UC-NRLF 
 
 
 1~. 
 
 ELIZABETH 
 COOPER 
 
 Jl COMEDY 
 SyGEORGE 
 MOORE 
 
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 r- 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/coopercOOmoorelizabethrich 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS 
 
 BY GEORGE MOORE 
 
 
 BOSTON : JOHN W. LUCE k CO 
 DUBLIN : MAUNSEL k CO. LTD 
 
 1913 
 
Copyright /pij, George Moore 
 
 . C C ( * 
 
 Printed by 
 
 Ballantyne & Company Ltd 
 
 London 
 
TTie first performance of this play was given at 
 
 the Hay market Theatre, June 22, igij^ by the 
 
 Incorporated Stage Society 
 
 PERSONS IN THE PLAY 
 
 MARTIN Edith Evans 
 
 SEBASTIAN DAYNE Reginald Owen 
 
 MRS. DAYNE Emily Luck 
 
 LADY THURLOW Joy Chatwyn 
 
 LEWIS DAVENANT C. V. France 
 
 GODBY Kenyon Musgrave 
 
 COUNTESS VON HOENSTADT Miriam Lewes 
 
 FLETCHER Charles Maunsell 
 
 LORD THURLOW Val Cuthbert 
 
 PROFESSOR DAYNE Gedge Twyman 
 
 LADY KINGSWEIGHT Noel Mackern 
 
 MISS GASMAN Edith Cuthbert 
 
 MR. IRETON John R. Collins 
 
 LADY BASING Irene Ross 
 
 SIR ROBERT BASING Telford Hughes 
 
 Acts I and III : Lewis Davenanfs House in Rockminster 
 Act II : Lewis Davenanfs Country House 
 
 Time : In the Sixties 
 The Play produced by Clifford Brooke 
 
 4010GO 
 

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 > » ' 
 
 ACT I 
 
 Scene : A room, half drawing-room, half study, in 
 Lewis Davenant's house in Rockminsier. Furni- 
 ture eighteenth century, pictures, china in glass 
 cases. 
 
 An April afternoon in i860. 
 When the curtain rises Sebastian Dayne is seated 
 at a table writing. Enter Martin. 
 
 Martin. Mrs. Dayne, sir. 
 
 Sebastian. Show her in. {Exit Martin. A moment 
 after Mrs. Dayne enters.) Well, mother. [She looks 
 round for a chair.) Let me get you a chair. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. Are you busy, Sebastian ? 
 
 Sebastian. Not very ; finishing a chapter. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. Then, perhaps, you can come to 
 tea with me to Lady Thurlow's. I left her with 
 your father ; he was reading his translation of — 
 I can't remember the name. 
 
 Sebastian. Theocritus ? 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. Yes, that's the name. I couldn't 
 listen to it any longer, so came on here to you. I 
 could see they were both very glad to get rid 
 of me. 
 
 Sebastian. That's only your fancy, mother. But 
 tell me, mother, did Lady Thurlow suggest any 
 alternative readings ? 
 
 7 
 
. . ', 'B., ',',,'.'' ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
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 ' " ' ' ' M!fiS. DayNe: Your father thinks very highly of 
 her judgment. 
 
 Sebastian. So do I, but Theocritus isn't her 
 subject. ... I don't know though, the second idyU. 
 But, mother, what a swell you have come out to-day ! 
 Lilac ribbons and a new silk jacket. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. A pretty brown, isn't it ? Where is 
 Lewis ? 
 
 Sebastian. In his study. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. He works very hard ; your father 
 was saying to me only yesterday how hard he works. 
 
 Sebastian. Much too hard for his secretary. I 
 never get a chance at my poems. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne (reproachfully). Sebastian, you know 
 you have every evening to yourself. 
 
 Sebastian. But I want the day-time. This 
 glorious day ! How it inspires one ! 
 
 In green underwood and cover, 
 Blossom by blossom, the spring begins. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. Is that 3'our own composition, 
 Sebastian ? 
 
 Sebastian. The same old question. If I write 
 anything beautiful it is " Did Mr. Davenant help 
 you ? Or did your father tell you how it should 
 go ? " I never get credit for anything I do. There 
 are the proofs of my poems on that table, but what 
 is the use of pubhshing them ? As soon as it 
 becomes known that I am Lewds Davenant 's secre- 
 tary the papers \\ill begin to discover analogies, and 
 our friends here will soon pick up the scent and will 
 go streaming after it. I have learnt a lot from him, 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 9 
 
 no doubt, but the time has come to separate myself 
 from him and from all literary influences. A long 
 holiday is what I want. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. But you will have a nice long holi- 
 day 
 
 Sebastian. You mean when Lewis goes to Ger- 
 many to see his play performed ? But will he go ? 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. Of course. 
 
 Sebastian. I am not sure of that. Lewis is a 
 little world-weary, and he has seen so much and 
 written so much that he has lost all taste, as he says, 
 for general society, especially literary society. We 
 were talking the other evening about this journey 
 to Vienna, and the impression he left upon me was 
 of one who would never be able to make up his rnind 
 to go. " It isn't," he said, " that I wouldn't hke 
 to see my play in German — I would, and the acting 
 would interest me ; but it is the proceedings that 
 follow the play that I dread, the banquet and the 
 laurel-leaves. Germans have no idea of art except 
 somebody crowning somebody with laurel-leaves ; 
 generally a big fat woman does the crowning. And 
 then all the literati gathered about in my honour 
 would make speeches about how art reconciles 
 nations, how the fact of ha\ing German taught in 
 schools will make England love Germany better, 
 and how Germans by learning English in their 
 schools will be able to arrive at a truer understanding 
 of a nation, which, after all, is the same nation, for 
 there is a great deal of Anglo-Saxon blood still in 
 England ; and after half an hour of this nonsense," 
 Lewis said, " I shall have to get up and talk about 
 
10 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Shakespeare, saying that I have not come here to 
 speak in my own name but in the name of EngHsh 
 Hterature, of which I am an unworthy representa- 
 tive." 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. But your dear father often speaks 
 hke that at dinner about the study of the Latin 
 and Greek languages. 
 
 Sebastian. I suppose he does. . . . Lewis was 
 very amusing the other evening, mother. "WTiat 
 else did he say ? Wait a moment, just let me think. 
 Oh, yes. He said that after ha\dng spoken of 
 Shakespeare he would have to explain the relations 
 of art to nature. Yes, yes, that nature is something 
 more and something less than art, that art is not 
 nature because it is art, and that nature is not art 
 because it is nature, and the stupendous creation of 
 
 the artist is no less mysterious 
 
 Enter Martin. 
 
 Martin. The gentleman in the dining-room, sir, 
 says he will miss his train back to Southampton if 
 he waits much longer, and wants to know if Mr. 
 Davenant can see him now. 
 
 Sebastian. I hope you told him that Mr. Dave- 
 nant is composing ? 
 
 Martin. Yes, sir. He asked me for the morning's 
 paper 
 
 Sebastian. And you told him that we never 
 read the newspapers here ? {Martin looks embar- 
 rassed.) You gave him the book that we usually 
 give to visitors ? 
 
 Martin. Yes, sir. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. What book is that ? 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER ii 
 
 Sebastian. " The Koran." 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. That is what the Mahommedans 
 read. 
 
 Sebastian. Perhaps he has been to Constanti- 
 nople. 
 
 Martin. He says he's a sailor, ma'am, second 
 mate on board the Hannah Maria. 
 
 Sebastian. You see how right I am, mother. A 
 man who has come all the way from Southampton 
 to see Lewis would like to read something serious. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. Well, I suppose you know best, 
 Sebastian. 
 
 Sebastian {to Martin). If he rings again, tell him 
 that Mr. Davenant will see him presently, in about 
 ten minutes. 
 
 Martin. Yes, sir. Exit. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. WTiat can a sailor want with 
 Mr. Davenant ? Ho isn't going to buy a yacht, 
 is he ? 
 
 Sebastian. I wish he were ; a yacht would get 
 us out of this dreary hole. A sailor, more likely, 
 who has read a description of a place he knows in 
 one of Lewis's novels ; Lewis has made some tri\ial 
 mistake which the sailor would like him to correct. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. Do you get many \i5it0rs here ? 
 
 Sebastian. Oh, yes, we get a tidy few : ladies 
 who want Lewis to write plays for them ; ladies 
 from America who come to interview him. The 
 last one we had here wanted to know his \iews on 
 the influence of cats on domestic life. We get a 
 fair number of translators from time to time : 
 Swedes, Norwegians, Finns, Servians. 
 
12 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. What an interesting life you have 
 here, Sebastian ! 
 
 Sebastian. But people don't come to see me. 
 Mrs. Dayne. I am sure they are very nice to you, 
 
 dear. 
 
 Sebastian. In order to get something out of 
 Lewis. There is no personal hfe for me in Rock- 
 minster. That is what I lack. I am tired of 
 Rockminster ; nothing happens here. It is all 
 right for Lewis ; he has had affairs with all kinds 
 of women — not here, in London and Paris. Ladies 
 in Rockminster don't have love affairs except 
 perhaps 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. I will not hsten to scandal, Sebas- 
 tian. 
 
 Sebastian. Therefore, every morning as I sit 
 here I send forth my soul bidding it seek out some 
 wonderful woman and give her my name and address 
 — one whom I have never seen and never shall see — 
 and in the evening I walk home hoping to get a 
 letter from her. I know there isn't one, but I never 
 fail to say, " Jane, are there any letters ? " Always 
 the same answer, " No, sir," and I go upstairs to 
 my room saying, " My soul has not yet had time 
 to reach her." 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. My poor boy ! 
 
 Sebastian. But something must happen. This 
 cannot go on for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. I hope if anything happens it won't 
 be anything wrong, Sebastian. I am afraid you 
 are a little overworked, a little over-strained. When 
 Lewis goes to Vienna, which I trust he will, you 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 13 
 
 must go and stay with Lady Thurlow, who, I am 
 sure, will be very glad to have you. 
 
 Sebastian. But, mother, I have stayed with Lady 
 Thurlow so often. 
 
 Enter Lady Thurlow, 
 
 Lady Thurlow. How do you do, Sebastian ? 
 He looks a little tired ; don't you think so, Hen- 
 rietta ? — overworked. Here every morning at half- 
 past ten, and no sooner is dinner over, the Professor 
 tells me, than he goes to his room, and I have often 
 seen his lamp burning in his window at midnight 
 and after. I see proofs. Your proofs, Sebastian ? 
 If you'll allow me, I will just read your mother a 
 few lines to show her what I meant when I said that 
 your style was losing some of its clarity. Mr. 
 Davenant's influence, an unfortunate influence. 
 
 Sebastian. I beseech you, Lady Thurlow — 
 I beg of you not to touch my proofs. I really 
 cannot have them disturbed. And Mr. Davenant's 
 manuscripts are there. You will oblige me by — 
 Let me get you a chair. He gets her a chair. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Thank you, Sebastian, but I've 
 come to take your mother to tea. Won't you 
 come with us ? 
 
 Sebastian. I am afraid I haven't time. I have got 
 some most important work to finish, Lewis's play. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Ah yes, his play which is going 
 to be done in Vienna. 
 
 Sebastian. But there are some letters . . . and 
 post-time is not far off. I will go as far as the 
 post ofiice with you. Will you wait while I wash 
 my hands ? Exit, 
 
14 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Lady Thurlow. You see now, Henrietta, that 
 things have come to a crisis. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. A crisis, Augusta ? What do you 
 
 mean ? 
 
 Lady Thurlow. I must speak to you about the 
 influence that Mr. Davenant exercises around him. 
 If Sebastian is to write original works 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. If Sebastian is to write original 
 works I suppose he'll write them. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Then you don't fear Mr. Dave- 
 nant 's influence ? Remember, Sebastian's talent 
 is pastoral. I was speaking just now of his " Songs 
 of the Hillside," and what atmosphere does he 
 find here for his talent ? Aubusson carpets and all 
 the frivoHty of the eighteenth century which Mr. 
 Davenant has collected round him. I want to see 
 Sebastian among the hills, in the sohtudes, on the 
 borders of the forests 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. But you know very well, Augusta, 
 that it was an unlooked-for good fortune for Sebas- 
 tian to become the secretary of a WTiter known all 
 over the world . . . and who is also our cousin. 
 We have some money but we aren't millionaires, 
 and if Sebastian hadn't failed in his examination he 
 would now be following the same profession as his 
 father. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Sebastian a professor ! Sebas- 
 tian expounding Greek grammar ! How could you 
 think of such a thing, Henrietta ? And so it was 
 on account of his failure to pass his examination 
 that you allowed him to become Mr. Davenant 's 
 secretary ? 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 15 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. If he is Lewis's secretary it is 
 because it pleases him and Lewis ; and I wish, 
 Augusta, you would not say those things to Sebas- 
 tian about the woods and forests, for he is growing 
 quite discontented. He was complaining before 
 you came in about the dullness of Rockminster, that 
 nothing happens here, and that every day he asks 
 if there are letters for him ; he is expecting that 
 some woman whom he has never known will wxite 
 to him. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. What you say doesn't surprise 
 me. The other evening after dinner we were sitting 
 together over the fire ; he sat staring into it, and 
 when I asked him of what poem he was dreaming 
 he said, " I wasn't thinking of any poem, I was 
 thinking what a brilliant past Davcnant has had." 
 He said it in a way that I did not hke at all, as if 
 he were envying Davenant. You see I was right 
 from the first. Sebastian should never have become 
 Davenant 's secretary. Harm will come of it . Mark 
 my words. Sebastian appears in the doorway. 
 
 Sebastian. Arc you coming ? 
 
 Lady Thurlow. I suppose Mr. Davenant is 
 still 
 
 Sebastian. Yes, he is still composing. 
 
 They go out. Lewis Davenant enters by another 
 
 door. 
 
 Davenant. I heard voices. {Going to the window.) 
 Lady Thurlow ; I might have guessed it. The blue- 
 stocking of Rockminster. Among stockings there 
 is no such wanton as the blue. The colour was 
 never to my taste. Long ago I preferred white, 
 
i6 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 and now the colour of stockings interests me no 
 longer. Goes to the table. Enter Martin. 
 
 Martin. Will you see Mr. Godby now, sir ? 
 
 Davenant. Mr. Godby ? 
 
 Martin. The gentleman who has been waiting 
 to see you for the last two hours. 
 
 Davenant. But Mr. Dayne was here. 
 
 Martin. Mr. Godby said he wouldn't know any- 
 thing about the business he has come upon. Shall 
 I show him in, sir ? 
 
 Davenant. Yes, show him in. {Exit Martin.) 
 Godby ? I don't remember the name. Oh ! how 
 tired I am. What can he want with me ? 
 
 Enter Martin. 
 
 Martin. Mr. Godby, sir. 
 
 Enter Godby. Martin goes out. Davenant is 
 
 lying back in his chair like one overcome with 
 
 fatigue. He passes his hand over his eyes and 
 
 advances a step or two towards Godby. 
 
 Davenant. I am sorry you have been kept 
 waiting. 
 
 Godby. It don't matter since I 'aven't to go 
 \\dthout seeing you. 
 
 Davenant. But I'm told you have been waiting 
 all the afternoon. 
 
 Godby [handing Davenant a book). Secretary 
 sent me this 'ere book to read. Thank 'ee. 
 
 Davenant [taking the book). The Koran ! 
 
 Godby. I asked parlourmaid for the paper, but 
 she said you didn't read papers and that your 
 visitors always read that book. [Handing Davenant 
 a box of Turkish Delight.) A httle present from 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 17 
 
 Priscilla, sir ; she wouldn't leave go of me till I 
 promised to give it to you. 
 
 Davexant. a box of Turkish Dehght ! 
 
 GoDBY. From Priscilla, my \yiie three weeks come 
 Tuesday. So no more letters and pomes — that's 
 what I've come to tell 3'ou. 
 
 Davenant. Letters ! Poems ! 
 
 GoDBY. We've 'ad enough of that kind of trash, 
 and if Priscilla 'ad kno\\'n what you be hke you'd 
 'ave 'ad them all back. 
 
 Davenant. Wliat I am like ! 
 
 GoDBY. Her notion of the author of — of " EHza- 
 beth Cooper " — (0 Lord, if she seed you now ! Ha ! 
 ha ! ha !) — was a young feUow all scarfs and riding 
 breeches. Bless you 'eart, I saw through yer when 
 she read out the number of books you'd \mtten. 
 I says to 'er, " Priscilla, it ain't possible. He be a 
 man past fifty." That's ten years older than myself, 
 and when I tell you that she thinks me an old 'un, 
 you can judge for yourself what she'd think of you ! 
 Now let's get a good look at yer. All I told Priscilla 
 is true : a man about fifty or fifty-two, the hair 
 growing thin on the top and grey about the ears 
 and in the whiskers, getting a bit bluff in the bows 
 and broad in the beam. 
 
 Davenant (laughing). I think you are a sailor, 
 Mr. Godby. 
 
 GoDBY. Second mate aboard the brigantine the 
 Haymah Maria, at your service. AU the same, 
 I must tell you that I think a man of your age could 
 employ his time better than by sending letters and 
 pomes to a girl like Priscilla. 
 
 B 
 
i8 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Davenant. Mr. Godby, I know nothing of what 
 you are talking about, absolutely nothing. 
 
 Godby. Well, if you don't know 'er as Priscilla 
 Godby, maybe you'd know 'er as Priscilla Jones. 
 
 Davenant. I don't remember ever ha\ing heard 
 either of these names before. 
 
 Godby. You won't deny your 'and\\Titing and 
 your signature at the end of the letter. {He fumbles 
 in his pockets.) I don't seem to 'ave them about me. 
 
 Davenant. Never mind, Mr. Godby. I think 
 you told me that Mrs. Godby admired my \\Titing ? 
 
 Godby. Ah, now we're beginning to understand 
 each other. 
 
 Davenant. But the letters and poems you spoke 
 of must have come from my secretary. 
 
 Godby. Secretary ! 
 
 Davenant. He answers my letters to correspon- 
 dents who are not personally known to me. 
 
 Godby. Now do 'e now ? So all 'em letters and 
 pomes aren't yours but secretary's ? 
 
 Davenant. That is the only explanation I can 
 think of. But allow me. [He rings. Enter Martin.) 
 Martin, will you ask Mr. Dayne to come here for a 
 moment. (Exit Martin.) I assure you I don't 
 remember. Priscilla Jones ? No, I don't remember 
 anyone of that name. But what is the matter, 
 Mr. Godby ? 
 
 Godby. I'm thinking 'ow Priscilla is going to 
 take this 'ere news. \\Tiat a squall ! She'll be 
 took aback all standing. It might 'ave been well 
 to do a bit of teasing of her, about your age, telling 
 'er that you was grey hke an old Tom in the whiskers; 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 19 
 
 but no, I can't bring myself for to tell 'er that all 
 these letters which she 'as been a-treasuring up 
 'aven't been written by you but by secretary. 
 
 D AVE N ANT. But why tell her ? 
 
 GoDBY. If one of these days ye was to run across 
 each other ? 
 
 Davenant {aside). Sebastian, really, really this is 
 too bad of you. (To Godhy.) Perhaps, after all 
 it would be better to make a clean breast of it. 
 
 GoDBY. But if she won't give ear to me ? 
 
 Davenant. Now do you tell her that I am not 
 only the ugly fellow which you have so admirably 
 summarized in three or four telHng touches, but 
 an old curmudgeon who received you very uncivilly 
 and told you that his house was filled with letters 
 from all kinds of women, and that he would be only 
 too glad to get rid of Mrs. Godby's, and handed you 
 back the packet. 
 
 GoDBY. A very good idea, Mr. Davenant. And 
 now I see plain what a clever man you be. 
 
 Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Davenant. Mr. Godby has come for his wife's 
 letters. 
 
 Sebastian. Mr. Godby ? 
 
 Davenant. Priscilla Jones that was. 
 
 Sebastian. Ah ! Priscilla Jones ! 
 
 Davenant. Now, Sebastian, it appears that you 
 have been carrying on a correspondence with Miss 
 Priscilla Jones, and that you sent her poems, and 
 all in my name. Really, Sebastian, really ! 
 
 Sebastian. But I told you that Priscilla Jones 
 had written to you about 
 
20 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Davenant. About " Elizabeth Cooper " ? Very 
 likely. ... I am tired of hearing about that book. 
 
 Sebastian. Don't you remember telling me to 
 answer her ? 
 
 Davenant. It is very likely I did tell you to 
 answer her letter, but I didn't tell you to continue 
 the correspondence. 
 
 GoDBY. And the pomes. He sent her pomes. 
 
 Sebastian. And the poems are what you fear, 
 Mr. Godby ? How long have you been married ? 
 
 GoDBY. Three weeks come Tuesday. 
 
 Sebastian. Your fears of poems will pass away 
 with time. This innocent correspondence, which 
 afforded IMiss Jones a great deal of pleasure while 
 it lasted, ended the moment she told me she had 
 decided to become Mrs. Godby. 
 
 Godby. That's quite right, that's quite right. 
 
 Davenant. WeU, Mr. Godby, suppose we let 
 bygones be bygones ? [Turning towards Sebastian.) 
 Will you give Mr. Godby his wife's letters ? 
 
 Sebastian [to Godby). For some time past I have 
 been in the habit of collecting the letters which 
 Mr. Davenant has received from ladies with hterary 
 tastes. [Crosses and returns with a casket.) All the 
 aristocracies of France, Germany, and Russia are 
 represented in this casket. [Opening the casket.) 
 Here are tw^enty-eight from the Duchesse de 
 Mafrigneuse, twenty-three from Madame de Nucin- 
 gen, tW'O hundred and three from Madame Marneffe — 
 quite a length}^ correspondence extending over many 
 years ; three from the Princesse de Cadignan, fifteen 
 from the Marquise de Chauheu, eleven from Madame 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 21 
 
 d'Espard ; and the casket itself was given to him 
 by the dehcious Madame du Val Noble, who contri- 
 butes as many as 
 
 GoDBY. You pay out your jaw tackle and all them 
 fine names come mighty easy, young man, but I 
 don't 'appen to 'ear the name of Priscilla Jones 
 among them. Now, if you'd be just good enough to 
 see if you can find Mrs. G.'s letters at the bottom of 
 that 'ere casket. 
 
 Sebastian. Priscilla 's letters, Mr. Godby ! Pris- 
 cilla 's letters in this casket ! We have several boxes 
 downstairs. It would take days to look through 
 the collection. 
 
 Davenant. And while he is looking out your 
 wife's letters you will be missing your train. Leave 
 your address, and we'll look out Mrs. Godby 's letters 
 and send them to you. 
 
 Godby. Well, I don't know. I was told not to 
 come back without them. (Looking at the clock.) 
 Why, lor' ! it's five o'clock ! The time I've been 
 here ! As yer says, I shall miss the train, so if 
 you'll be so kind 
 
 Davenant. You shall have your letters, Mri 
 Godby, without fail. He rings the hell. 
 
 Godby. Thank ye, thank ye. (Enter Martini.) 
 And I 'ave the 'onour to wish you good even', 
 Mr. Davenant, and thank ye. If you ever wants 
 anything in the farin' Hue, such as a parrot or what 
 not, at yer ser\dce. Exit with Martini. 
 
 Sebastian (still before the casket ; he has taken out 
 another packet of letters, which he shows to Davenant). 
 And these, the letters of the Countess Von Hoenstadt . 
 
22 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Davenant. Cease that fooling, Sebastian, and 
 shut the casket. 
 
 Sebastian. But why, Lewis ? Something tells 
 me that she is different from the rest. 
 
 Davenant. The Countess Von Hoenstadt ? She 
 certainly helped to get the translation of " EHzabcth 
 Cooper " accepted in Germany ; she has given 
 herself a great deal of trouble. 
 
 Sebastian. Don't think about your play, think 
 about Gabrielle. I assure you she is worth thinking 
 about. 
 Davenant. You don't even know who she is. 
 Sebastian. Oh, but I do. She has told you all 
 about herself in her letters : a Society woman, the 
 widow of a count in Vienna. She has told you her 
 age, a thing which the others rarely do, twenty- 
 seven ; we will put her down at twenty-eight, 
 perhaps twenty-nine, which isn't old age, and I 
 suppose she has had some love affairs ; anyhow, 
 she knows how to write love-letters. 
 
 Davenant. Yes, an original and an ardent soul, 
 whatever else she may be. 
 
 Sebastian. Listen to this. {He reads.) " I am 
 tired of the rain and of myself, and of everything 
 except you. I have never heard your voice, I 
 won't see or hear you, for it would be a catastrophe 
 to fall in love with the man in you ; I will only be 
 in love with the author." And you won't go to 
 Vienna to meet the woman who can write such a 
 charming letter as this ? 
 Davenant. I don't say I won't go. 
 Sebastian. No, you don't say you won't go ; 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 23 
 
 you drift, you vacillate. If one is to live and enjoy 
 life one must be whole-hearted. It would be a 
 wonderful thing to meet a woman that one must 
 risk everything for. Do you never wish, Lewis, to 
 risk the cliff's edge ? 
 
 Davenant. Just fancy my careering over Europe 
 in search of a love affair ! Going to meet a woman 
 I have never seen, determined to love her. You 
 don't expect me really to go to Vienna to meet 
 Gabrielle. Not a bad name, Gabrielle Von Hoen- 
 stadt. Even when I was your age, Sebastian, I was 
 not quite so reckless. 
 
 Sebastian. If that is your attitude, perhaps you 
 had better not go, but if you weren't you ! Oh, 
 what a dehcious adventure, what an extraordinary 
 romance ! To go to Vienna, to travel a thousand 
 miles for a woman, for an idea. It would be like 
 the Greeks crossing the sea for Helen of Troy. 
 
 Davenant. I can see nothing in it, at least for 
 me, but a journey full of nervous fear, apprehen- 
 sion, disappointment — a disastrous journey. 
 
 Sebastian. Disastrous ! 
 
 Davenant. A long nervous journey full of dis- 
 quiet, full of uncertainty. What will she think of 
 me ? \\^at will she say ? I am alone in an hotel 
 with nothing to think of except the clothes I shall 
 wear. It is difficult to make a selection. Shall I 
 wear a pair of check trousers, or shall I Wear the 
 striped ? Shall I wear a frock-coat or a morning- 
 coat ? A jacket would be a trifle undignified, a 
 frock-coat would be a httle too formal. Perhaps a 
 morning-coat would be the right thing. A morning- 
 
24 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 coat, check trousers — no striped. A fancy waist- 
 coat ? No, better not. What necktie ? Mauve ? 
 Purple ? A black necktie ? Then the boots. Most 
 important. A woman always looks at your feet. 
 At every moment my nervousness increases. Think 
 of me listening for the step in the corridor of the 
 hotel. Twenty disappointments ! And then, at 
 last, the door opens ; she comes in. I look at her, 
 she looks at me, and I read what is passing in her 
 mind. I see that she is disappointed, that I am 
 not at all the man she expected to meet. But we 
 are on the stage and have to play the comedy out 
 to the end, so we propose a visit to the picture gallery. 
 I see that I am not at all the man she wants, but I 
 must not show that she is not the woman I want. 
 So I take her hand in the carriage, she withdraws 
 it ; and then we attempt some friendship, and after 
 two days of torture I escape from Vienna leaving 
 a letter containing some absurd excuse that I am 
 called away suddenly on a matter of important 
 business. That is the first possibility. You will 
 not deny that what I've said is very possibly what 
 might happen. 
 
 Sebastian. Of course, it is always possible to 
 look at things from a disagreeable side ; but 
 Gabrielle, on the contrary, might like you very 
 much — ^in fact, I am sure she would . . . for a 
 while. 
 
 Davenant. I might Hke her as a friend, but she 
 might fail to inspire in me that exaltation of spirit 
 of sense, which it is the ambition and the destiny 
 of woman to inspire. That is the second possibility. 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 25 
 
 Sebastian. But there is a third possibility — ^you 
 might both love each other. 
 
 Davenant. Yes, there is that, and that would be 
 the most disagreeable of the three. We might even 
 fall in love mth each other at first sight, or at the 
 end of an hour and a half's inter\iew. Then there 
 would be the sitting in the box at the theatre, 
 gazing at each other, and the dinners and drives 
 when the fever called love 
 
 Sebastian. The greatest joy on earth. 
 
 Davenant. In different circumstances, yes ; but 
 how could this love-story end ? At the end of the 
 week I might say : " Come to Paris ; let us travel." 
 
 Sebastian. That is exactly how I imagine it. 
 
 Davenant. Or I might ask her to marry me and 
 come and settle down here ; she would probably 
 refuse. 
 
 Sebastian. She certainly would not like Rock- 
 minster. 
 
 Davenant. Then I should have to bid her good- 
 bye at the end of the week in Vienna " Dear 
 Gabriclle, we have passed a charming week together ; 
 I shall be passing this way again in a year or two 
 on my way to Athens. I hope I shall have the 
 pleasure of meeting you." 
 
 Sebastian. If you were to go to Vienna I am 
 sure that something quite unexpected would happen, 
 something quite different. 
 
 Davenant. You are twenty-five, I am fifty. Do 
 you think it would be wise for me to begin all over 
 again a life which is finished and well finished ? 
 Love adventures are things that no man would be 
 
26 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 without, not for all the world ; but to continue 
 after fifty, if one can continue, would be to rob 
 life of variety. Whereas by a little act of renun- 
 ciation one creates a new life, quite different from 
 the old. 
 
 Sebastian. A sort of epicurean asceticism. 
 
 Davenant. That is it. A life in which the 
 pleasures of others not only throw no shadow on 
 us but uplift the heart. It is an adventure more 
 suitable to your age and your appearance. 
 
 Sebastian. Will you send me to Vienna ? 
 
 Davenant. Why not ? To look after my play, 
 and perad venture to see GabrieUe. 
 
 Sebastian. But of what use ? She is in love 
 with your books, she is in love with your fame, she 
 is in love with you because you are celebrated. 
 
 Davenant. I daresay there is a little of that in 
 it ; but once in love with you, she will be satisfied 
 with you and your charming book of poems which 
 will be published in a few weeks. 
 
 Sebastian. Le^vis, I will confess the truth to you ; 
 I have always been in love with her, I have never 
 dared to say so before. Do you think she will be 
 disappointed in me ? 
 
 Davenant. If she doesn't love you, somebody 
 else will. In Vienna you are sure to be a success. 
 Now, let me see. This is the third, no, the fourth 
 of April. I wdll give you a month's holiday — five 
 weeks if you like. For you, Sebastian, life and its 
 pleasures ; for me the peace of Claremont Villa, 
 long days spent in my garden, and in the evenings 
 I will smoke my pipe with my old friend Ruskin — 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 27 
 
 a fair di\ision. You will return enchanted in a 
 month, and we'll begin work again. 
 
 Sebastian. What a delicious adventure ! \Miat 
 a delicious adventure ! 
 
 Davenaxt (more and more amused). Bravo, Sebas- 
 tian, bravo ! It would not be like you to refuse. 
 I will give you some money. {He sits at the desk. 
 Sebastian stands in the middle of the stage lost in 
 thought.) Here is a note of credit on my banker. 
 The journe}^ is an expensive one but it is really 
 necessary . . . but one moment, Sebastian. You 
 will have to travel in my name. 
 Sebastian. Wliy ? 
 
 Davenant. Because you said just now that it 
 was fame she was after. Go in my name and unite 
 the two temptations, youth and fame. You will be 
 irresistible. 
 
 Sebastian. Introduce myself to Gabrielle as the 
 author of " Ehzabcth Cooper " ! 
 
 Davenant. Why not, since I give you leave ? 
 She would hardly love you if you went to her as 
 my secretary. 
 Sebastian. But I am a poet. 
 
 Davenant. A very charming poet, but 
 
 Sebastian. Forego myself ! Present myself as 
 the author of all the books and plays you have 
 written ! I couldn't do it, Le\vis. 
 
 Davenant. Think of what you'll lose. An 
 unique opportunity. If 3'ou aren't tempted, all 
 I can say is that your generation is different 
 from mine. 
 
 Enter Martin. She has a packet in her hand. 
 
28 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Martin. This packet has just come, sir. 
 
 She hands him the packet and goes out. Davenant 
 
 opens it. 
 
 Davenant. Do you know what is in this packet ? 
 A miniature. Gabrielle has sent her portrait and a 
 letter. 
 
 Sebastian. Let me see it, let me see it. 
 
 Davenant hands him the miniature and Sebastian 
 
 stands gazing delightedly at it. Davenant reads 
 
 the letter. 
 
 Davenant. Only a short letter. She tells me 
 what trains I am to travel by and — listen, Sebastian. 
 (Reads.) " I won't wait much longer. I am not 
 ashamed to run after you, but I very soon will be 
 ashamed of thinking so much of a man withouteven 
 kno\\dng if he deserves it. It makes me feel what 
 I don't want to be — a little fool." You see, Sebas- 
 tian, there is no time to be lost. 
 
 Sebastian. She is dehcious, delicious and di\ine ! 
 
 Davenant. So you're going ? 
 
 Sebastian. I am going, come what may. 
 
 Davenant. You had better start immediately. 
 
 Sebastian. No time shall be lost. Good-bye. 
 Can I take the miniature ? 
 
 Davenant. Yes, here it is. And you'll not forget 
 altogether about my play, will you ? You'll write 
 to me at once and attend all the rehearsals ? 
 
 Sebastian. Yes, yes. Good-bye, Lewis. 
 
 He goes out. Davenant looks at one of his pic- 
 tures, then opens the window and rings the bell. 
 
 Enter Martin. 
 
 Davenant. If j^ou look through the telescope in 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 29 
 
 the library you will see Jupiter superbly. Then 
 you can bring in the lamp. 
 
 Martin. Yes, sir. 
 
 She goes out. Davenant remains at the window 
 
 smoking as the curtain falls. 
 
ACT II 
 
 Scene : Davenanfs country house. A room opening 
 out on a large garden. Light summer furniture. 
 A river is seen in the distance. The sun is 
 shining. 
 
 A 771071th later ; about two in the after7ioon. 
 When the curtain rises Davenant and Lady 
 Thurlow are walking to and fro in the garden. 
 Davenant carries a pruning-shears in his hand 
 a7id is busy cutting roses. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. My dear friend, you see my 
 hands are full ; I beg of you not to cut any more. 
 
 Davenant. Just one more. He cuts another rose. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. WTiat a beautiful rose ! Purple, 
 almost black. And now I \\ill bid you good-bye. 
 I have already taken up more than an hour of your 
 valuable time. I must run away. 
 
 Davenant. No, no. Come in and rest for a 
 moment. You're tired. Come and sit down. 
 
 He points to a sofa and sits beside her. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Before going back to Rock- 
 minster I want to pay a Httle \isit to your neighbour 
 Ruskin. You've no idea how impatient I am to 
 read his " Stones of Venice." He has been working 
 upon it so long. 
 
 Davenant. Ah, he is a past-master. 
 
 30 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 31 
 
 Lady Thurlow. But you, my dear friend, you 
 haven't told me what you're doing. 
 
 Davenant. Very httle. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. You miss Sebastian ? 
 
 Davenant. Indeed I do. I hope he will soon 
 come back. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. When do you expect him ? 
 
 Davenant. I can't say exactly, probably in a 
 day or two. I showed you the letter he wrote me 
 from Vienna after the performance of " Ehzabeth 
 Cooper." 
 
 Lady Thurlow. No doubt you are very pleased 
 to know that your play was such a success. 
 
 Davenant. It is always agreeable to hear that 
 one has pleased somebody' . 
 
 Lady Thurlow. And since that letter you haven't 
 heard from him ? 
 
 Davenant. No, and I don't expect to ; he is 
 busy seeing all there is to see. I told him not to 
 hurry. I assure you there is no cause for anxiety. 
 If any accident had happened to him, if he had been 
 killed in a duel, or if he had been shipwrecked 
 
 Lady Thurlow. There are other accidents besides 
 duels and shipwrecks. If he were to get entangled 
 in an intrigue with some actress at the theatre . . . 
 and in a strange country ? 
 
 Davenant. I gave him a letter of introduction, 
 and it should open some doors of Viennese society 
 to him. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Without for a moment thinking 
 that Viennese Society might prove even more 
 dangerous than theatrical. 
 
32 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Davenant. a young man must sow his wild oats 
 
 somewhere. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. And it was to sow them that 
 you sent him to Vienna ? 
 
 Davenant. I sent liim to Vienna to look after 
 
 my play. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Never thinking that some Vien- 
 nese actress 
 
 Davenant. If one were to think of all the traps 
 into which a young man may tumble, there would be 
 no time to think of anything else. 
 
 Lady Thurlow (rising). I thought perhaps you 
 might have had news through one of your friends. 
 
 Davenant. The moment I have I will let you 
 know. Must you go ? 
 
 Lady Thurlow. I really must. Good-bye - 
 
 Davenant. Till this evening. Don't forget your 
 promise to dine with me in Rockminster. You 
 will meet some pleasant people, I think. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. One never meets anybody else 
 in your house. I shan't forget. 
 
 Exit by garden. Davenant goes out with her and 
 
 comes hack a moment after. He walks about the 
 
 stage in silence. 
 
 Davenant. What the devil am I to do with this 
 irresponsible youth Sebastian ? Why didn't he 
 write more exphcitly ? He looks forward to 
 telHng me his adventures. ... All the same, 
 it is a month since he left. 
 
 Enter Martin with a letter. 
 
 Martin. Fletcher has just brought this letter, sir. 
 It came yesterday to Rockminster, and knowing 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 33 
 
 that you weren't returning till this evening, he 
 thought it better to bring it here. 
 
 Davenant. He did quite right. (Takes the letter.) 
 Wait a moment. Sebastian's handwriting. [He 
 reads.) This is too much ! Really this is too much. 
 (After a -pause he bursts out laughing.) What a 
 splendid impertinence ! He even wants to turn me 
 out of my own house. (Reading by fragments.) " My 
 dear cousin, my dear Lewis, you are so good, so 
 kind. Lend me Claremont Villa . . . only for two 
 days . . . and as I am still Lewis Davenant, will 
 you oblige me by becoming Sebastian Dayne ? We 
 shall arrive—" WE ! "We shall arrive to- 
 morrow." To-morrow. When did 3'ou say, Martin, 
 this letter came ? 
 
 Martin. Last night, sir. 
 
 Davenant. Then it's to-day. He may be here 
 . . . they may be here at any moment. As this 
 joke began with mc, I had better see it through. 
 (To Martin.) Now, Martin, hsten to me atten- 
 tively. I can count upon you, I think. 
 
 Martin. It wasn't yesterday I entered your 
 service, sir, and you know 
 
 Davenant. Yes, I know. But to-day, Martin, 
 it isn't on my account, alas ! We must make way 
 for the young folk. Now, this is what you are to 
 do. Mr. Dayne may arrive at any moment — and 
 with a lady ... I don't think I told you he is 
 travelling in my name. Now, when he comes you 
 are to call him Mr. Davenant. Do you understand ? 
 (Martin begins to laugh.) It would take too long to 
 explain. You are to stay here to look after them. 
 
 c 
 
34 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 And while they are here you are to speak to Mr. 
 Dayne as Mr. Davenant. I think I can rely on 
 you. Mr. Dayne will not stay longer than two 
 days. 
 
 Martin. And you, sir ? 
 
 Davenant. I must get back to Rockniinster. 
 What time is the next train ? 
 
 Martin. The train from Rockminster has just 
 come in and the train back has just gone out. 
 
 Davenant. Then they may be on their way from 
 the station. 
 
 Martin. And if that is the case, sir ? 
 
 Davenant. Then, Martin, I am Mr. Sebastian 
 Dayne. 
 
 Martin. Very well, sir ; 111 try to remember. 
 
 Exit. 
 
 Davenant. If I were to walk to Rockminster . . . 
 only four miles. No, I am not going to walk four 
 miles in the broiling sun for Sebastian's sake. I 
 dare say they haven't come by that train. [Going 
 to the window.) Yes, here they are ! Sebastian 
 and a pretty woman, as far as one can judge. I 
 wish she would raise her parasol a little more. But 
 I must fly if I wouldn't meet them on the staircase 
 or in the street. Now what is to be done ? Can 
 it be Gabrielle ? It can't be. 
 
 Enter Sebastian and the Countess Von Hoenstadt. 
 
 Countess [speaking with a German accent). What 
 a lovely country ! And the delicious river, I love 
 it ! And all this beautiful garden, this exquisite 
 little cottage. It's all dehghtful. 
 
 Sebastian. I am so glad you are pleased with the 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 35 
 
 place, Gabrielle. Most of my childhood was passed 
 here ; I am very fond of it. And to come back 
 here with you is a most extraordinary happiness. 
 
 Countess. I love it all. And you, Lewis, I love 
 you ! 
 
 Enter Martin : she relieves the Countess of her 
 
 travelling cloak. 
 
 Sebastian (going towards Davenant). My dear 
 Sebastian . . . how are you ? Gabrielle, allow me 
 to introduce you to my cousin, Sebastian Dayne, 
 also my secretary. 
 
 Countess. Lewis has spoken a great deal about 
 you, Mr. Dayne. 
 
 Davenant [howing). Have you had a pleasant 
 journey ? 
 
 Sebastian. Very. We left all our luggage at 
 Rockminster and came on here with just enough 
 for two days. [To Gabrielle.) Dearest, I am sure 
 you would like to go to your room. (To Martin.) 
 What room have you ready for — for — madam ? 
 
 Martin (hesitatingly). The room 
 
 Davenant. The room overlooking the river. I 
 thought 
 
 Sebastian. That will do splendidly, that will do 
 splendidly. 
 
 Martin. If madam will come with me. 
 
 Gabrielle. I will leave you with your secretary 
 for a little while. (In a low tone.) Dearest, I love 
 you. Exeunt Martin and Gabrielle. 
 
 Sebastian (after following Gabrielle a few steps, 
 returns rapidly to Davenant). You are good, Lewis. 
 (He takes both his hands.) I don't know how to thank 
 
36 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 you. I hope we haven't put you out too much ? 
 Only a couple of days. ^ 
 
 Davenant (in very good humour). Not at all, 
 Sebastian ; stay as long as you please. I am 
 dehghted to see you, but must apologize for being 
 here when you arrived. Your letter did not reach 
 me until ten minutes ago, and I was just about to 
 run away, having given Martin some instructions, 
 when you arrived. But we have no time to lose. 
 Tell me, and tell me quickly, is that Gabrielle ? 
 
 Sebastian. Didn't you know her ? She is very 
 like her miniature. 
 
 He takes the miniature from his pocket and sits. 
 
 Davenant. I hardly saw her, and in a hat. My 
 dear Sebastian, you have managed this affair splen- 
 didly. Now, admit, wasn't it a good idea of mine 
 to send you to Vienna ? You appear very much 
 in love \vith each other. One could see that from 
 the way she turned to look at you as she went out. 
 It is all dehghtful, dehghtful ! I congratulate you, 
 Sebastian. Show me the miniature. Yes, it is 
 very hke her. And now tell me everything in a 
 few words. 
 
 Sebastian. It would take too long. 
 
 Davenant. We have five minutes. 
 
 Sebastian. You want to know how we met ? 
 
 Davenant. Certainly. 
 
 Sebastian. Well, in the most original way . . . 
 in the train. 
 
 Davenant [more and more amused). No ! 
 
 Sebastian. I got into the train at Ostend ; and 
 within an hour's journey of Vienna, at a station 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 37 
 
 called — I can't remember the name, three ladies 
 and a gentleman got into my carriage. 
 
 Davenant. One was Gabrielle ? 
 
 Sebastian. At first I didn't recognize her, but 
 it was she. She was returning to Vienna to meet 
 me. 
 
 Davenant. To meet Lewis Davenant. 
 
 Sebastian. To meet Le\\is Davenant and to 
 
 meet me. 
 
 Davenant. To meet Le\vis Davenant, since it 
 was me she expected, but to meet you since it is 
 you she loves. But I beg your pardon. Go on. 
 
 Sebastian. Well, three ladies and a gentleman 
 entered my compartment. The gentleman had 
 white hair, very distinguished-looking. He is an 
 old friend of her family's ; Baron Von Allmen is 
 his name. The two ladies, the Countess Bertha 
 Von Maureg and the Baronne Studcnberg. 
 
 Davenant. I see you already possess some know- 
 ledge of Viennese Society. I suppose you met 
 these people afterwards ? 
 
 Sebastian. Yes. 
 
 Davenant. Well, go on. 
 
 Sebastian. I helped them into their seats. She 
 thanked me in German, and seeing I was Enghsh 
 she smiled. Then I looked at her more attentively, 
 asking myself where I had seen her before, and not 
 being able to remember. All of a sudden, at the 
 end of ten minutes, an idea came to me . . . but 
 I said to myself," I must be mad ! " Every moment 
 the train was bringing us nearer Vienna ; the Baron 
 was explaining to the two ladies things I couldn't 
 
38 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 understand, and I caught her stealing glances in my 
 direction when she thought I wasn't looking. 
 
 Davenant. Magnetic influence ! 
 
 Sebastian. And all the time I kept asking myself, 
 "Is it Gabrielle ? " You can imagine my feelings. 
 Then I had an inspiration. Very quietly taking her 
 miniature out of the pocket of my coat, I compared 
 it with her. She was watching me and immediately 
 she understood. 
 
 Davenant. Dehghtful ! 
 
 Sebastian. I saw her blushing, and all of a 
 sudden, with an exquisite spontaneity and that 
 delicious accent which you have heard, she said, 
 " You are Lewis Davenant ! " What answer could 
 I make ? 
 
 Davenant. You were fairly caught. 
 
 Sebastian. I assure you, Lewis, that during the 
 journey I had thought it all out, and had decided 
 to present myself to her in my own name . . . 
 yes, come what might. 
 
 Davenant. But you hadn't time. You were 
 taken by surprise, and in a moment it was too 
 late. 
 
 Sebastian. Before I had time to answer she 
 introduced me to her friends — to the distinguished- 
 looking Baron Von Allmen, the beautiful Countess 
 Von Maureg, and the \'ivacious Baronne Studenberg. 
 " Mr. Lewis Davenant, who has come to Vienna for 
 the performance of ' Elizabeth Cooper.' " 
 
 Davenant {laughing). Destiny is stronger than 
 we, Sebastian. I see the hand of destiny in that 
 meeting in the train. But you seem very subdued. 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 39 
 
 Sebastian. Do I ? 
 
 Davenant. a certain greyness in the eyes and 
 about the mouth which I find difficult to associate 
 with the hero of so charming an adventure. 
 
 Sebastian. Five enchanted weeks ! 
 
 Davenant. I suppose 3'ou saw her every day ? 
 
 Sebastian. Of course. And when we didn't 
 spend the evening alone we went into Society. She 
 introduced me to all her friends. 
 
 Davenant. And you charmed them all. They 
 invited you to their houses, routs, balls, and 
 dinners. 
 
 Sebastian. They were enchanted weeks ! 
 
 Davenant. But I suppose sometimes you remem- 
 bered my play ? 
 
 Sebastian. Of course. I wrote you a long letter 
 about it. Gabrielle always came with me to 
 rehearsals. 
 
 Davenant. Tell me something about my play 
 . . . about your play. 
 
 Sebastian. Isn't it very difficult for an author 
 to speak about his own work ? 
 
 Davenant. Well, tell me what Sebastian Dayne 
 would have thought of the play. 
 
 Sebastian. What Sebastian Dayne would have 
 thought of my play. That is just what I was going 
 to ask 3'OU. On the first evening of the performance 
 when I was called before the curtain 
 
 Davenant. You were called before the curtain ? 
 
 Sebastian. Yes ; and I made a speech. 
 
 Davenant. And you told them that you had 
 come to speak to them in the name of England ? 
 
40 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Sebastian. Not on that occasion, but next day 
 at the banquet 
 
 Davenant. There was a banquet ? 
 
 Sebastian. A magnificent one. 
 
 Davenant. Your health was drunk in cham- 
 pagne ? 
 
 Sebastian. Of course. 
 
 Davenant. And you were crowned with laurels ? 
 
 Sebastian. A crown of gilt laurels. 
 
 Davenant. Which you wore as an actor wears 
 his crown ? 
 
 Sebastian. An actor lays aside his crown at 
 midnight. 
 
 Davenant. But yours was never from your brow. 
 All night long you wore it, and you were still the 
 author of " Elizabeth Cooper " when the morning 
 dawned. 
 
 Sebastian (smiling). I don't complain. 
 
 Davenant. But tell me, Sebastian. ... I sup- 
 pose now and then you must have had some un- 
 pleasant moments ? Every rose has its thorn. 
 You must have said to yourself that the day would 
 have to come when you must tell her. However, 
 I suppose the proper time hasn't yet arrived. 
 
 Sebastian. I keep putting it off. 
 
 Davenant. I understand . . . You went several 
 times to her determined to tell her everything, but 
 before you had time to open your hps she took your 
 face in her hands murmuring, " I love you, dearest." 
 \\^at did she wear ? Rose ? How could you dis- 
 appoint Gabrielle in rose ! Another time she wore 
 a mauve scarf over her shoulders. I understand. 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 41 
 
 What resolutions would not vanish at the sight of a 
 mauve scarf wound about two white arms ! 
 
 Sebastian. But you have not seen her arms. 
 
 Davenant. Arms soon to be withdrawn, my 
 poor Sebastian, arms which have been for the last 
 month wound about you. I hope you have grown 
 a little weary of those arms ? No ? Not yet ? So 
 serious as that ? (Sits by him.) 
 
 Sebastian. Yes, Lewis. Every day I am more 
 and more in love with her. And all the time the 
 fatal day is approaching when I must tell her. 
 
 Davenant. She loves you for yourself ? 
 
 Sebastian. I think so. 
 
 Davenant. But you have some misgivings. 
 
 Sebastian. I dread the unpleasant quarter of an 
 hour. 
 
 Davenant. If you get off with only a quarter of 
 an hour you'll be lucky. Such happiness as yours 
 is paid for more dearly. And now I must ask you 
 what excuse you are going to give her for not 
 telling her sooner ? 
 
 Sebastian. There is no use thinking out what 
 one is going to say. The stress of the moment puts 
 the right words into one's mouth. 
 
 Davenant. But when will that moment come ? 
 The sooner the better. You surely don't intend 
 putting it off till she is seated in the train on her 
 way back to Vienna, and when you hear the whistle 
 put your head into the carriage-window saying, 
 " I am not Lewis Davenant." 
 
 Sebastian. I know I must tell her sooner or later. 
 But we're not going to part like that. 
 
42 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Davenant. You will have to part this week or 
 the next, I suppose . . . unless ... do you intend 
 to marry her ? 
 
 Sebastian. We are married. 
 
 Davenant iip to this point has been very amused. 
 
 He immediately becomes serious. 
 
 Davenant. Married ! You have married her ? 
 And you have married her in the name of Lewis 
 Davenant ? {Rises.) My dear Sebastian, this is a 
 piece of folly 
 
 Sebastian. We won't discuss that point. One's 
 follies are too personal to discuss. 
 
 Davenant. You have married her in my name. 
 You mean that you went through some ceremony 
 of marriage ? 
 
 Sebastian. No, the marriage was all right . There 
 was a church, and a priest, and a book where we 
 signed our names . . . but Tm not very w^ell up 
 in the marriage laws. 
 
 Davenant. Well, my good friend, you will soon 
 have an excellent occasion to learn them. 
 
 Sebastian. It would be better if you let me tell 
 you how it all happened. 
 
 Davenant. The one thing that concerns me is 
 that you have married her in my name . . . and 
 I am not a marr}dng man. 
 
 Sebastian. Try for a moment to imagine what 
 my situation was. 
 
 Davenant. I am trying to think what could have 
 made you do such a ridiculous thing, but I can't 
 arrive at any conclusion. 
 
 Sebastian. If you'll let me tell you. You'll only 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 43 
 
 lose time guessing. You didn't reproach me when 
 I told you that in the train I allowed Gabrielle to 
 introduce me to her friends as the author of " Ehza- 
 beth Cooper." 
 
 Davenant. In the train you were taken by 
 surprise, but you weren't taken by surprise the 
 morning you were married. You knew you were 
 going to be married. 
 
 Sebastian. I hadn't the faintest idea I was going 
 to be married. 
 
 Davenant. Were you married under the influence 
 of a drug, or in your sleep ? 
 
 Sebastian. I tell you that an hour before my 
 marriage I hadn't the least idea I was going to be 
 married. 
 
 Davenant. You speak as if you had been caught 
 in a shower of rain. 
 
 Sebastian. It was exactly like that. We went 
 for an excursion to an island in the Danube, a 
 long narrow island with a village running down the 
 middle. A church appeared, and as we stopped to 
 admire it Gabrielle said, " How would ^'ou like to 
 come into that church and be married to me ? " 
 
 Davenant. And weren't you able to answer her ? 
 
 Sebastian. No, I remained silent. 
 
 Davenant. And then she insisted ? 
 
 Sebastian. No, she didn't say anything more. 
 
 Davenant. And then ? 
 
 Sebastian. Then she went into the church. 
 
 Davenant. With you ? 
 
 Sebastian. With me. We found an old priest 
 asleep in a chair. 
 
44 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Davenant. And then ? 
 
 Sebastian. She asked him to marry us. 
 
 Davenant. And you never said a word ? Is 
 that how people usually marry in Vienna ? 
 
 Sebastian. Sometimes. 
 
 Davenant. Well, my dear friend, in England 
 these marriages very often end in the Law 
 Courts. 
 
 Sebastian. A man should always be willing to 
 suffer for the woman he loves. I am ready. 
 
 Davenant. To go to prison, to cut your throat ? 
 If I had gone to Vienna this wouldn't have hap- 
 pened. 
 
 Sebastian. Because she wouldn't have loved 
 you. 
 
 Davenant. I'm not so sure of that ; after all, she 
 did write those letters to me. But you must tell her 
 who you are, and the sooner the better. 
 
 Sebastian. You think, then, that the moment 
 she comes downstairs I should introduce her to the 
 real Lewis Davenant. 
 
 Davenant. Why not ? 
 
 Sebastian. Perhaps you would like to explain to 
 her ? 
 
 Davenant. Oh, no, my good friend. Tell her 
 yourself, when you are alone with her. I did wrong 
 to advise you to go to Vienna and introduce your- 
 self to her in my name . . . but I didn't tell you 
 to marry her in my name. Now, I am leaving in 
 half an hour. You will have her all to yourself. 
 You couldn't find a better place for the explana- 
 tion — a beautiful house in the midst of a lovely 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 45 
 
 garden facing a river ; everything is in your favour. 
 Ssh ! here she is. 
 
 Enter Gahrielle. Her hair is pinned up in front 
 
 hut falls over her shoulders. 
 
 Gabrielle. You will excuse me, ^Ir. Dayne, for 
 I did not know you were here and came to ask my 
 husband to make my hair. I am si maladroite I 
 am not able to make my hair alone, and darling, 
 your parlourmaid is not used to attending on 
 ladies. 
 
 Sebastian. She has broken the comb I gave you. 
 
 Gabrielle. The comb that 3'Ou bought for me 
 at Strasbourg. I am sorry. {Sebastian arranges 
 her hair.) Is it unlucky in England, Mr. Dayne, 
 to break a comb when you first enter a strange 
 house ? I hope not. (Gets up and goes to the mirror, 
 and then comes hack to Sebastian.) Make it a little 
 higher, dear. 
 
 Sebastian. Sebastian, have you ever seen more 
 beautiful hair ? Soft as silk, the colour of honey, 
 and smelling as sweetly. 
 
 Countess. Thank you, dear. [Goes to the mirror 
 again.) If Martin had been able to make my hair 
 as well as you, I should have begun to suspect that 
 mine were not the first little she-feet {looking at the 
 carpet) to tread these roses underfoot. Do you 
 say " she-feet " in Enghsh ? 
 
 Davenant. We don't specify the sex ; merely 
 feet. He moves towards the door. 
 
 Gabrielle. No, you must not go, Mr. Dayne. 
 There are a great many things I should like to ask 
 you about. Are you not my cousin now ? 
 
46 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Davenant. So I am ; and your secretary if you 
 should ever require one. 
 
 Gabrielle. I will dictate to you in German ; I 
 am sure you know German, Mr. Dayne ; and it will 
 improve your German to gossip with me. Is gossip 
 right ? How do you say gossip in English ? 
 
 Davenant. We say gossip. 
 
 Gabrielle. Just as I have said ? I should like 
 to gossip with you. Will you take a chair, Mr. 
 Dayne, and gossip in English with me ? Now do 
 stay and tell me 
 
 Davenant. What would you have me tell you ? 
 
 Gabrielle. Of the advice you gave to Lewis 
 that he must be beware of Viennese ladies, for I am 
 sure you told hiin that in all those hours that you 
 spent together. 
 
 Davenant. When your miniature arrived 
 
 Gabrielle. Lewis says that the miniature does 
 me no justice whatever, and he is right. I always 
 look dreadful and affectee or swollen and greedy on 
 photographs. I do not look so toothachish in 
 reality, do I, Mr. Dayne ? But I am not going to 
 ask you for compliments ; I know you could not 
 do else than tell me that I am very pretty, but that 
 is not what I want to hear. I should like you to 
 tell me if the lady in the ivory is a woman who 
 would deceive her lover and what terrible revenge 
 she would wreck on him if he were to deceive her. 
 You don't know ; how could you be expected to 
 know ? You see, Mr. Dayne, I am a little stupid 
 sometimes, but I hke me to be like that. Pay not 
 attention to me but just go on thinking of what is 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 47 
 
 in 3'our head. Your head is full of Lewis's books, 
 is it not ? It must be since you are his secretary. 
 We were talking about my miniature, and I was 
 about to teU you that it was painted when I was 
 li\ing with my husband. He carried me off from 
 the convent to a castle in the forest where I never 
 saw anyone but an old nurse and les chasseurs, men 
 that came to hunt the wild boar and the deer. It 
 was very tedious but very romantic, like j'our 
 Shakespeare. I used to sit at my casement thinking 
 that it was a play of his and m3'5elf Desdemona ; 
 but she loved her black man and I did not love 
 my hunter, who never knew a day's illness until he 
 died. That was what his great friend that shot 
 him used to say, " Rudolph never knew a day's 
 illness till he died." It was an accident, and I \vill 
 tell you how it happened one of these days, when 
 I am rested, for it is a very long story. 
 
 Sebastian. Darling, let me persuade you to go 
 to your room and lie down for a little while. 
 
 Gabrielle. I am not tired, but I cannot tell 
 the accident that my husband met with while 
 hunting in the forest. It sounds too much hke 
 William Rufus, and I want to talk about " Elizabeth 
 Cooper." After my husband's death in the forest 
 I went to live in Vienna, and seeing the same people 
 day after day began to tire me almost as much as 
 the deer and the boars in the forest. It was impos- 
 sible for me to see them any more, and so I said 
 to myself, " I will make some new^ acquaintance," 
 and went to the hbrary and began to pick out 
 English heroes from Tauchnitz' edition. I found 
 
48 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Douglas, Richard Feverel, later on Chandos, and 
 a thousand niore, and one day the librarian handed 
 me '' EHzabeth Cooper." The name struck my 
 imagination ; it is such a wonderful name, so 
 romantic, so — I can't say all I want to say in English. 
 Ach ! it is so tiresome. Elizabeth Cooper is so 
 
 Davenant. So evocative. 
 
 Gabrielle. So evocative of Shakespeare and 
 English glens. [To Sebastian.) Why did 3'ou not 
 give me the word I want ? Thank you, Mr. Dayne. 
 If Lewds had written a book for Austrian countesses 
 especially, he could not have succeeded better. For 
 weeks I wanted to write to him, but somehow I 
 didn't care, and when his first letter arrived my 
 hands turned as cold as ice and my cheeks burning 
 hot. Is it not a funny thing to have cold hands and 
 a hot face at the same time ? A moment after I 
 made gambols and pinched my dog because I was 
 so happy. Tell me, Mr. Dayne, was Le\^is really 
 a little pleased when I first \\Tote to him ? Did he 
 tell you his first idea about me ? I shall never 
 forget what great impression his first letter made 
 on me. I got it November 7, on a Saturday. 
 Nearly every year something happens to me on 
 November 7. It is a dangerous day for me. 
 
 Davenant. The Countess speaks exactly as she 
 writes. 
 
 Gabrielle. So Lewis has shown you my letters. 
 No, don't trouble to excuse yourself, Lewis ; I 
 don't mind in the least your ha\ing shown my 
 letters to Mr. Dayne — ^in fact, I knew 3'ou'd done so. 
 
 Sebastian. How did you know that ? 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 49 
 
 Gabrielle. Well, my darling, didn't you tell me 
 so one day ? 
 
 Davenant. If I may dare to put a question 
 
 Gabrielle. Do put questions to me and I will 
 answer them truthfully. 
 
 Davenant. Were your imaginations fulfilled ? 
 
 Gabrielle. I did not imagine so young a man. 
 
 Davenant. And if he had been an older man ? 
 
 Gabrielle. I think I should have forgiven him 
 his age for the sake of Elizabeth. 
 
 Davenant. Is " Ehzabeth Cooper " the only book 
 by Mr. Davenant that you have read ? 
 
 Gabrielle. The only one ; I glanced through 
 the others at the library, and the husband in one 
 story — I have forgotten the name of it — seemed to 
 me to be a darling. He took his wife upon his knee. 
 Other authors' husbands are not doing such sweet, 
 natural things. They arc either beasts or poseurs 
 or hypocrites. Oh ! I have no patience with them. 
 I wish I could throw something to their heads ! 
 But I did not buy any more of Lewis's books. I 
 grew afraid they might have disappointed me, and 
 I don't like to be disappointed, Mr. Dayne. It 
 gives me nerves. When you know me better you 
 will understand how bitterly I resent being dis- 
 appointed. But I know " Ehzabeth Cooper " so 
 well, every scene in it, and I should have visited all 
 the places he has described, only there were reasons 
 that kept me in Vienna. The man who shot my 
 husband was said to be in love with me, which was 
 not true, and my family — but there is no necessity 
 for going into that story now ; another time, Mr* 
 
 D 
 
50 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Dayne. I want now to talk to you about Elizabeth 
 Cooper. It was she who gave me my liberty from 
 Vienna, and so I said to my husband, " We must 
 visit all the towns where she and her lover stayed 
 at on our wedding journey ; we shall follow her 
 wanderings " ; and so we went down the Rhine. 
 
 Sebastian. Castle and crag, crag and castle. 
 
 Gabrielle. On to Maintz, to Cologne, Bonn. 
 It required all my persuasion to get Lewis to Paris. 
 At last he consented, but on condition that he was 
 to pretend he had never been there and that I was 
 to show it to him. 
 
 Davenant. a most ingenious idea. I hope you 
 took him to Fontainebleau ? 
 
 Gabrielle. Yes, and read him liis description 
 of the forest in the forest. 
 
 Davenant. How charming that must have been ! 
 
 Gabrielle. How he loves France ! 
 
 Davenant. Yes, yes. 
 
 Gabrielle. He says that whoever seems a little 
 more distinguished than another has been to France. 
 
 Sebastian. Quite true ; we go there Hke rag- 
 pickers, with baskets on our backs and crooked 
 sticks in our hands. 
 
 Davenant. France is the van-bird and European 
 countries the flock that struggles after. 
 
 Gabrielle. Li\4ng together, you two have caught 
 each other's accents and modes of thought. 
 
 Davenant. I sometimes think we have, only in 
 me the note is fainter. And having visited Paris, 
 you came on here. 
 
 Gabrielle. Yes, to the country that Lewis has 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 51 
 
 described ; to-morrow we shall \isit the hill-top 
 where EHzabeth used to sit looking into the languid 
 distances. 
 
 Davenant. I see ; that is why you came to Rock- 
 minster. 
 
 Gabrielle. How quick you are, Mr. Dayne ! 
 Lewis, how luck>' you are to have a secretary like 
 Mr. Dayne ! 
 
 Sebastian. I agree with you, Gabrielle, very 
 lucky ; but I must ask Martin to get some tea. It 
 must be nearly four o'clock. 
 
 Davenant. He brought you to Claremont Villa 
 instead of taking you to Rockminster because he 
 wanted to show you the room in which " EHzabeth 
 Cooper " was written. 
 
 Gabrielle. Is this really the room in which 
 you wrote " EHzabeth Cooper," darhng ? \Miy 
 didn't you tell me the moment we came in. There 
 is the table at which you \\Tote, the chair on which 
 you sat, the inkstand into which you dipped your 
 pen. And your manuscripts ? \\Tiere do you keep 
 your manuscripts ? I want to see them. 
 
 She goes to the table, pulls out the drawers, and 
 
 takes out a heap of papers. 
 
 Sebastian. My dear, you mustn't upset those 
 papers. 
 
 Gabrielle. WTiy shouldn't I see the manuscript 
 of " EHzabeth Cooper ? " 
 
 Sebastian. What good ? You have read the 
 book. 
 
 Gabrielle. But I want to see the manuscript of 
 the book that made me love you. Mr. Dayne, do 
 
52 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 look, will you ? Try to find me the manuscript of 
 *' Elizabeth Cooper." 
 
 Sebastian. We have no manuscript here, 
 Gabrielle, I assure you. 
 
 Gabrielle. Then I will look at your books. {She 
 gets up on a ladder that is standing beside the book- 
 case.) There is the three-volume edition and the 
 six-shilling edition and the two-shilling picture 
 board, and there — why, there is V edition de 
 luxe. I had no idea you had written so many 
 books. Darhng, how old were you when you began 
 to write ? 
 
 Sebastian. I think I was about sixteen. 
 
 Gabrielle. And you are now five-and-twenty. 
 
 Sebastian. I shall soon be seven-and-twenty. 
 
 Gabrielle. And in ten years you have written 
 seventeen books ! How very extraordinary ! Now 
 which of these is your first book ? 
 
 Sebastian. My first book was a volume of poems. 
 
 Gabrielle. I am disappointed ; I cannot tell 
 you, Lewis, how disappointed I am. 
 
 Davenant. The Countess hoped to inspire a great 
 literature, and finds that literature already written. 
 
 Gabrielle. I had no idea my husband's works 
 were so voluminous — seventeen volumes before 
 
 Davenant. He is seven-and-twenty, and will not 
 stop at seventeen volumes. 
 
 Gabrielle. Do you think I shall be able to 
 inspire him, Mr. Dayne, to write more books ? I 
 want him to write something that no author has yet 
 quite done to my satisfaction — a story about a 
 married couple, but a long, beautiful, might-be-true 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 53 
 
 story. Is might -be -true a real word, Mr. Dayne ? 
 Well, you and Lewis must try not to be envious 
 when I invent a new word. You see, I don't want 
 the husband to be a saint, nor the wife to be an 
 angel ; I just want them to be man and wife, to 
 quarrel as well as to kiss, to have temptations both. 
 But the end must be a happy one, Lewis ; I don't 
 want the Kreutzer Sonata over again. And on 
 some children I must insist. 
 
 Davenant. How many ? 
 
 Gabrielle. I don't know how many — perhaps 
 none at all when the story comes to be written. You 
 see, I am always changing my moods and opinions, 
 Mr. Dayne. It is amusing and fatiguing too ; it is 
 like changing one's dress a dozen times a day. But 
 must you really leave us ? Lewis, shall we go to 
 the station with Mr. Dayne ? 
 
 Sebastian. If you want to, dear. 
 
 Gabrielle [coming down the steps). Well, let us 
 get our hats. We shall not be a moment, Mr. 
 Dayne. 
 
 Exeunt. Davenant replaces the books, and a 
 
 moment after enter Lady Thurlow. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Forgive me, Mr. Davenant, for 
 intruding once more, but is it true what I hear, that 
 Sebastian has returned ? My coachman tells me 
 that he saw a lady and gentleman walking from 
 the station toward Claremont Villa, and that the 
 gentleman looked very like Sebastian. [Catching 
 sight of sunshade.) I beg your pardon, I am sure, 
 but I thought you were alone. This sunshade — 
 It cannot be that Sebastian has brought back a 
 
54 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 woman from Vienna with him ? And if he had 
 been guihy of such imprudence, you, Mr. Davenant, 
 I know would not sanction 
 
 Davenant. He has come back, but he isn't here. 
 He will be in Rockminster a little later. And now, 
 Lady Thurlow, let me beg of you to come at once, 
 for I have to see him there, and if I stay another 
 moment I shall miss the train. You will excuse 
 me ? 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Let me drive you back. My 
 carriage is at the door. 
 
 Davenant. Let me see ; but there is no time for 
 thinking. Yes, Lady Thurlow, you shall drive me 
 back. [Exeunt. Davenant is heard outside.) So 
 very kind of you. Enter Sebastian and Gahrielle. 
 
 Gabrielle [looking round). But where is that 
 dear Mr. Dayne ? Did I say anything very shock- 
 ing, darling ? something that frightened him away ? 
 He not even dared to bid me good-bye. One of my 
 friends say that he never knew a lady who talked 
 such dreadful things as I do, and my eyes look so 
 innocently all the while. You must run after 
 Mr. Dayne and bring him back, for my walk must 
 not be spoiled. 
 
 Sebastian. I don't know where to run, and I 
 am not in the habit of running after my secretary. 
 Martin will tell us. He rings the hell. 
 
 Countess. He wouldn't go away without leaving 
 a message for me. You heard me tell him, did 
 you not, that I hate to be disappointed ? [Enter 
 Martin.) Can you tell me quickly if Mr. Dayne has 
 gone to the station to get the train ? Or has he 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 55 
 
 gone to the garden to gather me some flowers ? 
 How nice of him, for men so seldom hke flowers. 
 
 Martin. Lady Thurlow called, your ladyship, 
 and Mr. Dayne has gone back to Rockminster with 
 her in her carriage. 
 
 Countess. We must pursue them in another 
 carriage. 
 
 Sebastian. My dear Gabrielle ! Thank you, 
 Martin, that will do. Exit Martin. 
 
 Gabrielle. Is Lady Thurlow Mr. Dayne 's mis- 
 tress ? But that cannot be, for you told me, darhng, 
 that Mr. Dayne was no longer as fond as he used 
 to be of la jemme de trente ans. Such a malchance I 
 just as I was beginning to be one in the full sense 
 of the word. Or did Mr. Dayne take Lady Thurlow 
 away because she loves you ? Isn't that the busi- 
 ness of secretaries as much as WTiting ? It used to 
 be in the Mddle Ages. Was Mr. Dayne afraid I 
 should make a scene ? I don't make scenes, not as 
 you in England ; I merely cry, and then my nose 
 gets swollen and I have hardly any eyes. You will 
 not make me cry, darhng, by being unfaithful to 
 me ? But of what are you thinking ? Of some 
 woman that you have loved a little bit ? Tell me 
 the truth, dear, and I will forgive you, if it was 
 long ago and if she was not very pretty nor very 
 young ; middle-aged I should prefer it, but not 
 dead, for the dead have a power that the hving ones 
 have not. You didn't desire her, and leave her 
 with a baby which you will ask me to adopt. That 
 I should not like doing — no, never, so please don't 
 ask it. But why, darling, are you making such 
 
56 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 naughty nostrils ? You remind me of my husband 
 that was, and though we are married you said 
 you would always be my lover. 
 
 Sebastian. I am thinking, Gabrielle, that — 
 Gabrielle, there is nobody in the world for me but 
 you, and if I am anything at all to you will 
 you follow me who have followed you for the last 
 three weeks, journeying from town to town ? — 
 a whimsical literary idea of yours, but I put up 
 with it all for your sake. Now, Gabrielle, will 
 you put up with a little for my sake ? 
 
 Gabrielle. But, Lewis, what do you want me 
 to do ? 
 
 Sebastian. Questions are clouds, and there should 
 be no clouds in the beautiful blue heaven of June. 
 
 Gabrielle. Darling, what you say is poetical, 
 but there are always clouds in the English sky. 
 
 Sebastian. Then let us go back to Germany. 
 We were happy in Germany — anywhere away from 
 Rockminster. Here I am surrounded with relations 
 and friends. Let us go back to those quaint 
 Rhenish towns and to the time when I used to sit 
 at your feet and tell you the story of my life. Let 
 us go back. 
 
 Gabrielle. But you have told me the story of 
 your life. 
 
 Sebastian. No, no, not all of it. 
 
 Gabrielle. We cannot go away without luggage. 
 
 Sebastian. Our luggage can follow us. 
 
 Gabrielle. Then there are your letters and 
 business with Mr. Dayne. Ach I why did Mr. Dayne 
 go away like this ? 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 57 
 
 Sebastian. You were interested in him the 
 moment you came into the room. The most capri- 
 cious woman in the world, hke the wind that blows, 
 the thistledown in the air. Men are your amuse- 
 ment, your pleasure ; the old succeed the young 
 and the ugly the beautiful. You said you had hot 
 finger-tips the moment you met me in the railway 
 train, and when you came into the room and saw 
 Mr. Dayne 
 
 Gabrielle. No, I had not hot finger-tips. I Hke 
 Mr. Dayne because his eyes are kind and his teeth 
 are so nice, and he would have amused me for the 
 afternoon. 
 
 Sebastian. Go to Rockminster after him and 
 amuse yourself. But before you go I must tell 
 you Enter Martift. 
 
 Martin. Mr. Godby, sir. Enter Godby. 
 
 Sebastian. Godby ! Well, it is better so, for 
 I might never have found courage to tell you. 
 
 Gabrielle. To tell me what ? 
 
 Sebastian. To tell you that 
 
 Godby. Excuse me, ma'am, but you see I've 
 been up after these letters afore now, and one can't 
 keep running up from Southampton again and 
 again after a packet of letters, to say nothing of 
 Priscilla nagging at me. 
 
 Gabrielle. I am afraid I don't understand. 
 
 Godby. No more did Mr. Davenant. You see, 
 it ain't possible for me to go back to Priscilla a 
 second time without them letters, and they promised 
 to let me 'ave them the last time I was 'ere. 
 
 Gabrielle. What letters ? 
 
58 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 GODBY. Why, the letters 'e \\Tote to Priscilla . . . 
 before she and I was spHced. You see, ma'am, it 
 wasn't the fault of the young gentleman, it was 
 Priscilla what commenced the correspondence over 
 having read one of his books. I 'ave forgotten the 
 name. Give me a moment. 
 
 Gabrielle. " Ehzabeth Cooper " ? 
 
 GoDBY. That was the book that fair turned 'er 
 'ead, and 'e sent her heaps of letters and pomes. 
 And now that she 'as become Mrs. G. she has been 
 worrying of me to get her letters back. She's afeard 
 he might pubhsh them ; she says you never know 
 what these hterary gents \\ill do \^ith letters, and 
 this is the second time I 'ave come up from South- 
 ampton after them. 
 
 Gabrielle. Was there a poem beginning " After 
 many days, and after man}' years ? " 
 
 GoDBY. Well, ma'am, I can't say, though she 'as 
 read them to me often enough. You see, I 'ave no 
 head for poetry. " After many days and after 
 many tears," yer say. There were plenty of tears 
 in the pomes and sighs and 'earts and kisses. 
 
 Gabrielle. Thank you, Mr. Godby, that's all 
 I want to know. Now I'll leave ^'ou to settle your 
 business \nth this gentleman. 
 
 SJie goes towards the^door. 
 
 Sebastian. Gabrielle, I can explain. 
 
 Gabrielle. I prefer to listen to Mr. Dayne's 
 explanations. Exit. 
 
 Sebastian [lookmg at his watch). There is a train 
 in a few minutes. She'll just catch it. I must 
 run. 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 59 
 
 GoDBY. Ah no, you don't, not till I gets Priscilla's 
 letters. 
 
 Sebastian. But they are in Rockminster, my 
 good man. Let me go. 
 
 GoDBY. Not if I knows it. We'll go back to 
 Rockminster together. 
 
 5^ Sebastian. If you run we can catch the train. 
 l'": GoDBY. Run ! I likes to 'ear you talk about 
 running, and to a man who 'as walked all the way 
 from Rockminster. This be the 'ottest day we've 
 'ad this summer. Run, indeed ! 
 
 Sebastian. Let me go, let me go. 
 
 GoDBY. Pull that bell and ask your parlour- 
 maid to bring me up a glass of ale. 
 
 Sebastian. There isn't time for drinking ale. 
 
 GoDBY. Out of this I don't stir till I gets it. 
 
 The train whistle is heard. 
 
 Sebastian. There! We've missed the train. (He 
 rings the hell. Enter Martin.) Martin, will you 
 bring a tankard of ale and two glasses ? 
 
 Martin goes out looking very astonished. 
 
 Curtain 
 
ACT III 
 
 Scene : Same as tn Act I. 
 
 When the Curtain rises Davenant is on the stage 
 in evening dress. Enter Sebastian and Godhy. 
 
 GoDBY. 'Ere we are, the very room — 'member it 
 jush as if it was yesseday. Beg pardon, sir, Godby, 
 second mate on the Hannah Maria. Don't you 
 remember Godby, sir ? Came for Priscilla's letters 
 'bout month ago. 
 
 Davenant. Yes, Mr. Godby, I remember. 
 
 Godby. Well, to make a long story short, sheck- 
 tery breaks his word ; no letters. Priscilla getting 
 more and more peevish every day ; no letters. 'Ave 
 to come up again from Southampton. Shecktery 
 'broad, self at Claremont Villa. Way I go, all sails 
 set, and over'aul shecktery with his young lady ; 
 bit of a squall. Shecktery would 'ave weighed 
 anchor and gone away after her, but I says, 
 "No, shecktery, no shecktery, not this time ; we 
 go back together after a bit of a rest and a 
 tankard of ale, at your expense, Mr. Davennen. 
 Fine ale : drunk yer 'ealth, Mr. Davennen. Terrible 
 'ot day ! 
 
 Davenant. I can see, Mr. Godby, that you 
 are suffering from the heat. Won't you sit 
 down ? 
 
 60 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 6i 
 
 GoDBY. I'd like to drop my anchor somewhere. 
 He sits down on a light chair. Davenant rushes 
 
 forward. 
 
 Davenant. You'll be more comfortable in this 
 chair, Mr. Godby. Puts Godby into an arm-chair. 
 
 GoDBY. Thank 'ee. Very comfortable chair. 
 But the letters in that 'ere casket. 
 
 Sebastian. No, Mr. Godby, Priscilla's letters are 
 downstairs. 
 
 Godby. Downstairs. I'll wait 'ere. Shecktery 
 . . . letters . . . shecktery good sort. D'ye 'ear, 
 Mr. Davennen ? Shecktery good sort. 
 
 He closes his eyes. Davenant and Sebastian 
 
 walk aside. 
 
 Davenant. Now, Sebastian, what is all this 
 about ? 
 
 Sebastian. Martin let this man into the house 
 and we have been coming back ever since, from ale- 
 house to ale-house. 
 
 Davenant. A drunken man in this house and an 
 Austrian countess in Clare mont Villa. These eccen- 
 tricities are no doubt very amusing, Sebastian, but 
 I shall have to explain to your father 
 
 Sebastian. Explain what you like ; I don't 
 care ; I'm done for. 
 
 Davenant. Is it so bad as that ? You have told 
 her, and 
 
 Sebastian. Just as I was trying to summon up 
 courage to tell her, this fellow came rolling into the 
 room asking for the letters that I had promised to 
 send him. At the word letters Gabrielle began to 
 grow suspicious, and the garrulous fool that he is. 
 
62 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 thinking to make matters right, said I hadn't 
 written to Priscilla since they were sphced. What 
 did Gabrielle care whether it was before or after 
 marriage ? All that concerned her was the fact 
 that I had sent the poems that I had written to her 
 to this fellow's wife. As soon as she knew that 
 she just gave me a look. You wouldn't believe that 
 so much hatred could come into that face. She 
 picked up her parasol and ran away. 
 
 Davenant. And you let her go without an 
 explanation ? 
 
 Sebastian. As I was about to follow her — ^is that 
 fellow asleep ? 
 
 Davenant. He seems as if he were. 
 
 Sebastian. He gripped me by the arm and hung 
 on to me, and a few minutes after I heard the train 
 whistle. 
 
 Davenant. And she went away still thinking 
 that she is married to me ? You really must go 
 and tell her. 
 
 Sebastian. I don't know where she is. 
 
 Enter Fletcher with a letter, which he hands to 
 
 Davenant and goes out. 
 
 Davenant {reading the letter). She is at the 
 " Three Kings " and asks if she can see me at once-, 
 for she is leaving Rockminster to-morrow morning. 
 You must go and tell her. 
 
 Sebastian. Now ? At once ? 
 
 Davenant. Why not ? 
 
 Sebastian. Lewis, it's a terrible thing to tell a 
 woman you have married her under a false name. 
 
 Davenant. But she loves you* 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 63 
 
 Sebastian. Even so. Lewis, \\ill you be the 
 greatest friend a man ever had ? Don't ask me to 
 go and tell her — not here, not in Rockminster ; that 
 is what I dread. She is coming to see 3'ou. Ask 
 her to let me go away ^^ith her, and I promise 
 you I \rill tell her everything as soon as we are 
 ten miles from here. 
 
 Davenant. Do you think you \rill ever be able 
 to summon up courage ? 
 Sebastian. I'll have to. 
 Davenant. And will she forgive you ? 
 Sebastian. WTiether she does or doesn't, she 
 must be told. But \\ill you do what I ask you, 
 Le\\is ? Give me one more chance, I beseech you. 
 Davenant. I will write her a note. Will you 
 ring the bell ? {He sits down and scribbles a note.) 
 Now, what name am I to put to the end of the note ? 
 You see what you are letting me in for. The note 
 must be signed. My handwriting and your name. 
 {He signs his name. Enter Fletcher.) Will you have 
 this note sent round to the " Three Kings " at once ? 
 Fletcher. Yes, sir. Exit. 
 
 Sebastian. Thank you, Le\sis, thank you. And 
 now nothing remains but to wake up our \'isitor. 
 
 Davenant. But how are we to get rid of him ? 
 He won't go without the letters. 
 
 Sebastian. I know where they are. {He goes 
 over to Godby) Now, I\Ir. Godby, shake your leg, 
 lift your leg. 
 
 Godby {waking up). Aye, aye. Captain, aye, aye. 
 Blesh my soul . . . blesh my soul, where am I ? 
 {Getting to his feet.) ]\Iisher Davennen. Shecktery. 
 
64 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Long walk. 'Eat of the sun. Arlright. Come back 
 for Priscilla's letters. {Holding out his hand.) Sheck- 
 tery, Priscilla's letters. 
 
 Sebastian. Priscilla's letters are downstairs, Mr. 
 Godby. 
 
 GoDBY. Very well ; get away close hauled. Cargo 
 on board, Priscilla's letters. A glass of ale, Mr. 
 Davennen, before starting. Glass of ale does no 
 man any harm. 
 
 Davenant. You'll give ]\Ir. Godby a glass of ale 
 in the parlour, Sebastian. 
 
 Godby. Thank 'ee, captain ; drink yer 'ealth. 
 Fine ale in this country — besh ever drunk. One 
 glass at ** Three Fiddlers," should 'ave been two ; 
 two glasses at " Pig and WTaistle," should 'ave been 
 three ; four glasses at the " Rose and Crown," 
 should have been five. England's bulwarks is 'er 
 ale : as long as England brews the ale that I 'ave 
 drunk to-day England will never be anythin' else 
 but Merrie England. {Begins to sing.) " Oh ! for 
 Merrie England and the merrie days of yore." 
 
 Sebastian. Come away and we'll drink Mr. 
 Davenant 's health. 
 
 Godby. Yesh. ]\Iisher Davennen 's 'ealth, Pris- 
 cilla's 'ealth, shecktery's 'ealth, everybody's 'ealth. 
 {Sebastian helps him out. Coming hack.) Wonch 
 you join us, IMisher Davennen ? 
 
 Davenant. Presently, Mr. Godby, presently. 
 {Godby goes out.) I shall expect you back to dinner, 
 Sebastian. {Returning into the room.) This joke 
 of mine seems to be no joke at all ; I am getting 
 very tired of it. Instead of asking her to stay to 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 65 
 
 dinner, I find m^^self obliged to beg her to go away 
 with Sebastian and without her dinner. 
 
 He rings the hell and walks across the stage. 
 
 Enter Fletcher ; he stands waiting for Davenant' s 
 
 orders. 
 
 Fletcher. Yes, sir. 
 
 Davenant {waking w^).^bout the dinner. How 
 many are you expecting ? 
 
 Fletcher. You mentioned eleven, sir ; you 
 weren't certain about Mr. Dayne. 
 
 Davenant. Mr. Dayne is coming to dinner, and 
 I suppose you want to know how to place the people. 
 Here is a card. (He goes over to the writing-table 
 and takes a card jrojn it and hands it to Fletcher.) 
 The gardener sent the flowers all right ? 
 
 Fletcher. Yes, sir. 
 
 Davenant. I told him to send some carnations. 
 And Mr. Ireton is coming. He does not drink 
 champagne ; you had better have a bottle of the 
 best claret warmed for him. 
 
 Fletcher. Very good, sir. 
 
 Davenant. I remember too that Sir Robert 
 Basing likes Nepaul pepper. You had better put 
 the little pepper-pot that we use in front of him. 
 
 Fletcher. Yes, sir. You'll excuse me, sir, your 
 necktie has been crumpled in the tpng. I will 
 fetch you another. 
 
 He goes out. Davenant looks in the glass. 
 
 Davenant. Yes, I have tied it rather badly. 
 That drunken fellow coming in at the moment. 
 [Enter Fletcher with another tie. Davenant ties it 
 before the glass.) I think that is better. 
 
 e 
 
66 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Fletcher. Yes, sir, that is quite all right. Is 
 there anything else ? 
 
 Davenant. No ; the rest of the service is as 
 usual. A bell rings. 
 
 Fletcher. I think that is the front -door bell. 
 Teresa has let a lady in, sir. Are you at home to 
 anybody ? 
 
 Davenant. Yes, I am expecting a lady. 
 
 Exit Fletcher ; he returns a moment afterwards 
 
 followed by Gabrielle. 
 
 Fletcher. The Countess Von Hoenstadt. Exit. 
 
 Gabrielle. I hope you aren't very cross with 
 me, Mr. Dayne, because I have come to see you 
 before dinner, but you don't dine till eight and I 
 felt that I must speak to you — have you all to 
 myself ; for you see I have not seen you alone yet, 
 Mr. Dayne. But don't look so serious, as if you 
 thought me a bore. 
 
 Davenant. My dear Countess, whatever else one 
 might think, no one can think you a bore. 
 
 Gabrielle. That is such a comfort. But if you 
 don't think me a bore, why did you run aw^ay in that 
 rude fashion from Claremont Villa ? The moment 
 I left the room away you went with Lady Thurlow. 
 
 Davenant. I had to come back to finish some 
 work, burning the midnight oil. 
 
 Gabrielle. I am sure you will die very soon if 
 you go on \\Titing from morning till night. Why 
 do you do it, dear Mr. Dayne ? Really, I must 
 scold you a little. I do not want you to fall ill. 
 You may write four or five hours every day, but no 
 more, and you must go for long walks. If I were 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 67 
 
 li\dng in this house I should send you out for two 
 hours every day at least, and in this room I should like 
 heaps and heaps of flowers and some cushions. How 
 long have you been without cushions, dear Mr. Day ne ? 
 
 Davenant. I'm afraid you don't like your house. 
 
 Gabrielle. My house ? I had forgotten. Is 
 the house really mine ? And everything in it ? 
 All that lovely china. My house is a little like a 
 museum. Well, let's imagine we are in a museum. 
 Take me round, show me the pictures. Ah, here 
 is a portrait of yourself. How very hke you ! I 
 am glad your hair is grey and I am glad you have 
 nice moustaches. It is so fortunate that they are 
 not drooping like 00. That would be dreadful. 
 You have what I call a horse-face. My face is like 
 a cat's. When was the portrait done ? 
 
 Davenant. Only two years ago by a rising young 
 artist, John Everett Millais, the leader of the pre- 
 Raphaelites. 
 
 Gabrielle. I hope you will not expect me to 
 talk clever things about pictures and statues ; I 
 can't do that, and why should I ? I hke beautiful 
 things, but \'nlgar ones I hate. I have always 
 been like that. I remember when I was a little 
 girl of six or seven the Bibhothique rose I was very 
 fond of, but some of the pictures shocked me dread- 
 fully. Madame Fichini falling a la renverse and 
 exhibiting her dreadful mollets was too much for 
 me. I took the book in a corner pour effacer the 
 shocking things with an eraser. I am not trying 
 to copy EHzabeth, but I have scruples sometimes, 
 onlyabout ugly things. InVenice I saw lovely statues; 
 
68 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 there was especially one which I liked to look at — 
 Leda with a swan. Do you like statues of Leda ? 
 
 Davenant. There is one by Michael Angelo 
 
 Gabrielle. Ah, he was a stern man and did not 
 make her hold her swan gracefully in her arms like 
 the Venetian. 
 
 Davenant. Perhaps not. His statue is in 
 Florence. Have you been to Florence, Countess ? 
 
 Gabrielle. No. Have you, Mr. Dayne ? 
 
 Davenant. Yes. 
 
 Gabrielle. What a pity ! I suppose you bought 
 some of those pictures in Italy. 
 
 Davenant. I have never had money to buy 
 pictures. These are Lewis's. 
 
 Countess. But he doesn't care for pictures. 
 When we were in the Louvre 
 
 Davenant. You were always between him and 
 the pictures. Some of this china is mine. Here 
 are a few bits of Bow and Chelsea, our imitations 
 of your Dresden, and here is a piece of jade. 
 
 Gabrielle. How very pretty ! You know how 
 badly he treated me ? 
 
 She walks about with the piece of jade in her 
 
 hand. Davenant watches her, fearful lest she 
 
 should drop it. 
 
 Davenant. I have heard what happened at 
 Claremont Villa. 
 
 Gabrielle. Has he been here ? 
 
 Davenant. He came here with Mr. Godby. Let 
 
 me relieve you. {He takes the piece of jade and puts 
 
 it hack in its place and returns to her.) They arrived 
 
 here very tired after a long walk, having stopped at 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 69 
 
 all the ale-houses on the way, Lewis Godby's 
 prisoner and Godby gleefully drunk. 
 
 Gabrielle. Can you be drunk gleefiilly ? I sup- 
 pose you can. You make me laugh in spite of myself, 
 but I am in no laughing humour. It was horrid, 
 disgusting ; it was cowardly, wicked ; it was every- 
 thing that one can say in Enghsh, and if you knew 
 German I would tell 3'ou heaps and heaps of words. 
 Davenant. But, my dear Countess, as I under- 
 stand the matter, the quarrel between you and 
 Lewis is only about a poem. 
 
 Countess. If he had pubhshed the poem I 
 would not have said anything, but it was sending it 
 to another woman, that is what has annoyed me, and 
 has made it impossible for me ever to see him again. 
 
 Davenant. That seems a httle unreasonable. 
 Countess ; one woman inspires the poem, all women 
 receive it. 
 
 Gabrielle. In print, not in manuscript. 
 Davenant. Before print there was manuscript. 
 Laura inspired Petrarch's sonnets, but they were 
 circulated in manuscript. We need only go back 
 a httle. Lewis's methods are archaic ; that is the 
 worst that can be said of them. 
 
 Gabrielle. You are indulging, Mr. Dayne, in 
 what we call on the Continent marivaudage, but I 
 am serious. 
 
 Davenant. You really mean you will never see 
 Lewis again ? 
 
 Gabrielle. Never ; on that I must insist. 
 Davenant. Not even when you are an old 
 woman ? 
 
70 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Gabrielle. Everything will be different then, 
 but not for years and years to come. 
 
 Davenant. That seems rather sad, doesn't it, 
 Gabrielle ? I beg your pardon, but the name is 
 so beautiful and I have seen it so often at the end 
 of your letters. 
 
 Gabrielle. You can call me Gabrielle if you 
 really like it so much. I shall not be offended. 
 When I was born they saw at once that I wasn't 
 a boy and they were disappointed, as a son was 
 wanted. They called me Gabrielle because they 
 think in Austria that when a girl is called Gabrielle 
 the next child will be a boy. 
 
 Davenant. It is very Idnd of you to grant me 
 the privilege, and be sure that I shall not abuse 
 it, only in private. 
 
 Gabrielle. Why in private and not in public ? 
 
 Davenant. Lewis would not like it. 
 
 Gabrielle. Why do you talk to me about him ? 
 If I didn't like you very much, Mr. Dayne, I 
 should 
 
 Davenant. My dear Countess, Gabrielle, he is 
 your husband. 
 
 Gabrielle. I am obliged to you for reminding 
 me of a disagreeable circumstance. I thought to 
 find in you a sympathetic friend, and wished to 
 lalk to one who would soothe my nerves, and instead 
 of that you have done just the opposite. You don't 
 like me. Good-bye, Mr. Dayne. 
 
 She goes up the stage towards the door. Davenant 
 
 follows her and brings her hack. 
 
 Davenant. No, no, you mustn't go hke that. 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 71 
 
 I am sorr^' I have failed to understand you. Come 
 back, and in five minutes we shall be friends again. 
 
 Gabrielle. You will not talk to me about him ? 
 
 Davenant. No, not a word since you don't \^ish it. 
 
 Gabrielle. You'll talk to me about 3'ourself, 
 and exclusively ? 
 
 Davexant. Yes, exclusively. 
 
 Gabrielle. Well, then, I \\i\l come back. But 
 I don't think I can hsten to you as I should like to 
 listen to you. You see, you have upset my nerves. 
 
 Davexaxt. And you want a httle mattress and 
 a soft warm little coverlet for each of 3'our nerves. 
 
 Gabrielle. Now you are quoting from my letters. 
 
 Davexaxt. Come, sit do^^^l beside me. 
 
 Gabrielle. Have you ever been to Vienna, 
 Mr. Dayne ? You have been to Germany, I know. 
 
 Davexaxt. Not further south than Bavaria. 
 
 Gabrielle. One of these days you ^^ill come to 
 Vienna, and if you do you will knock at my door 
 . . . and you will let me know beforehand, for it 
 would be too dreadful for words if you came and 
 Gabrielle had left. You never would get consoled, 
 I hope ; nor would I. But 3'ou mustn't come in 
 the winter ; it is always raining then, and Vienna is 
 so dirty when it does, but in the spring it is lovely. 
 
 Davexaxt. I will come in April. Is April too 
 early ? 
 
 Gabrielle. I would hke you to come in Feb- 
 ruar}', because then my freckles are less visible and 
 furs are becoming. 
 
 Davexaxt. Yes, so they are, the furs and the 
 freckles too. 
 
72 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Gabrielle. But I freckle under my ears. See ? 
 
 She shows him her neck. 
 
 Davenant. The freckles render a beautiful neck 
 still more desirable [she draws away) by their 
 naturalness. You are going to remain in England 
 for the summer ? 
 
 Gabrielle. No, I am going abroad at once, to 
 Paris first and then to the seaside — ^to Dieppe, 
 Trouville, or some tiny little fishing village. Etretat 
 I have heard of — a little village where you can 
 bathe without anybody seeing you, which is what 
 I like, for it gives me des crampes of every kind to 
 think of anybody seeing me rising out of the sea in 
 a — do you say sea-gown ? 
 
 Davenant. No, we say bathing-gown. 
 
 Gabrielle. And you say well, for a more unbe- 
 coming garment never was invented, exaggerating 
 all one's little roundnesses. 
 
 Davenant. I used to bathe long ago in Etretat 
 with the French painters. 
 
 Gabrielle. Why not return ? Ah, no, I must 
 not ask you, though you are a very sympathetic 
 Mr. Dayne. 
 
 Davenant. I might go abroad in the autumn, and 
 in Italy we might meet, in Venice 
 
 Gabrielle. It would be nice to meet you in 
 Venice and to sit in a gondola looking at the moon 
 and hstening to that noisy Italian music that would 
 be dreadful elsewhere, but in Venice one Hkes it, and 
 you could tell me your troubles holding my hand. 
 
 Davenant [going to her). Countess, is this a 
 promise r 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 73 
 
 Gabrielle. Why shouldn't we meet in Venice ? 
 Everybody meets in Venice. 
 
 Davenant. But you said to hold your hand. 
 
 Gabrielle. You can hold my hand now, Mr. 
 Dayne. 
 
 Davenant. Remember that I am but flesh and 
 blood ; I might lose my head so completely in 
 Venice 
 
 Gabrielle. Are you afraid to finish your sentence ? 
 
 Davenant. I might ask you to love me. Countess. 
 
 Gabrielle. Does one ask ? 
 
 Davenant. I suppose not. Gabrielle 
 
 He takes her in his arms. 
 
 Gabrielle. We aren't in Venice yet. {He holds 
 her.) No, no, you mustn't kiss me. 
 
 Davenant. If I may not kiss you, why do you 
 ask me to meet you in Venice ? 
 
 Gabrielle. I don't know. 
 
 Davenant. Don't say you don't know. A woman 
 always knows. 
 
 Gabrielle. I swear, Mr. Dayne, that I don't 
 know why 
 
 Davenant. Why did you come here ? 
 
 Gabrielle. I don't know, an impulse ; I am full 
 of impulses. You must let me go. And now, 
 Mr. Dayne, why did you want to kiss me ? Re- 
 member, one always knows. 
 
 Davenant. Quite true, but I'd hke to tell you 
 first why you asked me to meet you abroad. 
 
 Gabrielle. Did I ask you ? 
 
 Davenant. Have you forgotten already ? And 
 I am not surprised if you have. You are angry 
 
74 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 with Lewis and you came here with the intention of 
 revenging yourself. 
 
 Gabrielle. And lacked courage. You may be 
 right. And now, since you are so clever, will you 
 tell me why you wanted to kiss me ? 
 
 Davenant. I wanted to prove to you that you 
 love your husband, and I have proved it. 
 
 Gabrielle. Because I refused to kiss you I love my 
 husband ? I did not expect to find you so conceited. 
 
 Davenant. You mean that you don't believe 
 a man could be so disinterested. Well, I admit 
 that your mirror 
 
 Gabrielle. I am in no humour for marivaudage. 
 Where is Lewis ? Enter Sebastian. 
 
 Davenant. My news so far as it goes is good 
 news. I have succeeded in persuading the Countess 
 that she loves you, though of course you have 
 behaved very badly. 
 
 Sebastian. Gabrielle, you have forgiven me ! 
 
 Gabrielle. Mr. Dayne says that one woman 
 inspires the poem and all women receive it, so I 
 suppose I must be satisfied. 
 
 Sebastian. My whole life will be devoted to you 
 from this hour ; I will explain to you in the 
 train. One leaves in half an hour ; we shall just 
 catch it. 
 
 Gabrielle. Catch a train ! But we have been 
 catching trains and missing them for the last three 
 weeks. 
 
 Sebastian. At Claremont Villa I asked you to 
 leave this place. 
 
 Gabrielle. You want me to go back to Claremont 
 Villa ? 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 75 
 
 Sebastian. Much farther than Claremont Villa, 
 out of this country. 
 
 Gabrielle. But, Lewis, you must have jumped 
 out of your senses. \\^at is the matter wdth him, 
 Mr. Dayne ? Now that I have forgiven him he 
 wants to drag me away, out of my own house and 
 before I have had dinner ; my guests eating while 
 I am star\ing. 
 
 Sebastian. We can get something to eat at the 
 railway-station, and Sebastian can stay and enter- 
 tain your guests. I assure you these people don't 
 matter. Nothing matters in Rockminster. Come, 
 Gabrielle, come. 
 
 Gabrielle. But what would everybody think ? 
 It would seem as if I were filing away from your 
 relations, and I am most anxious to see the relations 
 of the man I have married. Perhaps they \\-ill not 
 hke me at all ; if so, it would be better for me to 
 see them and then never come back to Rockminster. 
 
 Sebastian. But you aren't dressed for dinner ; 
 I want them to see you in that beautiful dinner- 
 dress which suits you so well. 
 
 Gabrielle. That dinner-dress would only scan- 
 daUze your relations, who cannot be expected to 
 hold the same views as you do, Lewis. I think this is 
 a very suitable dress in which to appear before them. 
 
 Sebastian. It is cruel of you to refuse. What 
 new caprice is this ? (Pause.) You aren't in love 
 with Sebastian, are you ? 
 
 Gabrielle. I am in love with Sebastian. 
 
 Sebastian. Gabrielle ! 
 
 Gabrielle. I am in love with the Sebastian that 
 came to Vienna, and I hke very much the Sebastian 
 
76 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 whom I met here and who brought us together, 
 told us to kiss and make friends as skilfully as if 
 he were writing a lover's quarrel in one of his books. 
 [She hursts our laughing.) Dear Mr. Davenant, you, 
 the great psychological novehst, you didn't think 
 that I believed Sebastian WTote all these books ? 
 Sebastian, how could you have fallen in love with 
 a woman whom you believed to be such a fool ? 
 Two such clever men, a poet and a novelist. Ach I 
 it is very sad, the saddest thing that has ever 
 happened to me in my life. 
 
 Davenant. So you knew all the time that Sebas- 
 tian had not WTitten " EHzabeth Cooper " ! But in 
 the train you said, " You are Lewis Davenant." 
 
 Gabrielle. He was looking at my miniature and 
 for the moment 
 
 Davenant. You were deceived. But what an 
 enchanting deception ! You should thank me, 
 Countess, for ha\ing spared you what you WTote 
 for and sent you what you desired. 
 
 Gabrielle. I would kiss you for Sebastian if I 
 were not afraid of making him jealous. Am I again 
 on the verge of naughtiness ? I am afraid I am, 
 but you both deserve it. But you have not told 
 me, Mr. Davenant, if you are sorry that you did 
 not come to Vienna. Would you have been dis- 
 appointed in me ? You can tell me better now, for 
 before you had only seen me in the ivory. But 
 you need not answer ; you don't know, and I 
 puzzle you. 
 
 Davenant. If I had gone to Vienna you would 
 have missed the comedy which you seem to have 
 played divinely well. 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER yy 
 
 Gabrielle. Your comedy, IMr. Davenant. 
 
 Davenant. iMine, but into which you introduced 
 a marriage. 
 
 Gabrielle. I have always said that I should 
 invent marriage if it had not been invented long 
 ago ; and the day that I invented Sebastian's was 
 such a beautiful day and the church looked so 
 lovely, the spire showing between the trees and 
 the air smelhng of hlac. Has Sebastian told you 
 of the old priest that we found asleep in a chair, 
 and who would not marry us for a long while because 
 we had no papers to show ? I cried and turned 
 away saving, " What sins I may commit, father, 
 I dedicate to you." And then he 
 
 Davenant. I suppose there is nothing to do but 
 to laugh, only it is rather difficult to laugh all of a 
 sudden. 
 
 Gabrielle. Sebastian isn't laughing. Sebastian, 
 what is the matter with you ? 
 
 Sebastian. I suppose you thought I was too 
 stupid to write any of Lewis's books. 
 
 Davenant. Now, Sebastian, we can't have any 
 more quarrels to-night. Look upon yourself as 
 the most fortunate man in the world. Fellows like 
 you always get out of their scrapes. {J^he clock 
 strikes eight.) Eight o'clock ! My guests will soon 
 be here. 
 
 Gabrielle. May Sebastian take me to your 
 
 room and make my hair for me ? Come, darling. 
 
 Exeunt Gabrielle and Sebastian. Enter Fletcher. 
 
 Fletcher. Lord and Lady Thurlow. 
 
 Enter Lord and Lady Thurlow. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. The Professor and Henrietta 
 
78 ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 are dreadfully alarmed about Sebastian and this 
 woman who calls herself the Countess Von Hoen- 
 stadt. Enter Fletcher. 
 
 Fletcher. Professor and Mrs. Dayne ! 
 
 Enter Professor and Mrs. Dayne. 
 
 Mrs. Dayne. What has happened to my poor 
 Sebastian ? Augusta has frightened us. 
 
 Professor. We would like to know if he is 
 married . . . legally, you understand. 
 
 Davenant. They were married, I believe, on an 
 island in the Danube by an old priest who was found 
 asleep in a chair. Quite a Shakespearean marriage. 
 
 Yonder is a hermit's cell. 
 
 Hermits sleep lightly ; a knock will awaken 
 him, 
 
 And faithfully we twain shall be united 
 
 Ere the eastern sun flames like a daffodil 
 
 Amid the rooky woods. 
 
 Professor Dayne. No other pen but his 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Forgive me, Mr. Davenant, but 
 I think it shows a lack of feeling on your part to 
 joke about a matter that is so serious to us all. 
 Just at the present moment when his book of 
 poems is published ! People are saying all sorts 
 of things — that you knew her very well, that she is 
 an old friend of yours, and that you sent this poor 
 boy to her. 
 
 Davenant. A man cannot be sent to the woman 
 he loves ; he goes to her in spite of himself. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. People think very badly of 
 your conduct. I know for a fact that Lady Kings- 
 weight won't come here to-night. 
 
 Davenant. Is she ill ? 
 
ELIZABETH COOPER 79 
 
 Lady Thurlow. No, she is shocked ; and of 
 course Mr. Ireton, as our member, couldn't come. 
 He has to consider his constituents. 
 
 Davenant. Well, the last thing I heard was that 
 his constituents were considering him. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. He is a serious-minded man. 
 And as for Sir Robert and Lady Basing, I don't 
 mind telhng you that they are not coming. I have 
 come because I hate to be a deserter and also I 
 must see poor Sebastian. Whatever happens, I 
 must stand by him. Oh, how could you have done 
 
 this ? 
 
 Enter Fletcher, followed by Lady Kingsweight 
 
 and Miss Gasman. 
 
 Fletcher. Lady Kingsweight and ]\Iiss Gasman ! 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Well, she has come after all. 
 I am surprised. But Mr. Ireton was speaking of the 
 matter this evening, and he could not understand, 
 
 he said, how a man of your experience 
 
 Fletcher enters, followed by Mr. Ireton. 
 
 Fletcher. Mr. Ireton ! 
 
 Lady Thurlow. Well, he has come after all. 
 
 Lady Kingsweight. A most remarkable story, 
 Mr. Davenant, a most remarkable story. This comes 
 of love at first sight. I beheve it was all through 
 seeing a miniature. Do let me see the miniature of 
 the lady who inspired this passion. 
 
 Fletcher enters, followed by Sir Robert and Lady 
 
 Basing. 
 
 Fletcher. Sir Robert and Lady Basing ! 
 
 Lady Basing {shaking hands with Davenant). 
 Robert told me not to ask you, but I will. I must 
 beg you to tell me this strange romance about 
 
 9 . •, 
 
 
 • \» ? '/ . '»' » 
 
 o • • 
 
 '• • 
 
 . » » • 
 
 
8o ELIZABETH COOPER 
 
 Mr. Dayne and the Countess Von Hoenstadt. Now, 
 if the lady had met you, ^Ir. Davenant. 
 
 Davenant. She might not have loved me at all. 
 
 Ireton. The " Encyclopaedia Britannica " notes 
 several cases where the unknown have addressed 
 distinguished authors with results leading to mar- 
 riage or . . . similar relationships. 
 
 Enter Sebastian and Gabrielle. 
 
 Sebastian. My mother, Gabrielle. 
 
 Mrs. Dayxe. My dear child ! 
 
 She opens her arms. Sebastian cojitinues the 
 
 introductions. 
 
 Professor (to Dave^iant). My daughter-in-law 
 appears to be an exceedingl}' charming woman. 
 
 Davenant. I am so glad you are pleased. And 
 now I must tell you who you are to take down to 
 dinner. 
 
 He takes the Professor over to Lady Basing. 
 
 Better Fletcher. 
 
 Fletcher. Dinner is served, sir. Exit. 
 
 Davenant. Mr. Ireton, \\\\\ you take Mrs. Dayne 
 down ? and Sir Robert, will you take Lady ICings- 
 weight ? and you, Thurlow, will you take Miss 
 Casman ? Sebastian, you go down with Lady 
 Thurlow. 
 
 Davenant goes to Gabrielle, and the guests go out 
 
 two by two. Sebastian and Lady Thurlow are the 
 
 last to leave the stage. 
 
 Lady Thurlow. He is laughing at us. It is a 
 subject of a joke with him, of farce, of comedy, but 
 for me it is the end of my hfe. 
 
 Curtain 
 
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