring. 
 ANN. [After a glance.'] I don't want to hold them. 
 
 He puts hack the pot, a little disappointed. 
 ABUD. Out there's the scullery. 
 ANN. It's very cold. 
 
 ABUD. If we light the fire now that means more trouble 
 in the morning. 
 
 She sits on the settle. 
 ANN. Yes, I am very weary. 
 ABUD. Go to bed. 
 ir^ABUD. Not yet. [After a moment.'] How much light 
 one candle gives ! Sit where I may see you. 
 
 He sits on the bench. She studies him curiously. 
 ANN. Well . . this is an experiment. 
 ABUD. [With reverence.'] God help us both. 
 
ACT iv] ANN LEETE 77 
 
 ANN. Amen. Some people are so careful of their lives. 
 If we fail miserably we'll hold our tongues . . won't we? 
 
 ABUD. I don't know . . I can't speak of this. 
 
 ANN. These impossible things which are done mustn't 
 be talked of . . that spoils them. We don't want to boast 
 of this, do we? 
 
 ABUD. I fancy nobody quite believes that we are mar- 
 ried. 
 
 ANN. Here's my ring . . real gold. 
 
 ABUD. [With a sudden fierce throw up of his head."] 
 Never you remind me of the difference between us. 
 
 ANN. Don't speak to me so. 
 
 ABUD. Now I'm your better. 
 
 ANN. My master . . The door's locked. 
 
 ABUD. [Nodding.'] I know that I must be .. or be a 
 'fool. 
 
 ANN. [After a moment.'] Be kind to me. 
 
 ABUD. [With remorse.] Always I will. 
 
 ANN. You are master here. 
 
 ABUD. And I've angered you? 
 
 ANN. And if I fail . . I'll never tell you . . to make a 
 fool of you. And you're trembling. [She sees his hand, 
 which is on the table, shake.] 
 
 ABUD. Look at that now. 
 
 ANN. [Lifting her own.] My white hands must redden. 
 No more dainty appetite . . no more pretty books. 
 ''" ABUD. Have you learned to scrub ? 
 
 ANN. Not this floor. 
 
 ABUD. Mother always did bricks with a mop. To- 
 morrow I go to work. You'll be left for all day. 
 
 ANN. I must make friends with the other women around. 
 
 ABUD. My friends are very curious about you. 
 
 ANN. I'll wait to begin till I'm seasoned. 
 
 ABUD. Four o'clock's the hour for getting up. 
 
 ANN. Early rising always was a vice of mine. 
 
78 THE MARRYING OF [act iv 
 
 ABUD. Breakfast quickly . . . and I take my dinner 
 with me. 
 
 ANN. In a handkerchief. 
 
 ABUD. Hot supper, please. 
 
 ANN. It shall be ready for you. 
 ^ There is silence between them for a little. Then he 
 says timidly, 
 
 ABUD. May I come near to you? 
 
 ANN. [In a low voice."] Come. 
 He sits beside her, gazing. 
 
 ABUD. Wife . . I never have kissed you. 
 
 ANN. Shut your eyes. 
 
 ABUD. Are you afraid of me? 
 
 ANN. We're not to play such games at love. 
 
 ABUD. I can't help wanting to feel very tender towards 
 you- 
 
 i.NN. Think of me . . not as a wife . . but as a mother 
 of your children . . if it's to be so. Treat me so. 
 
 ABUD. You are a part of me. 
 
 ANN. V^e must try and understand it . . as a simple 
 thing. 
 
 ABUD. But shall I kiss you? 
 
 ANN. [Lowering her head.] Kiss me. 
 
 But when he puts his arms round her she shrinks, 
 
 ANN. No. 
 
 ABUD. But I will. It's my right. 
 
 Almost by force he kisses her. Afterwards she 
 clenches her hands, and seems to suffer. 
 
 ABUD. Have I hurt you? 
 
 She gives him her hand, with a strange little smile. 
 
 ANN. I forgive you. 
 
 ABUD. [Encouraged.] Ann . . we're beginning life to- 
 gether. 
 
 ANN. Remember , . work's enough , . no stopping to 
 (talk. 
 
ACT iv] ANN LEETE 79 
 
 ABUD. I'll work for you. 
 
 ANN. I'll do my part . something will come of it. 
 For a moment they . og ether hand in hand. Then 
 she leaves him and jj.:es across the room. There 
 is a slight pause. 
 ANN. Papa . . I said . . weVe all been in too great a 
 hurry getting civilised. False dawn. I mean to go back. 
 ABUD. He laughed. 
 
 ANN. So he saw I was of no use to him, and he's penni- 
 less, and he let me go. When my father dies what will he 
 take with him ? . . . for you do take your works with you 
 into Heaven or Hell, I believe. Much wit. Sally is afraid 
 to die. Don't you aspire like George's wife. I was afraid 
 to live . . and now . . I am content. 
 
 She walks slowly to the window, and from there to 
 the door, against which she places her ear. Then 
 she looks round at her husband. 
 ANN. I can hear them chattering. 
 
 Then she goes to the little door and opens it. abud 
 takes up the candle, 
 ABUD. I'll hold the light . . the stairs are steeg. 
 Uq lights her up, the stairs. 
 
CAST OF CHARACTERS 
 
 81 
 
 "The Marrying of Ann Leete" was 'produced by the 
 Stage Society, at the Royalty Theatre, on the evening of 
 January 26th, IQ02. 
 
 Ann Leete 
 
 Lord John Carp 
 
 George Leete 
 
 Mr. Daniel Tatton 
 
 Lady Cottesham 
 
 Carnaby Leete 
 
 John Abud 
 
 The Rev. Dr. Remnant 
 
 Mrs. Opie 
 
 DiMMUCK 
 
 Mr. Tetgeen 
 Lord Arthur Carp 
 Mr. Smallpeice 
 Sir George Leete 
 Mr. Crowe 
 Lady Leete 
 Mrs. George Leete 
 The Rev. Mr. Tozer 
 Mr. Prestige 
 Mrs. Prestige 
 
 Miss Winifred Fraser 
 
 Julian Royce 
 
 Kenneth Douglas 
 
 J. Malcolm Dunn 
 
 Miss Henrietta Watson 
 
 H. A. Saint sbury 
 
 C. M. Hallard 
 
 Howard Sturge 
 
 Miss Helen Rous 
 
 George Trollope 
 
 A. E. George 
 
 Charles V. France 
 
 J. Y. F. Cooke 
 
 Arthur Grenville 
 
 Sydney Paxton 
 
 Miss Bessie Page 
 
 Miss Florence Neville 
 
 Ivan Berlin 
 
 Howard Templeton 
 
 Mrs. Gordon Gray 
 
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