0^O ^u s^^i _ -^^^^n ED SUTRO yC-NRLF SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th St., New Y( Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2008 with funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation http://www.archive.org/details/builderofbridgesOOsutrrich THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES a ipiai2 in 3four Hcte BY ALFRED SUTRO COPYRIGHT, 1909, BY ALFRED SUTRO CAUTION— This play is ftiUy protected under the copyright laws of the United States, is subject to royalty, and any one pre- senting the play without the consent of the author or his agents will be liable to penalty under the law. All applications for amateur performances must be made to SAMUEL FRENCH, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York City. New York SAMUEL FRENCH publisher 28-30 ^West 38th Street London SAMUEL FRENCH, Ltd. 26 Southampton Street STRAND Especial notice should be taken that the possession of this book without a valid contract for production first having been obtained from the publisher, confers no ^ht or license to professionals or amateurs to produce the play publicly or in private for gain or charity. In its present form this play is dedicated to the reading public only, and no performance of it may be given except by special arrangement with Samuel French, 28-30 West 38th Street, New York. Section 28— That any person who wilfully or for profit shall infringe any copyright secured by this act, or who shall knowingly and wilfully aid or abet such infringement shall be deemed guilty of a misdemeanor, and upon conviction thereof shall be punished by imprisonment for not exceeding one year, or by a fine of not less than one hundred nor more than one thousand dollars, or both, in the discretion of the court. Act of March ff 1909, THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES Produced on November 1 1th, 1909, at the St. James's Theatre, London, with the following cast: CHARACTERS Edward Thursfield Mr. George Alexander Arnold Faringay Mr. Dawson Milward Walter Gresham Mr. E. Harcourt Williams Sir Henry KUYickiof Sir Henry Killick and Partners, Con- tractors, Oreat George Street) Mr. William Farren Peter Holland Mr. E. Vivian Reynolds Dorothy Faringay Miss Irene Vanbrugh Mrs. Debney Miss Florence Haydon Miss Closson Miss Barbara Hannay Minnie Miss Dora Seveninq Time. — The present. The action of the play passes in two days. 3-93a52 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. ACT I. The drawing-room of Mrs. Debney's house in Ca7npden Hill. At hacJc, a lo7ig low window with diamond panes., looking on to the road. A door., at right., opening on to a narrow little Lon- don hall. The room is pleasantly furnished in somewhat non-committal style — the taste of the younger lady evidently warring somewhat with that of her aunt. It is early spring., and the room is cheerfid with many flowers in simple howls and vases. As the curtain rises, Mrs. Debney, a com- fortable^ old-fashioued, placid, debonnaire lady of fifty, is seated at a card-table, play iiig Patience, Minnie, the maid, ushers in Walter Gresham, a good-looking youngster of twenty-eight, Minnie. Mr. Gresham. [ She goes. Mrs. Debney (scarcely looking up ; she has just drawn a card, that she holds balanced in her fingers). Ah, Walter. ... Sit down, she'll tell Dorothy .... ( With a gesture of annoyance) A seven ! I wanted a queen ! Walter (tohose manner betrays considerable excite- ment and nervousness). Mrs. Debney Mrs. Debney. Just a minute, Walter — you must let me finish this. . . . (She keeps her eyes fixed on the cards) And she'll be here directly, you know. A seven — so provoking I . . . ( With a sudden cry of triumph) Ah! I've got it! If I move these up to the knave {she shifts the cards), of course I 3 ; 4 c ;.<;,, . TH^ EfUILDER OF BRIDGES. that frees the old ei^lit there— I bring it down, put it under the nine, and there's a place for my seven. Now for my next card. O Walter, if it's a queen ! {She draws a card ; Minnie comes in. Minnie (to Walter). Miss Dorothy will be down in a few minutes, sir. [ She goes. Mrs. Debney (frowning at the card she has draion). A ten ! What a shame ! Walter (almost angrily^ pausing in his nervotis walk up a7id down). Mrs, Debney ! After all, you're Dorothy's aunt ! Mrs. Debney (placidly). That doesn't console me for drawing a ten when I wanted a queen. Walter (fretfully^ as he pauses by her side). Oh, do leave those wretched cards alone for a moment, and think of me ! Mrs. Debney (leaning bach, with mild reproof). My dear Walter ! Walter (penitently). Oh, forgive me for being so rude — but really, you know, I'm thoroughly be- wildered Mrs. Debney (with a gesture of resignation^ mix- ing the cards up together and collectiiig them). After all, it's not going well. Walter (nervously). She came back this morn- ing? Mrs. Debney. This morning, yes. (She puts the cards back into the box) It's the best variation I've come across yet, \)\it frightfully difficult I Walter (leaning forward^ with almost tragic im- pressiveness). Do you want your niece to marry me, Mrs. Debney ? Mrs. Debney. The strange question I Of course I do. She plays the pianola. And besides, I'm her chaperone. Walter (reproachfully). You didn't go with her to St. Moritz. Mrs. Debney. Switzerland in winter I Thank you. I'm not a Polar bear. Walteb (throwing himself into a chair and biting THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 5 his nails feverishly). This all comes from your letting her go alone. Mrs. Debney (icith hland and unruffled surprise). What has come, my dear Walter? And "let" her, let Dorothy ! Besides, times have changed. When I was a girl, it wasn't thought proper to ride in a hansom ; now young ladies from the very best families assault a policeman. Walter {turning in his chair). Why didn't she ask me to meet her at the station ? Mrs. Debney. I don't know— I've no idea. But, after all, you catch cold very easily, and Victoria 's so draughty ! Walter {sicinging round again^ hurt). It's not nice of you to make fun of me, Mrs. Debney. Mrs. Debney. I don't — I couldn't — I've no sense of humor. I was merely trying to console you. Walter {eagerly^ facing her again). For what? ^Vhat has happened ? Mrs. Debney (opening wide eyes). Nothing — why ? What should have happened ? Only what you've told me. Walter. What has she told you ? Mrs. Debney. That she had a very good time at St. Moritz — skated, skied, tobogganed Walter {fretfidly). Of course — that's what everyone does there. What else did she do ? Mrs. Debney {puzzled). What else? — Oh yes, she danced. Walter {suspiciously). With whom ? Mrs. Debney. My dear Walter, it's a great privilege, I know, to be Dorothy's aunt — but you mustn't expect me to keep a — house agency — of all the men she has danced with. The position 's not worth it. (Walter shrugs his shoidders rather angrily^ rises, and sets to pacing the room again). Walter {stopping by the window). I'm ridicu- lous, of course, I know that — but still, after all I 6 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. {He turns and comes dow7i) She goes off to St. Moritz, at a moment's notice, without telling me — I merely get a wire from Calais to say that she's gone. Andrduring the whole fortnight she has been away she sends me nothing but picture-postcards ! Mrs. Debney. A great invention for lazy people — Dorothy is lazy. And besides — well, my first husband always wrote me long and affectionate letters when he was away — still I had to divorce him, and the Judge said it was a very bad case. My second, poor dear, never wrote me at all, but Waltee (breaking in, peevishly). Oh, Mrs. Deb- ney ! Mrs. Debney {mildly remonstrant). You might have let me finish, Walter. I've only been married twice. Walter {starting his loalJc again). Nothing but picture-postcards — with just a line to tell me what a good time she was having! (lie goes to Mrs. Debney) You'll leave me alone with her when she comes down ? Mrs. Debney. Of course. Don't I always ? Walter. You've been very good. Mrs. Debney. Been? Walter. I mean [He pauses* Mrs. Debney. What? Walter {desperately). What I can't make out, of course, is your taking all this so quietly I Mrs. Debney. We must move with the times, you see. Girls have more liberty now — I don't think they abuse it. Walter. She's only twenty-six I Mrs. Debney. That's old enough, isn't it, to take the train, and stop in an hotel ? And besides, Dorothy does as she pleases. When her father died and she came to live with me, that was the arrange- ment, and I've stuck to it. I've never regretted it. She's a very sensible girl. Walter {despairingly). We've been engaged six THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 7 months — not a cloud! And now, all of a sud- den Mrs. Debney {soothingly). 'My dear Walter, she'll have come back, adoring you more than ever ! WA1.TBB. (sulkily). Looks like it, doesn't it? I've been here half an hour ! Mrs. Debney. And when she does come, don't worry her with questions — don't play the inquisitor. Every man should conceal from his fiancee the hus- band he's going to be. That's almost an epigram. Walter {dropping into a chair). If she'll only let me be her husband ! Mrs. Debney. Walter, very seriously — Dorothy's not demonstrative — but she's not the kind of girl who changes her mind. She's not fickle, and she's not a flirt — and the only two people in the world for whom she has a deep feeling are you and her brother. So there's really no need for you to be eating your nails — which I'm sure can't be whole- some, unless you sterilize them first. Walter {jumping up). You're right — of course you're right ! If only (Dorothy comes in) Ah ! (Dorothy nods pleasantly to Walter, and holds out her hand, which he takes eagerly in hoth of his.) Dorothy. How are you, Walter ? I'm sorry I've been so long. I was in the midst of unpack- ing. Mrs. Debney. The time has flown — I've ex- plained to him the whole mystery of the noble game of Patience. (/She rises) Well — now I'll leave you. Dorothy. Why ? Walter {reproachfully). Dorothy! Dorothy. Such a funny idea that engaged people should be treated as though they were infectious ! Mrs. Debney. I've half a mind to stop here for an hour, to punish you. 8 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. Dorothy. Then I should take him for a walk. Mrs. Debney {with a smile). You see, Walter — mere maidenly shyness! It's five o'clock — I've time for a rubber at the club. You'll dine with us? Walter. I should love to. Mrs. Debney. All right then — I'll go and put on my things. {She goes. As soon as the door has closed^ Walter goes eagerly to Dorothy, with outstretched arms.) Walter. O Dorothy ! My dear, dear Dorothy ! Dorotpiy (with a warning forefinger^ eluding the caress). Sit down, Walter. Walter {disappointed, letting his arms fall). Ohl Dorothy {pointing to a chair). There. Walter (sorrowfully). O Dorothy 1 don't you care for me any more ? Have you changed ? Dorothy (lightly). Silly — why should I? I'm glad to see you again. Walter. Have you missed me ? Dorothy (sitting). Of course. Walter. I've been frightfully unhappy, Dorothy ! Dorothy. You had no reason to be. Walter. Not a single letter— nothing but cards ! Dorothy. One really had no time to write down there. Walter (as he sits beside her). And you left without telling me — without even bidding me good-bye I And what was I to think ? Only two days before you had spoken to me about Arnold ! Dorothy (nursing her knee as she looks thought- fully at him). Well? Walter. Arnold in such trouble — your brother — and you to go off like that ! Dorothy (shaking her head). I couldn't help THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 9 him here — and it all got on my nerves. Have you seen him since I left ? Walter. I wrote and asked him to dine, but he wouldn't. I suppose he's angry ? Dorothy. Not in the least — he thought you were right, that it was quite natural. He was angry with me for asking it of you. Walter (with a sigh of relief). Of course — he understood. Three thousand pounds! It would have crippled us for life. Dorothy {a little fretfully). That's all settled and done with, Walter. You said that you wouldn't Walter {eagerly). Couldn't, Dorothy ! Dorothy. All right, couldn't. At any rate we won't speak about it any more. Walter. But what has happened in the mean- while ? Has he come to an arrangement with the stockbroker people ? They've not made him a bankrupt ? Dorothy (sloioly). No — nothing has happened. . . . They've waited, I suppose. . . . Things are as they were — but some arrangement may be come to . . . Walter. What ? Dorothy. I'm not at liberty to tell you. Walter. Surely Dorothy {firmly). What Arnold says to me in confidence I must keep, even from you. Walter {deprecatingly). Of course, dear, of course. I'm only so glad that there is a chance of his getting out of this awful scrape. Arnold — the very last man in the world one would have imagined — Arnold to go and plunge like this I The poor fellow ! O Dorothy, how could you leave him at such a time ! Dorothy {rising and raomng across the room). Is there anything more appalling than when some- one you love very dearly is in trouble, and you can't help him ? Aunt Clara has only her fixed in- 10 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. come that dies with her — poor thing, we've not even told her about it — and I my hundred and fifty a year that are settled upon me, and they say I can't touch the capital. So I went — what could I do here ? Oh, you've no idea what a blow this has been to me ! Walter (rising and going to hei\ trying to take her hand). I know how fond you are of your brother. Dorothy (restlessly waving him from her). You don't — no one knows. We're not the ordinary kind of brother and sister. He has meant a great deal to me, all my life. And we're sort of alone in the world, we two. Walter (hurt). You've got me. Dorothy. He hasn't — he has no one. And this thing to happen — this bolt from the blue — Arnold, my big brother! And you expect me to say, " Well, he shouldvbt have speculated — it's his own fault " — and then forget all about him I Walter. That's not fair on me, Dorothy — you know how I like Arnold — how grateful I am for all he has done for you. But, after all, he's a man of thirty — and isn't it right Dorothy (dropping into a chair). Most things seem right when there's no trouble. Then one doesn't know what " right " is. Walter. What do you mean ? Dorothy. Oh, I don't know. Except that everything's awful. Walter (sitting beside her). Awful — yes. Poor fellow, he must be frightfully cut up — a mercy he isn't engaged, or married, isn't it ? And of course you must feel it dreadfully. What hurt me was your not wanting me to be with you at such a time. Dorothy. You wouldn't do what I asked you. Walter. Dorothy 1 Three thousand pounds I And I getting five hundred a year I And you know how slow promotion is at the Home Office THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. H Dorothy. You have the two thousand your father left you. Walter {eagerly). I've never spent a penny of that — I've kept it for getting married. And if I gave those two thousand we couldn't furnish a house — have to get things on the hire system — live in rooms perhaps — think of it Dorothy. We needn't go over all that again, Walter. Walter {eagerly and volubly). But isn't it mere common-sense ? Those two thousand pounds make it possible for us — to live as you're used to. And for me to borrow a thousand besides— who never have borrowed a penny in all my life ! Dorothy {a little fretfully and wearily). Walter —Walter Walter {very earnestly). As long as you realize that it was my love for you that made me refuse — that, and that only — my care for your future Dorothy {very sincerely). I c?o realize it ; I never have doubted it for an instant. Walter. Oh, thank you for saying that ! You can't imagine how unhappy I've been ! And now it's splendid to know that things are not so bad after all — that an arrangement may be come to ! Dorothy {staring ahead of her). Maybe — yes — I think — I hope Walter {eagerly). Arnold told you? You've seen him ? Dorothy. Only for a moment — ^he had to rush off to the office. Walter. He was at the station ? Dorothy {absently). Yes. But one can't talk at the station. Besides Mr. Thursfield was there. {She bites her lip with aniioyance at having said this.) Walter {pricking up his ears). Mr. Thursfield? Who's he ? Dorothy {suddenly on the alert — shortly). He's the man who has been putting up the bridges and 12 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. things in Egypt, of which Arnold's firm are the contractors. The resident engineer, I think they call him. Walter. He was at St. Moritz? Dorothy. He happened to be staying at the same hotel. And of course as he was a friend of Arnold's Walter. He came back with you ? Dorothy. He returned the same day. And as there was only one train we had to come back in it. Walter. What sort of a man is he ? Dorothy. About five foot eleven, I should think. Walter. That's not what I want to know. Dorothy {swinging round to him, and facing him squarely). What do you want to know? Walter. Was he aware that you are engaged to me? Dorothy. The first night I was there, when I went into the dining-room, I wore a big placard round my neck, " Engaged to Mr. Walter Gresham." Walter. Don't be unkind, Dorothy. Dorothy. Well, really, you mustn't be silly. Mr. Thursfield's ninety. Walter. Is he ? Dorothy. Well, at any rate, he's at least forty. Walter. That's not such a very great age. Why didn't you tell me about him before ? Dorothy {fretful under the cross-examination). Do you want me to tell you about all the men I've spoken to down there ? Because there were quite a good many. Walter. You're very hard on me, Dorothy. Why wasn't fallowed to meet you at the station? Dorothy. Because I wanted to see Arnold, and to hear from him — oh, don't ask me any more questions I It's all difficult enough ! Walter. What is ? Dorothy. What? {She springs to her feet) Am I of stone, do you think ? Years ago, before THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 13 you came into my life, there was Arnold, every- thing to me. As a child, I adored him and wor- shipped him. There's nothing in all this world I wouldn't do for him, or he for me. And now to think of him, with ruin, disgrace ahead ! Walter {contritely). You say there's a hope — we'll cling to that. The poor, dear fellow ! Your brother, of course — the one person beside myself who — O Dorothy, each time I leave you, it makes me mad when I think how foolish I've been, all the silly things I've said ! And I've such a lot of beauti- iul things inside me that I want to say, and can't ! Dorothy {gently). I know. Walter {with feeling). I suppose it's my loving you so much that makes me — seem so absurd. And to-day — all these questions of mine — what must you think of me ? Because of course I've the fullest faith in you, Dorothy — the deepest con- fidence and trust. Dorothy {impulsively). Oh, don't, Walter, don't — don't talk to me like that to-day at all ! Walter {wondering). I mustn't ? Dorothy. I mean — to-day there's only Arnold — I can think of nothing but him. {She looks at the dock) He'll be here soon, by the way. Walter. You'd like me to go ? Dorothy. He's sore about my having told you — and besides we must talk. Walter {earnestly). Give him a message from me — tell him I am always his real, true friend. (He rises) I may come to dinner ? Dorothy. Of course. Walter. Then I'll tell you what I'll do. I'll go straight away now, and dress, and come back. That'll give us a little bit together before your aunt comes down. Dorothy {a little drily). As you like. Walter. And, Dorothy — my dear Dorothy — say something kind to me ! 14 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. (Dorothy looJcs at him with rather a sad smile ; then goes to him^ lays a hand on his shoulder, a7id kisses him on the forehead.) Dorothy. My poor Walter ! ( The door opens, and Mrs. Debney appears, dressed to go out. She pauses on the threshold.) Mrs. Debney (whimsically, half retreating.) The wrong moment ! But I did cough ! Dorothy. Come in, Aunt Clara ! Walter's just going. (Mrs. Debney rings, then turns to Walter.) Mrs. Debney. Happy ? Walter {beaming). Yes ! Good-bye, Mrs. Debney. I'm sorry I spoiled your game at Patience. Mrs. Debney. Young men who're in love don't care to play at it — it's only natural. [Minnie comes in, Mrs. Debney. A hansom, please. Minnie. Yes, m'm. \^ She goes. Walter. I won't say good-bye, Dorothy, as I'll be seeing you so soon. By the way, I sent you some flowers Dorothy. Oh yes, they're lovely. I've got them upstairs. I forgot to thank you, Walter. Walter. That's all right. Ill be back at seven. [//e goes. Mrs. Debney. Exit the hero, humming the waltz from the Merry Widow. Indication of joy. (Dorothy has sat down, and is staring moodily ahead of her) You don't look joyous. Dorothy (forcing a smile). Don't I ? Mrs. Debney. You didn't. You were wearing the kind of expression that I do when you play Brahms. (She loalks up to her). Well ? Dorothy {looking up). Well, what, Aunt Clara? Mrs. Debney. Anything to say to me ? Dorothy. Why, what should there be ? THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 15 Mrs. Debney. I don't know — I seem to sniff trouble. . . . Sure there 's nothing I can do ? DoKOTHY. Nothing, thanks — I'm all right. I am a little worried, of course — but it will pass. Mrs. Debney. You'd rather not ? Dorothy. Please. Mrs. Debney. As you like. {She sits) If you want me at any time, I'm there. A woman of fifty is like a policeman in Piccadilly — she can tell you the way to — almost anywhere. Dorothy {suddenly turiiing to her). Oh, Aunt Clara, isn't life a puzzle ? Mrs. Debney. I've heard it described as a " metabolic activity of protoplasm." Does that help you? Dorothy {shakiiig her head), No. Mrs. Debney. Definitions seldom do. When I was seventeen I knew Spencer's First Principles almost by heart, and had mastered the Mcomachian Ethics. When I was seventeen and a quarter I fell in love with, and married, a man who never read anything but the sporting papers. Dorothy. I suppose, after all, nothing really matters so very much. Mrs. Debney. Not a bit — to the other people. So Walter 's happy again ? Dorothy. Yes. Poor Walter ! Mrs. Debney. Be careful, Dorothy. Dorothy {quickly). Why do you say that? Mrs. Debney {sententiously) , The Piccadilly policeman pilots young ladies very carefully over the crossing when he hears them pity their j?a?ice. Dorothy. You're quite wrong, Aunt Clara. Mrs. Debney. Of course. One always is. Walter will make a very good husband, Dorothy. I should marry him soon. Dorothy. Why ? Mrs. Debney. Well, as you're going to take the plunge — one's apt to catch cold, if one waits too long. (Arnold comes in) Ah, Arnold! 16 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. Arnold. How are you, Aunt Clara ? (^He shakes hands with her j bends over Dorothy, and kisses her) Mrs. Debnet. I've not seen you for a very long time. Arnold. I've been kept late at the oflBce squar- ing up things. Mrs. Debne y. The " kept late at the office " ex- cuse gets more than its fair share of exercise, but it will do for an old aunt. Dorothy's looking well, isn't she ? More than I can say for you. Arnold. I'm a bit overworked. Mrs. Debne y. Well, take care of yourself, or you'll break down, like poor Mr. Collins, round the corner, who thinks he 's a rabbit, and won't eat any- thing but lettuce. Will you dine here to-night ? Arnold. I'm afraid I can't, Aunt Clara. (Min- nie conies in) Minnie. Cab 's here, m'm. Mrs. Debney. Thank you. (She goes to tliedoor^ which Minnie holds open) Don't neglect me too much, Arnold. I've been winning a great deal at bridge lately, and I'm investing it all. {She goes, followed by Minnie. Arnold waits till the door closes, then moves excitedly to Dorothy) Arnold. What's up between you and Thurs- field? Dorothy (in vague uneasiness). Why ? what do you mean ? Has he said anything ? Arnold. I only saw him for a moment, but his manner was strange. Dorothy (anxiously). Strange — how? Arnold. He asked, could he call this afternoon ? I said, of course. Dorothy (springing to her feet, in sudden alarm). Heaven, if he met Walter 1 Arnold (staring at her). Well, what if he did ? THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 17 Dorothy {icildly). What if he did? He's in love with me ! Arnold {dully). Thursfield? Dorothy. And I've promised to marry him. You didn't speak about Walter ? Arnold {more and more bewildered). You've — promised — to marry — Thursfield ? Dorothy {terribly excited). Yes, I tell you, yes. Quick, you've not told ? I said to you this morning, you weren't to speak to him about me at all. You haven't ? Quick — quick ! Arnold (dazed). No — I've said nothing — I only saw him for . . . {He passes his hand over his fore- head). I can't make this out — I've not been sleep- ing much lately . . . Poor Walter ! He '11 feel it dreadfully. Dorothy {shortly^ turning away). Walter ? He never need know. Arnold {his bewilderment increasing). Not know ? Walter ? When you say that Thursfield Dorothy {turning and facing him). Yes, yes, yes — what else could I do ? But that 's no reason why Walter Arnold {staring at her). I see. . . . You've lured Thursfield on — enticed him . . . Dorothy. I had to save you. How else could I doit? (For a moment there is silence. Arnold, completely overwhelmed, drops i?ito a chair, and stares vaguely at his fingers) Dorothy {movi?ig aioay). Mr. Thursfield has promised to tell no one. And he wasn't to come here till I . . . Arnold {with a sudden groati). It 's all my fault for letting you know. Dorothy (soothingly). You couldn't help your- self — I saw it in your face. Arnold. First you ask Walter for the money . . . 18 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. Dorothy. I only told him you owed it to the stockbrokers — I didn't say . . . Abnold. That I had paid them with the firm's money — that I am a . . . thief . . . {He rises slowly^ with a sudden shudder) But a man may be a thief, Dorothy, without becoming an utter cur. Of course I won't allow . . . Dorothy (loith a weary gesture). Oh, don't be so foolish ! Why do you think I went to St. Moritz ? Arnold. You didn't tell me you were going — you didn't consult me. When you wrote me from there — well, drowning men catch at straws. I said to myself, she'll make friends with him . . . Dorothy (letting herself drop wearily into a chair). Friendship's no use — you know that. Arnold (rising^ slowly and standing by his chair). And you are — engaged to him ? Dorothy. He is — to me. He loves me. Arnold (under his breath). Horrible. Dorothy. I made him promise, of course, it should be kept secret till I Arnold. What excuse did you give him ? Dorothy. None. There was no need. It was enough that I asked it. Arnold. You've got him bound hand and foot? Dorothy (almost triumphantly). Yes. Arnold And when he learns the truth ? Dorothy. Not till you're saved. Then — well, someone must suffer. Arnold (dropping back into his chair^ and resting his head on his hands). I had a suspicion — Heaven help me, I had a suspicion I But I wouldn't believe it — wouldn't believe that you . . . Dorothy (bending forward in her chair^ slowly and impressively). That night when you told me you had charged the money to the bridge Mr. Thursfield was building in Egypt Arnold (with a groan). So frightfully easy — the awful temptation — I was to get it all back in a week . . . THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 19 Dorothy. And that the . . . thing . . . could only be discovered by him, and not till he himself had gone through the accounts — well, that night I made up my mind, determined to do it. Arnold {almost to himself). I've thought, again and again, of your questions about him — how old he was, whether he was married — I wouldn't think about them, but they came, knocking at my brain . . . Dorothy. I spoke to Walter first — well, he wouldn't — the poor boy, of course, had he known the real truth. . . . But, anyhow, I said to myself, if Walter gave the money, there would still be the disgrace, the people at the office would have to be told. Whereas, with Mr. Thursfield, no one would know at all. So I resolved that as soon as he came to London — well, when he did come, he was ill, and they packed him off to St. Moritz. It was Provid- ence helped me. Arnold. Providence ! Dorothy {fretfully). Or the other thing — which- ever you please. Oh what is the use of your look- ing at it — like that ? I suppose there are times when one has to — rise above things. You're my brother, and you come before all. And here was this man, who could save you with one stroke of the pen ! Arnold {quietly). If he did, he'd be a thief, too. He's a servant of the firm, just as I am. Dorothy. You told me, he, and he only, would go through your accounts. That if he passed them no one would know. Well, he shall pass them ! Arnold {with a half shrug). Thursfield I Thurs- field rob the firm ! What I said was that my one chance of escape lay in his not noticing — but that of , stepping forward). Well, I should like to say one word. And that is, that I congratulate you both, with all the heart that is in me. \^IIe sits. Edward (heartily). Thank you, Faringay. Dorothy, That was quite nice, Arnold — quite — dear Arnold ! . . . Aunt Clara, your turn. Mrs. Debney {turning towards her). My dear, I don't know Dorothy. I'll prompt you. Some pathetic reference to your overwhelming regret at parting with the niece you adore Mrs. Debney {to Edward). I am very fond of her. Dorothy. With a pious desire that he'll prove a good husband and obey me in everything (Minnie comes in with the tea, which she places before Dorothy who proceeds to make the tea, and then to pour it out.) Mrs. Debney. She Aas always had her own way, Mr. Thursfield. Dorothy. Edward. Mrs. Debney. Edward — and I do hope [ She pauses. Edward. Mrs. Debney, I love her — and I'll do everything in the world — to prove myself worthy — of the love she has given me. Dorothy. Don't get solemn, Edward, or I'll telephone for the torn toms, and we'll get married at once. Edward. When shall we get married, Dorothy ? Dorothy. Oh, the century's very young. {I'o Mrs. Debney) He has lived among tribes, you know, where the whole wedding ceremony consisted m jumping over a stick ! Edward. I regard three weeks as the maximum THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. ^5 delay, and three days as the irreducible minimum. {He appeals to Mrs. Debney) Aunt Clara 1 Mrs. Debney {emphatically). I am certainly not a believer in long engagements. Dorothy. I told you you'd like hira ! ( Turning to Edward) And let me tell you her opinion is valuable — she knows a great deal about husbands — she's had several ! {Patting Mrs. Debney's hand^ as she raises it i?i protest) All right, dear, I won't tease you — and there werei-Ct so very many, after all. And as soon as you've had your tea you shall be allowed to go to your Mrs. Atkins — while I — make my confession — to Edward. {Her voice completely changes as she says this — and she goes to him and kisses him shyly, tenderly, then returns to her seat. She has scarcely sat down when there is a sharp ring. She looks tip startled) Dorothy. Oh, I do hope it isn't a visitor! Arnold, will you give this to Aunt Clara. {She hands him a cup) Here — Edward {She has risen, holding the cup that she is handing to Edward. Arnold is taking another to Mrs. Debney when there is the sound of sudden altercation in the hall — Walter's voice crying roughly, " Nonsense, nonsense, I must see her ! " and he bursts into the room.. Dorothy and Arnold init their cups down, and stand, petrified, unable to speak or move.) "Walter {fear/idly excited, seeing only Dorothy). Dorothy, Dorothy, how could you ! Dorothy, I've come here to say I'll do it — I will. You shall have the three thousand — I'll get it somehow. I never thought that you really meant (He has suddenly become conscious of the presence of Edward ; he stops dead, and stares at him. There is a moment'' s silence; Edward rises slowly.) 76 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. Edward (in a strange, numb voice). Who is this gentleman ? Walter (fiercely). My name is Gresham. I am Miss Faringay 's j^a/zce. Edward. You are — what ? Walter. She is engaged tome. Who are you? Mrs. Debney {icringing her hands, in great dis- tress, as she bends forward to Edward). Oh, Mr. Thursfield, Mr. Thursfield Walter (wildly). Thursfield — the man from the office — the man who was building the bridge ! . . . {He stares at Edward) You met her at St. Moritz. Oh, my God, were you going to pay the money ? Arnold (sudderily turning fiercely on Walter). She sent you away. Why have you come back ? Edward (coldly motioning to Arnold). Leave him alone, please. (To Walter, from whom he has scarcely taken his eyes) You seem to be in- formed about this money, Mr. Gresham? Walter (dazed in vague alarm, looking hesitat- ingly from one to the other.). She told me she must have three thousand pounds to pay tor Arnold. Edward (slowly). She . . . told . . . you . . . Mrs. Debney. To pay for Arnold ! (Edward turns and looks at Dorothy / she is in a pitiable state of collapse and despair. Conscious of his gaze, her head sinks ; she drops into a chair. Edward turns to Walter again.) Edward. When did Miss Faringay first ask you for this money, Mr. Gresham ? Walter (ansioering mechanically). A month ago. But I wouldn't — I didn't know Edward. A month ago . . . before she went to St. Moritz . . . Walter. Yes, yes, of course — then again this afternoon. But, Dorothy, I didn't mean it I Arnold (savagely). You fool, you fool ! THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 77 Edward {slowly). I am beginning to under- stand. . . . How long have you been engaged to Miss Faringay ? Walter. Six months. ( With sudden passionate resentment) But why are you asking these ques- tions ? What business is it of yours ? Edward {quietly). I also appear to be engaged to Miss Faringay. Walter {frantic). You ! You ! Oh ! ! ! I see, of course — you offered the money 1 Edward. Yes. Walter. Oh ! That was why she sent me away to-day — said she wouldn't marry me ? She was pre- pared to sacrifice herself — to you! My poor Dorothy, because I refused you were going to Dorothy {suddenly springing loildly to her feet). Oh ! Haven't you said enough ! {For an instant not a icord is spoTcen. Walter stares haggardly at Dorothy, who^ after her moment of excitement, has relapsed into her apathy and misery. Mrs. Debney is crying^ completely overwhelmed / Arnold stands dog- gedly in his place, cursing under his breath. The silence is broken by Edward, who still in the same calm and almost monotonous tone that he has used since Walter's appearance, now quietly addresses him.) Edward. There has been a mistake, Mr. Gres- ham. Believe me, there shall be no sacrifice. There has been a misunderstanding. Would you be kind enough to — leave us — for a moment ? Walter. No, no — I can't — I Edward. I would like just one word, before I go, with Miss Faringay — and her brother. Walter {hysterically). I Dorothy {in a low voice, without looking up). Go. (Walter stares at her, tries to speak, checks himself^ then goes slowly, hanging his head. Mrs. Deb- 78 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. NEY follows him; at the door she turns, still cry- ing, to Edwakd) Mrs. Debney. Mr. Thursfield, will you let me Edward (with a quiet gesture). Truly, there is no need. (She follows Walter out of the room. Arnold and Dorothy have not stirred.) Edward (with, for the first time, a note of harsh- ness and menace coming into his voice). Faringay, you have been a party to this ? Dorothy (wildly, from her corner). Not his fault — mine ! Edward (ignoring her). You have been a party to this, Faringay ? Dorothy (almost in a shriek). I tell you — I tell you . Edward (over his shoulder). Be silent. (To Arnold) Well — have you nothing to say ? Arnold (doggedly). No. Nothing. Edward. The voucher is altered, the money paid. And I shall not go back on my word — the dupe will not turn on those who have duped him. But — let me tell you — your theft from the firm is as nothing compared with the — loathsomeness — of sending your sister to me as a — decoy. Dorothy (hysterically). He didn't — he didn't — he didn't know ! Edward (for a moment turning his head to her). Miss Faringay, sisterly devotion is very admirable, but. it can be carried too far. — And why not have the truth now? Since the money is paid! (lie turns to Arnold again) You have been very fortunate, Faringay, in finding this lady so willing to lend herself to your ingenious little scheme — fortunate, too, in having worked it on a man who takes it so pleasantly. For I shall do nothmg— THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 79 nothing at all. So you have won : your victory is complete : and I congratulate you — both. You are a free man, Faringay — and you have earned your freedom — trebly earned it. And now . . . liar and coward ... go. Arnold {lifting his head in sudden fury and strid- ing violently toioards Edward). Thursfield ! Edward (without a movement^ his voice remaining quiet and unemotional). Liar, because you have lied to me again and again since my return ; coward, because you have . . . traded ... on your sister's indifference ... to honour and shame. Dorothy (convidsively burying her head in her hands and sinking on the sofa). Oh, oh! Arnold (in mad fury). Say what you like about me, but don't dare Edward. Tsch, why these heroics? A few hard words, Farigay. They're not dear — at the price. Arnold (icildly). I'm a thief — all right — call me that — call me what you like. But my sister Edward. Has been your confederate. Go. Arnold. You think I'll take your money ? Edward. I'm quite sure of it, Faringay. Isn't that what you wanted ? Arnold (trembling with passion). I'll go straight to the Chief — now — now Edward. Only as far as his doorstep! And don't be afraid — Z won't give you away — not even to Holland ! So that's all settled — and all's for the best in the best possible of worlds. Now leave us. Arnold. No ! Not till Dorothy (moaning). Arnold ! Arnold (after a haggard glance at her). My fault, not hers. My crime, or whatever it is. But she Edward. Will speak for herself. Go. Dorothy (scarcely above a whisper^ as she sways to and fro on the sofa). Arnold, Arnold, do as he tells you ... 80 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. (Aenold gives another glance at her; then goes, mechaiiically^ automatically, as though hypno- tized, and closes the door. The street door is heard to hang — till then there is silence, Dorothy not stirring from the sofa. Suddenly Edward turns towards her, looks at her — theii, almost in- voluntarily, loith a broken note in his voice, all the anger and scorn gone from it, ejaculates " You I " She rises slowly, and drags herself towards him— he stops her with a gesture.) Edward (quietly). What have you to say? Dorothy {in a wail). You won't believe me I Edward (sloioly, his voice colorless, responding to the deadness within him). You love your brother — I must remember that. You do love your brother. It is for him you have done these . . . terrible. . . things. Dorothy (stretching out imploring hands). Edward Edward (shrinking from her, as though almost physically wounded). Don't call me that — don't, don't, that's all over. . . Tell me, you went to St. Moritz because I was there? . . . (She cannot speak) Oh, you must answer ! Dorothy (under her breath). Yes. Edward. With the deliberate intention of mak- ing me love you ? Dorothy. Yes. Edward. And all the time you were engaged to Mr. Gresham ? Dorothy. . . . Yes . . . Edward. Meaning to fool me, as soon as I had paid the money — throw me over, and marry him ? (She moistens heY lips, unable to speak) Well ? Dorothy. Yes. ^ (There is a momenfs silence; suddenly she bursts out feverishly.) Dorothy. Listen — listen — let me tell you — THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 81 Edwaed (veri/ gently). No. Why say any more — what else is there to say? . . . And you could come to the office to-day — to persuade me — in case I should be — reluctant 1 Dorothy (in agony). Oh \ Haven't you shamed me enough ! Edward {turning to her almost contritely^ speak- ing very sincerely). I've no wish to do that. . . . Underneath all this was your love for your brother — I suppose you thought yourself — justified. . . . But still — it was very cruel. Dorothy (wildly). Let me explain! Oh, I be- seech you, let me explain ! Edward {shaking his head). The time is gone — there are facts before us, facts that can't be explained away. You have deceived me, and I trusted you — words cannot help us now. You have deceived me — and, poor thing, you were ready to marry me, to make this sacrifice Dorothy (passionately). "No sacrifice, no, no- Edward. Because I had saved your brother. You have been . . . wicked, Miss Faringay — per- haps more foolish than wicked — but I am not your judge. Dorothy. Hear me ! Let me speak I Edward. There is too much anger within me — too much bitterness. I couldn't be . . . just . . . to you. You see, one can only think of oneself. You don't know what you meant to me. Well, that's all over. I shall go to Rhodesia to-morrow. Dorothy. I love you ! Edward (loith a warning gesture^ scarcely raising his voice, lohich still has not a trace of bitterness, hut only sorrow and pity). Hush, you mustn't say that. There was this other man you loved — till to-day. To me you are only grateful. Oh, I see too clearly ! I was there, and you used me ; you went out to snare me: you made me believe what never was true. Your brother came first, you thought, and I didn't matter. Ah, but remember always — there 82 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. are some things women must not do — even for their brother's sake ! ( Without another glance at her he goes^ brusquely^ suddenly^ leaving her dumby crushed^ bewild- ered . . .) CUETAIN. ACT IV. (Edward's rooms in the Temple. It is his home — his permanent abode when in town — and the place is Ultimate and personal, for all its simplicity. At back, there is a door, leading to an inner room, with another door inside. At right, a door leading to a little hall, a tiny place, with the entrance door to the further right. The room is panelled in oak, and has a quaint, a trifle dingy^ but exceedingly pleasant and attractive appear- ance. On the walls are Whistler etchings, a photograph or two of Old Masters, and one bridge — the one he showed to Dorothy at the office. Some Egyptian things are about the place — the^'e are various odds and ends that he has picked up i7i his wanderings. Some icell-thumbed books on the shelf — a pipe-rack — on the table a silver cigarette-box and a tray with a cut-glass bottle of whiskey. Edward is seated, his legs stretched on the fender-rail, his back to the audience ; Peter is in an arm-chair, facing him, cracking his fingers. Neither of them is speaking ; and it is evident that they have not spoken for some time. After a pause Peter gives himself a little shake, puts his glass to his lips, driiiks, then rises and stretches himself) Peter. Well— I think I'll go. THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 83 Edward (aroused from a reverie^ half-turning his head). Must you ? Early, isn't it ? Peter. Past eleven. Edward. Ah . . . (He gets up slowly) Well, old chap. \^IIe moves towards Peter. Peter (with awkward kindliness^ as he looks at Edward). I'm afraid I've not been of much good to you, Teddie. Edward. Very jolly of you to have spent the evening with me. Peter. We've not been very festive. (Edward turns away^ goes to the table., and takes a cigarette) Our dinner was the most funereal function I've ever sat down to. And we've been here a couple of hours — I've tried to say a word, every ten minutes or so Edward {lighting his cigarette), Pve been rotten bad company, Peter. I'm sorry. (He holds out the cigarette-hox to him, Peter shakes his head.) Pfter. No, thanks — shan't smoke any more. (He moves away) D'you know, Teddie — I'm feeling a trifle hurt. Edward. Hurt! Why? Peter. I've not asked any questions — I've been waiting for you to tell me. Edward. What ? Peter. Who the woman is, and what she has done. (Kbwaub shrugs his shoidders) Oh, of course it's a woman — what else would a man like you run away from ? This morning yoil were going to stay here — now you're off to Rhodesia. By the way, the Chief must be mighty pleased? Edward. I sent him a letter — I haven't seen him. And if that's how you feel about it, Peter, you shall have the whole — moving — story ! Peter (deprecatingly). Not if you'd rather Edward (puffing at his cigarette). Pooh, it 84 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. won't take very long — and I don't suppose it's startlingly novel, or original. I met a girl I thought was fine — well, she wasn't. I thought she loved me ■ — well, she didn't. I trusted her, and she wasn't worth it. There you have it, old Peter ! So I'm off to Rhodesia, and it's all over, and done with. Peter. Hard luck. Who was she ? Edward. That doesn't matter. Peter. No. Edward {leaning against the mantelpiece^ and staring into the fire). Fact is, I've let the time slip by when women fall in love with men. {He turns) It's rather nice of you, Peter, to spare me the obvious jokes ! Peter. I ? I'm not likely. Been through it my- self. Edward. You ? Peter {with a grim little chucMe). Surprises you, doesn't it? Two years ago — you were in Egypt. Engaged we were — wedding-day fixed — then she felt that she — couldn't. Edward {coming to him and patting him on the shoidder). Poor old Peter ! Peter. Tell you what it is, Teddie — there are some fellows who're sort of — disinherited. Edward {going hack to the fire.) All in the day's work. Peter {sitting). Work's not everything. You'll call me a sentimental old fool, perhaps — but I know this — there's only one thing in this world that's worth a damn — and that's hearing a woman tell you that she loves you. Edward. There are others. Peter. The one thing on God's earth. Well, I shall never hear it. Edward. Nor I. And that can't be helped, and I'm not going to worry. But who would have thought that you ! Peter. Even in an ugly old clerk there's some- thing — very real — that wants a wife, and children. THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 85 (He breaks off, and is silent for a moment, nursing his leg.) Tell me, Teddie — she treated you badly ? Edward {carelessly). I suppose so. • But I may be wrong. I don't know much about women. Peter {thoughtfully). They're funny things. I'd given my little girl a ring. Well, she met the other fellow, and sent me a letter — but she kept the ring. Edward. Why ? Peter {very simply). Because of the diamonds, I suppose. Edward. That wasn't nice of her. Peter. Not very — no. But I'm glad to think of her, wearing my ring. She was very pretty. And I'm always grateful to a girl for being pretty. Edward. You're more of a philosopher than I am, Peter. Peter. When I looked at myself in the glass, I forgave her. Fact is, there are some men women don't care for, and I'm one of them. Edward. I expect I'm another. And we're not always the worst kind of men, either. Peter {getting up and going to Edward). What did she do ? Edward. Old man, we'll leave it there. What does it matter ? I'm a little bit sore, of course — but that will pass. The point is that she didn't love me. And that won't affect the tide in the morning, or put another cloud in the sky. Besides, I've lived in the open too much, with growing things round me — makes women's ways seem strange. Out there, in the desert, or when you're fighting a river — it's great odds, but all pretty straight. Peter. Wasn't she ? Edward {shortly). No. But we'll drop all that. At least she has cured me — and thafs all over. But there's one thing I'll tell you — I don't believe in that disinherited theory of yours. Peter. You don't? Edward. No. We all have our Inheritance 86 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. somewhere. Mine's my work, and I'm not going to snivel. Peter (with a sigh). All right for you — you go out and tackle big jobs. I'm stuck in the office all day — and when I get home all I have is a collec- tion of postage stamps and a wheezy old terrier. Edward. There are some of us must be alone. I suppose that it's written.- Great thing is not to mind. Peter. You're a good-looking chap. With a face like yours you can get married whenever you want to I Edward (breezily). But I donH wantl I've learned my lesson — love-making's not for me. (He comes up to Peter) Old man, old tubful of senti- ment, I'll come over for your wedding — I will, and be best man. But Thursfield '11 go on building bridges till the end of him — and he won't howl as long as God lets him stand on his legs and do the work that he's fit for. And now — {he goes to the table and pours himself out a drink) here's to you — and to me I [^He drinks, Peter, (emptying his glass). To us ! Well, I'll go. (A loud., authoritative knock at the outer door.) Hullo ! Expecting someone ? Edward. No. (He goes into the hall, opens the outer door, and gives an ejaculation of surprise at finding Sir Henry there, puffing and blowing after his climb up four flights of stairs. The old man is very angry, and merely gives a grunt in reply to Edward's ** Good evening." He comes stumping into the room, with IS^dward following him.) Peter (rising). Chief Sir Henry (glaring at him). Ah, Mr. Holland, so you're here too? That's good. I've somethmg to say to you both. Edwabd. Won't you sit down ? THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 87 (Se moves up a chair, that Sir Henry Jerks himself into.) Sir Henry {as he sits). Pretty couple you are ! Nice sort of people for a man to have confidence in 1 Peter (startled). Why — what Sir Henry. Faringay has been to me — routed me out at the Club Peter. Faringay I Sir Henry. Slade a clean breast of things. Now what have you to say for yourselves ? [i/e glares from Edward to Peter. Peter (amazed and distressed). Faringay told you! Sir Henry (savagely). Everything. See here, you, Mr. Holland. The other man's a damned fool, and we'll talk to him later. But you are the manager of my office, the person who represents me, my servant, the man I trust. Peter (meekly). Yes, Chief. Sir Henry. And it seems to me that when you discover that a clerk of mine has been robbing me, it's your business to come and tell me. Edward (iyiterposing^ quietly). He wanted to. I wouldn't let him. Sir Henry (turning fiercely on him). Thursfield, you've taken an infernal liberty — that's the word, sir, and I won't withdraw it. Edward. Since the money was paid Sir Henry. That has nothing to do with it. The beggar robbed me. It was your duty, both of you, to come to me straightaway. Edward. You know all the circumstances ? Sir Henry. Yes, I do. Edward. And don't you think this was a case for forgiveness ? Sir Henry. I think, Mr. Thursfield, that I was the proper judge of that. Edward. What have you done to him now ? Sir Henry. Kicked him out — told him never to >88 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. show his face in my office again. Holland, /pay that money — not Thursfield. I don't take presents from my employees. Edward. You've kicked him out? Sir Henry. I have. Promptly. Edward {sitting ^facing the old man). Very well, Then I don't go to Rhodesia. Sir Henry (loith a fresh blaze of wrath). What the devil Edward. You can kick me out too. I leave the firm. Sir Henry. Do you know what you're saying? What new nonsense is this ? Edward {quietly). With all respect to you, Chief, unless Faringay is reinstated, I leave the firm. Sir Henry (rising^ proudly). It seems to me you're dictating terms to me, Mr. Thursfield. Edward {rising, also). This is a matter in which I am compelled to, Sir Henry. Sir Henry {roaring). I decline to take back into my office a man who's a thief and a scoundrel ! Edward. A man who, after I paid the money he took, after I cleaned the slate, comes and tells you himself ? Sir Henry. I refuse to take him back. Edward. Very well then — I leave you. Sir Henry {furiously). Am I the man to be coerced and bullied ? Edward. I fancy we are neither of us men to be bullied. Sir Henry. Peter {timidly). Chief Sir Henry {turning savagely on him). Hold your tongue, you I {7o Edward) Thursfield, I've a great affection for you — we've pulled off some big things together Edward. And will again. Sir Henry. But this man Faringay's a thief Edward. The fine thing he did, in confessing to you, wipes out the mad thing he did, in taking the money. THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 89 Sir Henry. I'm an engineer, not an apostle. I won't take him back. Edward. You will. Sir Henry. I'll be damned if I will ! Edward. I've pledged my word. Sir Henry. Doesn't bind me. Edward. Zam bound by it. Sir Henry. To whom? Edward. That doesn't matter. Sir Henry. It does, though. To whom? {The idea suddenly flashing upon him) By the Jumping Cats of Nineveh ! Not the girl who's chucked you ? Edward {protesting). Chief Sir Henry {eagerly). Girl you told me about? Of course she's chucked you, or you wouldn't be going to Rhodesia. If it's she — I give in. Edward. You do? Sir Henry. Yes ! Edward. Very well then — it is. Sir Henry {with a great chuckle of glee^ bouncing hack into his chair and beaming — the p)icture of happi- ness and good-nature). In honor of her I forgive Faringay, and Holland, and everyone I She's a duck of a girl, and I'd do anything for her. I gave a sovereign to the messenger-boy who brought me your letter. I want to write and thank her — send her a breaking-off present. It's girls like her that have made this country great. Holland, you rascal, we'll keep Faringay — give him another chance. But if you ever again Peter {gasping). Oh, Chief, no fear of that! Sir Henry {to Edward, p>eering into his face). Definitely off, Thursfield? Irrevocably? Not going to write to her ? No nonsense of that sort? Edward. None. Sir Henry. No letting her come snivelling round and hooking you on again ? Edward {shortly). Our rupture is absolute and final. Sir Henry. Heartiest congratulations — angels 90 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. watching over you — miraculous escape. And stick to that splendid girl — make it a Dante and Beatrice affair — you can't expect the same luck twice. Tell me, who was she ? Faringay's sister, sweetheart — no, of course, must be his sister Edavard {quietly). I don't think we need go any further into that, Chief. Sir Henry. Wound still sore ? Bah, jump on it, tread on it. Holland, what are you going to do with Faringay? Peter {deprecatingly). I was proposing to send him to Nicaragua for a year or two. Chief. Sir Henry. That's right — good idea — chap must be punished — but he won't go wrong again. And come to me to-morrow — we'll have a word to say to the bucket-shop people. Not going to take this thing lying down — not me ! PW give 'em a testi- monial I And you, Thursfield — {lie slaps Edward on the back) hurrah for the Falls ! No more billing and cooing I Burn your poetry books and get into your working clothes. {He looks round and beams) Here we are, three jolly bachelors ! Good-bye, boys. I'll be at the station to-morrow, and see you off. Wish I were going with you I If I were only sixty again ! ( With a nod to them and a loave of the ha)id he stumps out in his usual hurricane fashion, Edward sees him to the hall door. Peter shakes himself goes to the table, mixes himself a stiff lohiskeij and soda, and tosses it off'. As he puts the glass do^cn, his eye falls on a framed photograph standing on Edward's desk ; he takes it vp and looks curiously at it, replacing it when he hears Edward return. Peter. Whfff I Well out of that I But Teddie —Faringay I Edward. Yes. Peter. Rotten trick to play on me. Really un- pardonable. Can't make it out. THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 9I Edward. I'm to blame for it, Peter — I was hard on him this evening — I left him no option. Peter. Oh, I see ! . . . And I say, is this the girl ? {lie nods to the photograph. Edward takes it up and quietly drops it on to the table) Forgive me, old chap — I didn't mean ... By Jove, the way you stood up to the Chief ! Edward {with a shrug). Well, there's no harm done, anywhere. Have another drink, Peter ? Peter. No, thanks — just put away a pretty stiff one. Chief made my knees shake. What a lot he thinks of you ! Old chap, I'll be going. \^IIe holds out his hand. Edward {shaking hands with him). Good-bye, Peter. Peter. I'll see you at the station in the morning. Last talk we shall have for some time. Well, God bless you, old man ! Edward. And you — with all my heart ! ( With a final shaJce^ and a nod, Peter goes. Ed- ward walks out with him — then sports his oak, closes the hall door, switches off the light in the hall, and returns, closing the door. He yawns and stretches himself- — gives a look round — shrugs his shoulders, lights a cigarette; and, for a second, stands, thinking, in front of the fire- place. Then, suddenly, he fiings the cigarette into the grate, loalks quickly across the room, switches off the light, and opens the door leading to the bedroom. A ray of light shines through the inner door. He pauses for a moment in sur- prise, but fiings the door open. Dorothy stands on the threshold.) Edward (starting back). You! Dorothy. Yes. Edward. You here ! Dorothy. I've been here for hours. Edward. How? 92 THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. Dorothy. You were out when I came — the woman let me in — I waited. Edward. She allowed you to wait after she left ? Dorothy. Yes. Edward. Why were you in there ? Dorothy. When you came Mr. Holland was with you — I slipped in there. ( With a shrug of annoyance Edward returns to tJie room^ sioitching on the light ; she follows^ and stands before him, trembling loith excitement and emotion. lie has mastered himself j and, xohen he speaks to her, he strives hard to make his voice not sound harsh or unkind.) Edward. Why have you come ? What can we two have to say to each other ? Dorothy {feverishly). This afternoon you wouldn't hear me. I've a right — a right — to be heard. Edward. You don't really think that anything you can tell me now would make any difference ? Dorothy. No. I'm not expecting that. You've finished with me, of course — I've killed your love, I know. I only want you to understand why — I have done — these things. Edward. It is really not necessary. You did them to save your brother. And let me tell you at once. He has been to Sir Henry. Dorothy. I know. I heard. Edward. You did ? Dorothy. You raised your voices. I heard what took place betjveen you and the old man. Edward. Very well then — so your mind can be at rest. You owe me nothing — nothing at all — and Mr. Gresham won't be called upon. Dorothy. I know. And I thank you for what you have done — even now — for my brother — and me. Edward (gently), I had given my word. Well, THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 93 don't you think you had better go home? Your people will be very uneasy. Dorothy. I must speak to you first. You leave for Rhodesia to-morrow ? Edward. Yes. Dorothy {loildly). So what could I do but come here ! I don't want you to despise me — too much. I want you to — understand — oh, not to forgive, but just to understand ! It was like this. I suddenly learned what Arnold had done. I discovered — and oh, I assure you, he was innocent of my scheme all through — I discovered that yon could save him, with one stroke of the pen. Edward (quietly). Become a thief too — help him to rob my employer ? Dorothy (faintly, hoioing her head), I didn't think your — passing the accounts — would mean all that, I didn't think at all — my brain seemed para- lyzed — I acted on blind impulse. I rushed off to St. Moritz— I didn't tell Walter— I didn't tell any- one. I had one idea — to save Arnold — that blotted out everything else. Edward. Wasn't I a human being, with a heart and soul of my own ? Dorothy. I was mad — mad with fear and anxiety. Out there I fell into my own trap — I loved you. Edward (gently). You mustn't say that — why do you say it ? If it were true, would you not have broken off your engagement with Mr. Gresham ? Dorothy. I had — deliberately — gone out to you — gone without his knowing — and he trusting me, believing in me — I couldn't — it would have seemed a — sort of — double treachery to me. So I said you and I must suffer — not Walter. That seemed — heroic — to me. To-day — well, he threw open the door. Edward. He has really behaved very well. He came back this afternoon — was ready to do what you asked him. 94 THE BUILDER OF BKIDGES. Dorothy. Yes, yes. But too late. And I com- pared him with you. And I suppose I realized then how insane I had been. Of course I've treated him badly — I've been appallingly wicked. And I was trying to be good — noble. If you could understand that— a little? Edward (almost soothingly). I know that you've done all this for your brother's sake. Dorothy. Not altogether bad — a victim too — not the awful creature you thought her. That's all I want — that you should try — not to think — too harshly — of me. . . . Now I'll go. I thank you for listening to me so patiently. Good-bye. [ She moves towards the door. Edward {accompanying her). Good-bye. J\Ir. Gresham seems a good fellow. I hope you'll be happy. Dorothy {stopping shorty with a sudden amazed turn towards him). You don't think I'll marry Walter? Edward. Why not ? You were engaged to him ? Dorothy. I drifted into that. I didn't know what love meant. No, no, I'll never marry. When you come back from Rhodesia — if you come back — I'll be as I am now. J3ecause, though you can't be- lieve it — and I've no right to expect you to believe it — in my life there has been you, and only you. Edward {with a gesture of pain). Oh don't, at this last moment, say such things to me ! Dorothy (passionately), because it's our last moment — because we're here alone, alone in this room, alone in the world, and the truth sounds more real 1 Think, why didn't I do the easy thing, break off my engagement with Walter? Because my love for you gave me a sense of honor I hadn't before — of duty — I felt I must do the thing that seemed right. It wasn't — I know that now — but it seemed right then. I thought here we must suffer, you and I, and part : that my love for you was eternal, and not of this world. Mad, mad, I know — but the truth THE BUILDER OF BRIDGES. 95 — and there you have all that was deepest in me — all my thoughts and intentions ! Yesterday I was a wild, foolish girl — to-day I'm twenty years older, I realise what I've done, that I've wantonly played with a good man's love. And I despise myself now as you despise me. Edward {firmly). No. Dorothy. Oh, thank you for that ! I've got my punishment — at least I'll bear it bravely. I deserve it. Good-bye. Edward (in deepest perplexity). Wait. This is all — strange. You want mei to believe that you loved me ? Dorothy {with all her soul). Yes ! Edward. And that it was because you loved me — oh, is it possible ! — that you were ready to sacri- fice yourself as well as me ? Dorothy. I knew that we loved each other, and nothing else seemed to count. Edward. And you'll wait for me ? Dorothy. Yes. Edward. Till I come back — years? Dorothy (eagerly). Yes — oh yes ! Edward. Give up your youth, your life ? Dorothy (fervently). All I have in the world ! Edward. This is true ? Dorothy. Look into my heart, and see ! Edward. If I said, come to Rhodesia with me now? Dorothy. I'd go with you to the end of the world ! Edward (opening his arms to her). Then, Doro- thy, my poor Dorothy, come 1 CURTAIN-. THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE LAST DATE STAMPED BELOW AN INITIAL FINE OF 25 CENTS WILL BE ASSESSED FOR FAILURE TO RETURN THIS BOOK ON THE DATE DUE. THE PENALTY WILL INCREASE TO 50 CENTS ON THE FOURTH DAY AND TO $t.OO ON THE SEVENTH DAY OVERDUE. DEC 4 1932 STANFORD INTERLIERARY l4aN NOV 111976 reCTJ AH/C I MM^, DECS 8 19Tr 1987 LD 'Jl-5Um-8,32 YB U.C. BERKELEY LIBRARIES BQD3D15fil>B