End of the Third Act — The Fourth Act
The scene is the same as in the preceding act, but the light outside is brighter and warmer and in the room is more diffused. On the table in the centre, placed close to the settee, there is a small tray with a breakfast of tea and toast upon it. The bedroom door is partly open.
Lily, wan and red-eyed, is lying, propped up by cushions, upon the settee. A newspaper is on her lap but she is gazing at vacancy. She is in négligé. A dainty morning-robe covers her night-gown, her bare feet are in slippers, and her hair is in a simple knot. Maud is at one of the drawers of the cupboard at the back, engaged in selecting some articles of lingerie, and Mrs. Upjohn, completely dressed for the day, is sitting in the arm-chair by the centre table, her face hidden by a newspaper which she is reading. Presently Maud shuts the drawer and, carrying the lingerie, comes forward.
Maud.
To Lily. What frock’ll you put on?
Lily.
Starting slightly. Eh?
Maud.
One of your embroidered muslins, or your Ninon?
Lily.
Languidly. Either; I don’t care.
Maud.
Oh, gracious, what on earth is the matter with you this morning! I’ve never known you as queer as this after any hop you’ve been to in my time. To Mrs. Upjohn, who has lowered her paper. Nothing wrong, is there?
Lily.
Turning over and burying her head in the cushions. Maud.
Maud.
Moving to the settee and bending over Lily. Here I am, lovey.
Lily.
In a muffled voice. Go into the next room and shut the door, and don’t let me see your stupid, fat face till I come to you.
Maud.
Laughing heartily. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! That’s better. Going to the bedroom door. That’s how I like to hear her talk. We needn’t send for Dr. Gilson yet awhile. Ha, ha, ha!
She disappears into the bedroom and closes the door.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Looking at Lily. Lil.
Lily.
Yes, mother?
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Ave another cup o’ tea, won’t you?
Lily.
No.
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Nother bit o’ toast, then?
Lily.
No.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Smoke a cigarette.
Lily.
No.
Mrs. Upjohn.
You always do ’ave a w’iff after your breakfast. Come!
Lily.
No.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Rising and walking away. Oh, dear; oh, dear! Deuce take Carlton Smythe an’ ’is supper party—those are my sentiments; an’ Lal Roper, busybody that ’e is! Things were goin’ on with us as smooth an’ peaceful as could be, before this upset.
Lily.
Raising herself, angrily. You were in it, mother; you’re as much to blame as anybody.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Halting. ’Ow in it?
Lily.
In Uncle Lal’s artful plan to prevent Nicko from being invited. You’ve confessed you were.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Lal twisted me round ’is little finger. I was clay in the porter’s ’and, as your dad was fond of sayin’.
Lily.
Changing her position. If only Nicko had been there, I shouldn’t have given young Farncombe all those dances, nor wandered about with him in the intervals, nor allowed him to see me home. It all simply wouldn’t, couldn’t have happened. Hitting a cushion. Oh! Sitting up and embracing her knees. Mother——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Behind the settee. Wot?
Lily.
Knitting her brows. I—I’m so surprised at myself.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Surprised?
Lily.
So—so disappointed with myself.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Why, you ’aven’t done anything that—that’s not quite respectable, Lil. On the cont’ry——
Lily.
No, I haven’t done anything that’s actually not nice, but—fancy!——
Mrs. Upjohn.
Close to Lily. Fancy——?
Lily.
Opening her eyes widely. Fancy my letting myself go with young Farncombe as I did! He—he’d been admiring me from a distance for weeks and weeks, but I’d scarcely noticed him till last night! Leaning her head against Mrs. Upjohn, softly. I—I always thought I was such a cold girl, mother, in—in that way.
Mrs. Upjohn.
I s’pose it was wot’s called love at first sight, Lil.
Lily.
Laughing shamefacedly. Ha, ha, ha! Putting her feet to the ground and shielding her face with her hands. Oh, don’t talk rot, mother.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Moving away. Any’ow, it’s not too late, Lil—even now——
Lily.
Not too late——?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Behind the centre table. To back out, dearie. The Captain couldn’t possibly ’old you to a ’asty promise given ’im between four an’ five in the mornin’.
Lily.
Oh! Oh, how can you! I’ve passed my word to Nicko and I wouldn’t break it for twenty thousand pounds. Looking up. Mother——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Fussing with the things upon the table. Yes?
Lily.
Resolutely. I’m going to pull Nicko up, mother. I’ve dragged him down, and I mean to raise him. Clenching her hands. So help me God, I do!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Well, you’ve got a tough job before you, Lil, in my opinion.
Lily.
Perhaps; but I mean to succeed. After a pause. Besides——
Mrs. Upjohn.
Besides——?
Lily.
Slowly. I’ve told you—Nicko or no Nicko—I’m determined—I’m determined not to draw Eddie Farncombe into my net.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Into your net? Another pause. Lil——
Lily.
Eh?
Mrs. Upjohn.
That’s twice you’ve made use o’ that remark. ’Oo’s accused you——? There is a lively rat-tat at the door on the left. Come in!
The door opens and Jimmie Birch bounces into the room.
Jimmie.
As she closes the door. Ah, Ma! Ah, Lillums!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Good mornin’.
Jimmie.
Kissing Mrs. Upjohn. Ha, ha! We’ve met before, this morning, haven’t we! Coming to Lily. Well, dear old girl, and how are you to-day? Kissing Lily and then eyeing her keenly. A wreck?
Lily.
Rather.
Jimmie.
I ought to be, but I’m not. Directly I laid my pretty head on my pillow I went off, and never stirred till I found the breakfast-tray on my chest. Reckoning on her fingers. Five to six—six to seven—seven to eight—eight to nine—nine to ten—ten to eleven. I’ve had six hours; that’s not so dusty. To Lily, slyly. You didn’t sleep very soundly, probably?
Lily.
Not very.
Jimmie.
Smiling from ear to ear. Excited? Lily shrugs her shoulders. There is a silence and then Jimmie, still beaming, looks round and sees that Mrs. Upjohn has seated herself upon the fauteuil-stool. May I sit down for a minute?
Lily.
Of course, Jimmie; do.
Jimmie sits in the arm-chair by the centre table, awaiting some communication which doesn’t come. Mrs. Upjohn drums upon the table with her fingers and Lily busies herself with re-arranging the cushions on the settee.
Jimmie.
After a while. Hope I haven’t dropped in too early?
Lily.
Settling her shoulders into the cushions. Not a bit, dear.
Jimmie.
It’s nearly half-past twelve. I—I dashed round. After another pause, unable to restrain herself further. Any news? Any-any-anything to tell me?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Abruptly. Yes.
Jimmie.
W-w-what——?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Lil’s engaged.
Jimmie.
Hah! Triumphantly. Hah, hah! Clapping her hands and beating her feet upon the floor. Hah, hah, hah, hah! Jumping up and sitting beside Lily and hugging and kissing her. Oh! Oh! Oh! Y’m! Y’m! Y’m! Oh, you humbugs! Rising and rushing at Mrs. Upjohn and embracing her. You solemn humbug, Ma! Leaving Mrs. Upjohn and singing and dancing to the refrain sung in the previous Act. “If you would only, only love me;—” Ha, ha, ha! “If you would merely, merely say,——” Her voice gradually dying away as she sees that the expression on Lily’s face, and upon Mrs. Upjohn’s, doesn’t alter. “Wait but a little— standing still little—for me——”
Mrs. Upjohn.
Caustically. Yes, you ’ad better wait a little; you’d better wait till you ’ear ’oo she’s engaged to.
Jimmie.
Who—to!
Lily.
Studying her nails. Whom to, mother.
Jimmie.
Why, isn’t it——?
Mrs. Upjohn.
No, it ain’t. It’s the Captain.
Jimmie.
T-t-the Cap—! To Lily. N-n-nicko? Lily nods. Jimmie draws a deep breath. Oh-h-h-h!
Lily.
Calmly. Nicko turned up here early this morning—while Eddie—while Lord Farncombe was with me, in fact—and I—we—the three of us—we talked matters over, and—and——
Jimmie.
Her eyes starting out of her head. Was there a row?
Lily.
Oh, don’t be so curious, Jimmie. Poor Nicko has been after me for six years. A girl must play the game, if she’s at all decent and wishes to preserve a shred of self-respect.
Again there is a pause and then Jimmie silently resumes her seat in the arm-chair.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Moistening her lips with her tongue—to Jimmie. ’Ow do you feel about it?
Jimmie.
Thoughtfully. How do I feel about it? To Lily. May I say?
Lily.
Coldly. Certainly.
Jimmie.
Rubbing the arm of her chair with the palm of her hand. Well, if I were on board a ship at this moment, I should be ringing for the stewardess; that’s how I feel about it.
Lily.
Throwing herself, face downward, at full length upon the settee. Oh! Oh, you’re just like the rest of our girls on the question of marriage! You—you—you’re detestable!
Jimmie.
Sliding out of her chair and kneeling at the settee and putting an arm round Lily. Oh, Lil—Lil——!
Lily.
Repulsing her. Yes, you are! Raising herself upon her elbow. You’d rejoice to see me draw this boy into my net, wouldn’t you! You know you would. Mrs. Upjohn rises and comes forward. I dare say you jolly well wouldn’t object to catching him yourself if you’d half a chance! Fiercely. You try it; you try it—you, or any of you!
Jimmie.
Attempting to rise, scandalised. Oh——!
Lily.
Holding her. No, no——! Jimmie——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Lil, I’m perfec’ly ashamed of you, speakin’ to Jimmie Birch in that manner.
Lily.
Dropping her head on Jimmie’s shoulder. Oh——!
Jimmie.
She doesn’t mean it.
Mrs. Upjohn.
I ’ope not. It ain’t exac’ly pleasant to ’ave a dog in the manger for a daughter. To Lily. Why shouldn’t young Farncombe turn ’is attention to Miss Birch, pray, or to any young lady who doesn’t object to take your leavin’s!
Jimmie.
To Mrs. Upjohn. H’sh, h’sh, h’sh!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Walking about. No, I won’t ’ush!
Jimmie.
To Lily, quietly. I’ll come back in the afternoon.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Lil seems to ’ave got some maggot or other in ’er brain about drawin’ Lord Farncombe into ’er net. Net indeed! Jimmie, not heeding Mrs. Upjohn, arranges Lily comfortably upon the settee and then rises and smoothes out her skirt preparatory to departure. As Lal Roper was sayin’ yesterday, our tiptop, aristocratic English fam’lies ought to be ’xtremely grateful that strong, ’ealthy perfeshunals o’ the class of Miss ’Arker an’ Miss Trevail an’ Miss Shafto are enterin’ their ranks. An’ if Lil chooses to be pig-’eaded enough——! Jimmie makes a movement towards Mrs. Upjohn. ’Ave a bottle o’ ginger beer before you go. There is a prolonged, playful knocking at the door on the left followed, on the part of those in the room, by a gloomy pause. That is Lal.
Lily.
Groaning. Oh-h-h-h!
Jimmie.
Drawing a long face. H’m!
Lily.
To Jimmie. Oh, Jimmie—stay——!
The knocking is repeated. Jimmie retreats to the right as Mrs. Upjohn goes to the door and opens it. Roper is outside.
Roper.
Entering, in high spirits. Hullo, hullo, hullo, hul-lo! Embracing Mrs. Upjohn. Morning, Ma! Advancing. Any more bids for the handsome gilt candelabra with the crystal drops? Ha, ha, ha! To Jimmie. Morning, Jimmie! Looking down, upon Lily, eagerly. Well, Lil! Well, my pet!
Lily.
In a weary tone, giving him the tips of her fingers and then turning upon her side with her face to the back of the settee. How are you, Uncle Lal?
Roper.
Chilled. Oh, I—thank you, Lil— After a short pause, to Mrs. Upjohn—glancing at Lily. Not up to much to-day?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Glumly. No great shakes.
Roper.
Dancing too hard, I ’spect.
Mrs. Upjohn.
A deal too ’ard.
Roper.
After another pause. Anything else amiss, Ma?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Sitting upon the box-ottoman—to Jimmie, who is at the piano examining some of the music. You tell Lal, Jimmie.
Roper.
T-t-tell—? To Jimmie, who comes to the settee—apprehensively. Jimmie——!
Jimmie.
Behind the settee, gravely. No, the old Pandora isn’t going to score this time, Lal.
Roper.
Isn’t going to—? I d-d-don’t follow you.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Be plain, Jimmie.
Jimmie.
Endeavouring to relieve the situation. Ha, ha! Nature’s taken precious good care of that, in my case.
Roper.
Angrily. Now, look here, Jimmie! A jest is a capital thing in its way. No man has a keener sense of humour than Lal Roper. But there are occasions when it’s out o’ place, and this is one of ’em, my dear; and if it’s not putting you to serious inconvenience——
Jimmie.
Also losing her temper. Oh, well, then, have it in the neck! Lil’s declined young Farncombe. There! And when you crack a joke next, Mr. Roper, I beg you’ll contrive to favour us with a little variety; flouncing away because you bore me pallid with your rotten wheezes, and always have done.
Roper.
Going to Mrs. Upjohn, aghast at the tidings. Ma——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
To Roper, under her breath. Won’t draw ’im into ’er net, Uncle.
Roper.
Won’t draw him into her——?
Jimmie.
At the back. K-n-e-double t—net!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Pacifically. Jimmie——!
Jimmie.
Mimicking Roper derisively. Hullo, hullo, hullo, hul-lo! Fresh fish from the sea! Buy ’em on the beach; buy ’em on the beach; buy ’em on the beach!
Roper.
To Jimmie, indignantly. Jimmie Birch——!
Jimmie.
Sitting upon the fauteuil-stool. Ha, ha!
Roper.
To Mrs. Upjohn, wiping his brow. Of course, there is this to be said, Ma. Rallying at the idea. It may be wise of dear Lil to decline Farncombe at first. It—it—it—it doesn’t do for a girl, does it, to appear to throw herself at any man, let alone a young fellow of the position—the—the—the social status——!
Lily.
Suddenly sitting up and putting her feet to the floor again. Oh, for mercy’s sake, cease discussing my affairs in my presence! To Mrs. Upjohn. Mother, why do you keep Uncle Lal in the dark? To Jimmie. Jimmie, why don’t you——?
Roper.
In the dark!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Yes, Lal; your flyin’ out at Jimmie over ’er ’armless joke stopped ’er finishin’.
Roper.
Finishing——?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Lil’s not on’y refused young Farncombe but she’s gone an’ plighted ’erself to another individual.
Roper.
Plighted herself——?
Lily.
Passionately. To one of the best! To one of the best!
Roper.
Stupefied. Do I—do I know him?
Jimmie.
Ha!
Lily.
Know him! You know him sufficiently to have plotted and schemed to prevent his being asked to the party last night.
Jimmie.
To Lily. Did Lal do that?
Lily.
Did he!
Jimmie.
Impudence!
Roper.
Sitting in the arm-chair by the centre table—quietly. Jeyes!
Jimmie.
Nicko.
Lily.
Firmly. Nicko.
Mrs. Upjohn.
But the Captain was at the party last night notwithstandin’.
Jimmie.
To Mrs. Upjohn. Nonsense, Ma!
Lily.
Yes, Nicko managed to get into the theatre somehow or other.
Jimmie.
To Lily. And watched you and young Farncombe——!
Lily.
And stationed himself under the portico of Twenty seven, to see who brought me home.
Jimmie.
Oh——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
’E’s always been frightfully jealous, the Captain ’as.
Jimmie.
Looking at Roper. Oh, so really it’s entirely owing to Lal Roper’s interference that matters were brought to a head this morning!
Lily.
Her eyes flashing. Entirely.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Joining in the attack upon Roper. Yes, if Lal ’ad been content to mind ’is own business——
Jimmie.
And hadn’t meddled——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
An’ muddled——!
Jimmie.
Things might have gone on much the same as before.
Mrs. Upjohn.
An’ might ’ave ended different.
Lily.
Rising and walking away to the right. Ah, no, mother——!
Jimmie.
Rising and joining Lily. Certainly they might.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Rising. Any’ow I ’ope it’ll be a lesson to Lal——
Jimmie.
Do you, Ma!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Moving over to the girls. Not to put ’is fingers into other people’s pies.
Jimmie.
To Mrs. Upjohn, with a withering glance at Roper. Oh, you are sanguine!
Roper.
Rising and straightening himself out. Ma—Mrs. Upjohn—Lily——
Jimmie.
Scornfully. Hullo, hullo, hullo, hul-lo——!
Roper.
To Jimmie. P’sh! Impressively. Ma—Lily—for years—longer than it’s agreeable to count—I’ve been a patron of the drama—particularly musical comedy, of which I’ve studied the development with especial interest.
Jimmie.
Resting her elbows upon the back of the settee. Yes, you’ve studied a lot of development, Lal, in your day.
Roper.
Ignoring Jimmie. It’s been a fad with me; I put it no higher than that. Producing his gloves. But I’ve devoted time to it——
Jimmie.
Any amount.
Roper.
Drawing a glove on. Often to the neglect of my ventures in the City. Here I am now, for instance.
Jimmie.
That’s obvious.
Roper.
And—I frankly admit it—I’ve had more than one serious dispute with Mrs. Roper on the subject. Jimmie softly whistles a few bars of “Rule, Britannia.” Yesterday, by a coincidence— feeling the outside of his breast-pocket letter from the wife—full o’ complaints—haven’t been to Bexhill, to her and the kids, for weeks. And to do Ellen Roper justice, she’s not the woman to grumble without cause. Picking up his hat and cane which he has placed upon the centre table. Dash it all, home ties are home ties! Polishing his hat with his sleeve. And, taking one consideration with another—and after this—this occurrence—it’s my intention for the future—my firm intention——
Lily.
Running to Roper and throwing her arms around his neck. Oh, Uncle Lal, not altogether! We’re tired and cross this morning! Not altogether!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Behind the centre table. No, no, Uncle, you mustn’t——!
Lily.
To Roper. Forgive us! Coaxingly. Mother and Jimmie are cats——!
Mrs. Upjohn and Jimmie.
Oh——!
The door on the left opens, and Gladys enters with a card on a salver.
Gladys.
Advancing to Lily. Are you in?
Lily.
In?
Gladys.
Surveying Lily with mingled disdain and pity. Oh you do look washed out!
Lily.
Going to Gladys. Never you mind whether I look washed out or not. Who is it?
Lily takes the card, reads some writing upon it, and stands twiddling the card in her fingers.
Gladys.
They’re in the dining-room.
Lily.
To Gladys, after a pause. W-wait outside—on the landing.
Gladys.
Oh, all right. This won’t get my silver cleaned.
Gladys withdraws. Lily waits for the door to close and then walks about distractedly.
Lily.
Oh, why can’t they leave me alone! What do they want with me now, both of them!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Moving towards Lily. ’Oo——?
Lily.
Nicko’s downstairs—with Lord Farncombe.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Lord Farncombe——!
Roper.
And Jeyes!
Lily.
Reading the card again. Nicko asks me to see him and the boy together. Roper and Mrs. Upjohn go to Lily, one on each side of her, and try to read the card. She pushes them from her and sits in the arm-chair by the centre table. I won’t; I won’t.
Jimmie.
Joining Mrs. Upjohn and Roper. Yes, yes, Lil; do.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Bewildered. Wot——?
Jimmie.
Perhaps they’ve arrived at a friendly understanding——!
Roper.
Understanding?
Jimmie.
Excitedly. And have come to propose that Lil should choose between them!
Roper.
Great Scot——!
Lily.
I have chosen; I have chosen. It’s settled.
Roper.
Undoubtedly she ought to see them.
Lily.
It’s a shame to persecute me so—a shame!
Jimmie, Mrs. Upjohn, and Roper.
Behind Lily’s chair. Lil! Lily——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Give ’em a minute, dear.
Roper.
Hear what they’ve got to say.
Jimmie.
It would be uncivil not to.
Lily.
Oh—! Oh——!
Jimmie.
Buck up, Lil!
Roper.
My pet!
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Ark to reason, dearie.
To Lily, urgently.
Jimmie, Mrs. Upjohn, and Roper.
Lil! Lily——!
Lily.
Yielding helplessly. Oh, very well——
Jimmie, Mrs. Upjohn, and Roper.
Ah——!
Lily.
Tell Gladys—when I ring——
Jimmie.
Flying to the door on the left. I’ll tell her.
Roper.
To Mrs. Upjohn, importantly. Lucky I was on the spot; lucky I was on the spot.
Jimmie.
On the landing, to Gladys. Bring the gentlemen up when Miss Lily rings.
Lily.
Rising and pacing the room on the right. Give me some stockings!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Hurrying into the bedroom. Yes, dearie. As she disappears. Maud——!
Jimmie.
Returning and closing the door and then whispering to Roper. Bet my boots that’s it!
Roper.
To Jimmie, in a whisper. Choose between ’em!
Jimmie.
What else can it be?
Roper.
I can’t——
Jimmie.
Throwing herself into Roper’s arms. Oh, if it is!
Roper.
Hugging her. Oh——!
Jimmie.
Suddenly, releasing herself. Oh——! Haughtily. Thought you were Lily.
Mrs. Upjohn returns, carrying a pair of stockings. Lily seats herself upon the fauteuil-stool where, concealed by the centre table, she draws on the stockings with Mrs. Upjohn’s assistance.
Lily.
Whimpering. Oh—! Oh——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Don’t, dearie; don’t. Mother’s ’ere.
Roper.
Impatiently. I—ah—I think I’ll run downstairs and shake hands with Jeyes and Farncombe while Lily’s tidying herself.
Jimmie.
Who has moved over to the right—to Roper. Be careful. I should advise you not to risk it.
Roper.
At the door. Risk it?
Jimmie.
If Nicko knows you were the cause of his being shut out of the party last night, he’ll simply throttle you.
Roper.
Opening the door. Throttle me! Formidably. Throttle Lal Roper——!
He disappears, closing the door, as Maud enters from the bedroom with a pair of shoes.
Lily.
Weakly. Oh! Oh! Oh! Get me something to keep these up with.
Jimmie.
To Maud. Ribbon——
Mrs. Upjohn.
Snatching the shoes from Maud. Ribbon.
Maud opens one of the drawers underneath the further cupboard on the left and finds a roll of bright, new ribbon, while Jimmie, searching among the objects on the centre table, discovers the case of manicure instruments and takes from it a pair of scissors.
Lily.
Putting on her shoes—to Mrs. Upjohn. No, no; that’s the left foot—oh——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Don’t agitate yourself, dearie. Mother’s ’ere.
Maud comes to the centre table with the ribbon and Jimmie cuts off two lengths from the roll.
Maud.
To Jimmie. Morning, Miss Jimmie!
Jimmie.
To Maud. Morning!
Lily.
To Mrs. Upjohn. Where’s the mirror? Where’s the mirror?
Mrs. Upjohn.
Taking the mirror from the table and giving it to Lily. ’Ere it is, dearie; ’ere it is. An’ I’m ’ere too.
Lily.
Viewing herself in the mirror and running her hand over her hair. Oh, how horrid I look! Jimmie goes to Lily with the two lengths of ribbon and Maud replaces the roll in the drawer. Ring the bell. Jimmie hands Lily the garters, relieving her of the mirror, and Mrs. Upjohn hastens to the fireplace and presses the bell-push continuously. That’ll do, Maud; you hook it.
Maud.
Going to the bedroom door. Ha, ha, ha! Ho, ho, ho! That’s how I like to hear her talk. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Maud vanishes into the bedroom, closing the door, and Lily, having tied up her stockings, rises and comes to the settee.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Still pressing the bell-push. Now I don’t believe I’ve rung.
Lily.
At the uttermost tension. Ah, stop it, mother; stop it! Sitting on the settee. We’re not calling the fire-brigade.
Jimmie.
At the back of the settee, to Lily. I’ll wait in your bedroom till the men have been shown up, and sneak out that way. Bending over Lily. Mind! If Nicko is willing, after all, that you should make your choice——
Mrs. Upjohn.
Advancing. Yes, dearie, if ’e is willing——
Lily.
Frantically. I tell you I have made it. I keep on telling you I’ve chosen—I’ve chosen—I’ve chosen! Clenching her hands. If you torment me any more, either of you——!
Mrs. Upjohn and Jimmie retreat precipitately to the bedroom door. They open the door and then, standing in the doorway, listen intently.
Jimmie.
Disappearing. Ah——!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Partially disappearing. Ah—! Only her head visible, speaking to Lily in a hoarse whisper. Mother’s ’ere, dearie.
The head is withdrawn and the door softly closed. After a pause, Gladys enters at the other door followed by Jeyes and Farncombe. The men are carrying their hats and canes. Gladys retires, closing the door, and Jeyes comes to Lily and shakes hands with her.
Jeyes.
To Lily, gently. How are you to-day, Lil? Very fagged?
Lily.
Almost inaudibly. I am a little. Jeyes turns from her, to lay his hat and cane upon the box-ottoman, and then Farncombe, who has hung back, advances hesitatingly to the further side of the centre table and bows to Lily. She rises and, avoiding his eyes, gives him a limp hand across the table. How d’ye do? To Jeyes who, having got rid of his hat and cane, moves away from the ottoman. Sit down, won’t you? She resumes her seat upon the settee and Jeyes, with a nod, sits in the arm-chair by the centre table. Farncombe remains standing and again she addresses him without meeting his eyes. And you?
Farncombe, with another bow, sits upon the fauteuil-stool. There is a brief silence and then Jeyes speaks.
Jeyes.
Lil——
Lily.
Y-yes?
Jeyes.
In the first place, Farncombe wants you distinctly to understand how it is he’s committing this breach of his compact with you. To Farncombe. You promised——?
Farncombe.
I promised never to attempt to come near Miss Parradell again, nor even to enter the theatre.
Jeyes.
To Lily. And if I’m any judge of a man, Lily, Farncombe would have kept his promise. He’d have kept it faithfully, but for me. I’ve brought him along—insisted on it. Emphatically. I’ve brought him along. See?
Lily.
W-w-why, Nicko?
Jeyes.
I’ll tell you, my dear. You remember, when we left you early this morning, ordering us to walk away together and to part good friends?
Lily.
P-perfectly.
Jeyes.
Well, we did walk away together, and we did part good friends. But we didn’t part at all till some hours later, in his rooms. We didn’t part till I’d made him stand by me and listen to me while I had a long jaw with my brother on the ’phone.
Lily.
Wonderingly. With—your——?
Jeyes.
About that Rhodesian business.
Lily.
What Rhodesian business?
Jeyes.
I mentioned it to you yesterday. Bob owns a third, with Peter Chalmers and Tom Dalby, of a group of farms near Bulawayo, and he’s been badgering me eternally to cut this and to settle out there as their agent. Simply. And I’ve accepted, old girl.
Lily.
With a blank face. Ac-cepted?
Jeyes.
Grimly. Leaving you to bring an action against me, to recover damages for a broken heart. Drawing a deep breath. Yes, I’m chucking you, Lil. I give you formal notice of my intention; and you can drive down to your solicitors this afternoon and instruct them to writ me without delay. Forcing a laugh. Ha, ha, ha!
Lily.
Faintly. Nicko——!
Jeyes.
Unless—unless you’ve an idea of consoling yourself shortly with—with another chap, and prefer not to carry the matter into Court.
Lily.
About to rise. Nicko——!
Jeyes.
Restraining her by a gesture. H’sh! No, no, no. She sinks back. Ah, Lil—Lil—I know you’re full of generous, honest impulses, though I did tear you to rags in Farncombe’s hearing a few hours ago. But I’m not going to allow you to sacrifice yourself to them; I—I—I’ve come to my senses, and I’m not going to permit it. Bending forward. Oh, my dear, why should I make you pay for the weaknesses of my character? Because that’s what it ’ud amount to. I’ve bullied you for having played skittles with my life, my career. So you have! Damn it, so you have! But you’ve done it out of blind thoughtlessness; and if I’d been a fairly strong man, with some ballast in me, you couldn’t have landed me where I am—not you nor fifty Pandora girls! Sitting erect. And that—that’s the moral of the tale; and—and— abruptly, to Farncombe There’s nothing more, is there, Farncombe?
Farncombe.
Brokenly. Except that—that I’d like to repeat—what I’ve already said to Jeyes—that I— his elbows on the table, his head bowed oh, you make me feel terribly small, Jeyes.
Again there is a pause, and then Lily struggles to her feet and holds out her hand to Jeyes uncertainly, and at once he rises and takes her in his arms. Farncombe also rises and, standing behind the settee, turns his back to Jeyes and Lily.
Lily.
To Jeyes, choking. Ah, Nicko—I can’t—I can’t——
Jeyes.
Patting her shoulder. Ah——!
Lily.
Why, what—what would become of my resolutions——?
Jeyes.
Resolutions?
Lily.
To—to raise you up, Nicko.
Jeyes.
You are raising me up—setting me on my legs again.
Lily.
In a fright. And—and drawing Eddie into my net!
Jeyes.
Oh, we’ve talked of that too, he and I. He’s given me an account of what passed between you here. My dear girl, your conscience may be quite clear on that point. Nobody can ever reproach you with trying to draw him into your net.
Lily.
They would—they would——
Jeyes.
At all events, the task you have to face now is to prove to the world—his world—that Miss Parradell is equal to playing “lead” on a bigger stage than the stage of the Pandora. Holding her at arms’ length and shaking her fondly. And you’ll do it! Ho, ho, ho, ho! You’ll do it! Ha, ha, ha—! His voice dies away miserably and he releases her. Then, pulling himself together, he looks at his watch. Well, I’ve got to lunch with Bob at half-past one at the Junior Carlton——
Lily.
Agitatedly. Ah, it’s not nearly that, Nicko; it’s not nearly that! Nicko—! She passes him, moving towards the door on the left as if to intercept him, and then turns to him. A strip of ribbon lies upon the spot where she has been standing. After gazing at it for a moment, he stoops and picks it up. Oh—! He folds the ribbon carefully and puts it into his pocket. Oh—! Hitching up her stocking through her robe, piteously. Ha, ha!
Jeyes.
Ha, ha, ha——!
They face one another, laughing, and then she sits upon the fauteuil-stool and drops her head upon the table and he fetches his hat and cane from the box-ottoman.
Lily.
Weeping. Nicko—Nicko——!
Jeyes.
Coming to her. Oh, this isn’t good-bye, Lil, not by any manner o’ means, my dear. We’ll kill the fatted calf several times before I start—you, I, and the boy. Besides, by-and-by, you and he must take a trip and come out to see me. “Seringa Vale” is the farm where I shall be quartered, Bob tells me. Looking into space. Jermyn Street to Seringa Vale! Shaking himself. Ph’h, there are no great distances in these days! To Farncombe, with a change of tone. Farncombe— Farncombe comes forward. You dine with me to-night, recollect; it’s an engagement.
Farncombe.
Yes.
Jeyes.
Eight o’clock.
Farncombe.
Eight o’clock.
Jeyes.
Catani’s.
Farncombe.
Catani’s.
Without looking at Lily again, Jeyes goes to the door and opens it. Farncombe follows him and the two men halt in the doorway.
Jeyes.
To Farncombe, with a motion of his head towards Lily. And afterwards—you fetch her from the theatre and take her home. That’s your job.
Lily.
Rising. Oh——!
Farncombe goes out on to the landing with Jeyes and parts from him at the top of the stairs. Then Farncombe slowly returns, closes the door, and finds Lily sitting upon the settee in a woeful attitude.
Farncombe.
Coming to Lily and standing before her, thoughtfully. Lily——
Lily.
Feebly. Eh—eh——?
Farncombe.
I’m afraid there’s one thing finer than winning the woman you love and, when you’ve won her, being prepared to go through fire and water for her.
Lily.
What’s that?
Farncombe.
Having the courage to give her up, as Jeyes has done.
Lily.
With a renewed outburst. Oh, Nicko! Poor Nicko! Poor Nicko!
Farncombe.
Sitting beside her and taking her hand consolingly. By George, he’s a brick, isn’t he!
Lily.
After a pause, drying her eyes. Eddie——
Farncombe.
Yes?
Lily.
If—if ever we marry——
Farncombe.
His jaw falling. If——!
Lily.
W-w-when, then. When we marry, you’ll be obliged to resign your commission in the Guards, won’t you?
Farncombe.
Snapping his fingers. P’sh! I shan’t care a rap about that.
Lily.
Snatching her hand away. The snobs! The snobs! They’d let you marry any bit of trash in your own set; but a Pandora girl, though she’s as pure as the Queen of England——! Oh, the contemptible snobs!
Farncombe.
Regaining possession of her hand. H’sh! H’sh! It—it’s the practice——
Lily.
Blow the practice! A cheerful reflection for me, it’ll be. The arrant snobs!
Farncombe.
Stroking her hand. Ah! Ah!
Lily.
And then—poor mother! You—you won’t be very proud of poor mother.
Farncombe.
Your mother? Boyishly. Oh, she—she’s an awfully good sort.
Lily.
She hasn’t an H. to her name.
Farncombe.
Inadvertently. She oughtn’t to have.
Lily.
Withdrawing her hand again, sharply. She calls herself Hupjohn, you mean!
Farncombe.
Distressed. No, no, no. In a difficulty. Er—at any rate, h’s don’t lead you to heaven, do they?
Lily.
Gloomily. You’re right; mother’s lead her to ’eaven. Rising and walking away. Well, you’d better go now.
Farncombe.
Rising. And to-night——?
Lily.
No; I’ll come home alone.
Farncombe.
Lily——!
Lily.
Imperatively. Please——!
Farncombe.
When——?
Lily.
Moving to the door on the left. Not for two or three days. Give me time to shake down over this.
Farncombe.
Taking up his hat and cane which he has left upon the centre table. Sunday?
Lily.
Fretfully. No.
Farncombe.
Monday?
Lily.
Opening the door. No.
Farncombe.
Joining her at the door. Tuesday?
Lily.
Appealingly. I—I’ll write. Again he takes her hand, she keeping him at a distance. He attempts to lessen the distance, but she checks him, shaking her head. Not just yet, Eddie. He smiles at her tenderly and, with a bow, departs. From the doorway, she watches him disappear; then she shuts the door and wanders listlessly to the door of the bedroom. Her hand lingers upon the knob for a moment, and then she opens the door a little way and calls. Mother! Mother——!
She leaves the door and is returning to the settee when Mrs. Upjohn enters.
Mrs. Upjohn.
All agog. Yes, Lil? Lily seats herself upon the settee without speaking. Yes, dearie; yes? Advancing to the centre table. ’Ave they given you your choice?
Lily.
Dully. No; they’ve given me no choice.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Advancing further. Wot——?
Lily.
Nicko’s going out to South Africa, mother.
Mrs. Upjohn.
South Africa!
Lily.
Well, to Rhodesia.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Then you’re free, Lil!
Lily.
No, I’m not.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Not!
Lily.
Nicko—Nicko’s handed me over, mother.
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Anded you over!
Lily.
To—to Lord Farncombe.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Gasping. An’ you an’ the young gentleman——!
Lily.
I—I suppose so.
Mrs. Upjohn.
Oh—! Sinking into the arm chair by the centre table. Oh, the dear Captain!
Lily.
Transferring herself from the settee to Mrs. Upjohn’s lap. Oh! Oh! Oh! Putting her arms round Mrs. Upjohn’s neck. Oh, poor Nicko!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Soothingly. ’E’ll ’ave ’is reward, Lil; ’e’ll ’ave ’is reward ’ereafter.
Lily.
And poor Carlton Smythe! Oh, poor Carlton!
Mrs. Upjohn.
Poor Carlton——?
Lily.
He’s losing every one of his best girls, mother. Gwennie Harker—Maidie Trevail—Eva Shafto—and now me! Oh, poor Carlton!
Mrs. Upjohn.
’Ush, dearie; ’ush! Don’t consider ’im! Rocking Lily to and fro like a baby. Think—think wot a lot o’ good you’re all doin’ to the aristocracy!
The door on the left opens and Jimmie and Roper look in gleefully and then tiptoe towards Lily and Mrs. Upjohn.
The End