Alfred Sutro

“ If she does love me she shouldn't have said it—Jack's wife!"
SIR GEOFFREY. [Sturdily.] Well—Jack's wife. Yes!
LADY TORMINSTER. Geoffrey, Jack bores me.
SIR GEOFFREY. [Aghast.] Lady Torminster!
LADY TORMINSTER. [Clapping her hands in glee.] There! I've said it! Oh, it's such a relief! I never have before, and I don't suppose I ever shall again—for whom can I say it to but you? Listen—I tell you—quite entre nous—he bores me shockingly!
SIR GEOFFREY. [In positive distress.] Lady Torminster! I beg of you!
LADY TORMINSTER. [Cheerfully.] The best fellow in all the world, and he bores me. ”

“ Good-night.
SIR GEOFFREY. Good-night.
LADY TORMINSTER. And you really had better go to bed.
SIR GEOFFREY. I move as an amendment that you sit down and talk.
LADY TORMINSTER. At this time of night!
SIR GEOFFREY. Why not? It's day in the Antipodes.
LADY TORMINSTER. And in this attire!
[She glances at her peignoir.
SIR GEOFFREY. Pooh! You are more dressed than you were at dinner. That's awfully rude, isn't it? But then, you see, you're not my hostess now—you're a spirit, walking in the night. One can't be polite to spirits. Sit down, oh shade, and let us converse.
LADY TORMINSTER. [Hesitating.] ”

“ Not only myself—but Minnie—Joe, it's too much for me! I can't stand Minnie crying, and asking me for her breakfast, as she will in the morning. Joe, dear Joe, let there be no morning!
JOE. [Completely overcome.] Oh, Mary, Mary!
MARY. It's not your fault, dear—you've done what you could. Not your fault they won't let you work—you've tried hard enough. And no woman ever had a better husband than you've been to me. I love you, dear Joe. And let's do it—let's make an end. And take Minnie with us.
JOE. [Springing up.] Mary, I'll steal something to-morrow. ”

“ LADY TORMINSTER. Why?
SIR GEOFFREY. Well, one must breakfast somewhere. It's a convention.
LADY TORMINSTER. Sir Geoffrey, I want you to tell me what this means.
SIR GEOFFREY. Give your decision, said the judge to the arbitrator, but never your reasons. I go, because I go. Besides, has one reasons? Why do people die, or get married, or buy umbrellas? Because of typhoid, love, or the rain? Not at all. Isn't that so?
LADY TORMINSTER. I wish you'd be serious.
SIR GEOFFREY. I'm fearfully serious. When Jack shot that tiger he had to go so near the brute that he held his life in his hands. ”

“ A dog's life—that's what it is!
WALTER. Better than being a stockbroker's clerk—you believe me!
HECTOR. Is it? I wish you could have a turn at it, my bonny boy! Your hair'd go grey, like mine! And look here—what are the plays to-day? They're either so chock-full of intellect that they send you to sleep—or they reek of sentiment till you yearn for the smell of a cabbage!
WALTER. Well, you've the change, at any rate.
HECTOR. [Snorting.] Change? By Jove, give me a Punch and Judy show on the sands—or performing dogs! Plays—I'm sick of 'em! And look here—the one I'm off to to-night. ”

“ SIR GEOFFREY. [A little uncomfortable.] Persian poets, like all poets, have a funny way of pretending that the stars take an interest in us. To me, it's their chief charm that they're so unconcerned. They are lonely, too.
LADY TORMINSTER. [Suddenly, violently.] Don't say that again—don't—I can't bear it!
SIR GEOFFREY. [Aghast.] Gertrude!!!
LADY TORMINSTER. [In a whisper.] Yes.
[He stares haggardly at her; she does not move, but looks out, through the open window, into the night.
SIR GEOFFREY. [With a deep breath.] ”

“ Lady Aline, I am a self-made man, as the foolish phrase has it—a man whose early years were spent in savage and desolate places, where the devil had much to say; a man in whom whatever there once had been of natural kindness was very soon kicked out. I was poor, and lonely, for thirty-two years: I have been rich, and lonely, for ten. My millions have been made honestly enough; but poverty and wretchedness had left their mark on me, and you will find very few men with a good word to say for Harrison Crockstead. ”

“ JOE. I may meet some one I used to know.
MARY. You've met them before—they always refuse—
JOE. [Passionately.] I've done nothing wrong—I haven't drunk or gambled—I can't help being only a clerk, and unable to do heavy work! I can't help my lungs being weak! I've a wife and a child, like other people—and all we ask is to be allowed to live!
MARY. [Pleading.] Let's give it up, Joe. Go away together, you'd sleep without coughing. Sleep, that's all. And God will be kinder than men. ”

“ Against the right wall is a long sofa; above it hang a few good, water-colours and engravings; on the piano and the table there are flowers. A general appearance of refinement and comfort pervades the room; no luxury, but evidence everywhere of good taste, and the countless feminine touches that make a room homelike and pleasant.
When the curtain rises, HECTOR ALLEN, a youngish man of forty, with an attractive intellectual face, is seen standing by the dining-table in the inner room, draining his liqueur-glass, with WALTER COZENS to the right of him, lighting a cigarette. ”

“ SIR GEOFFREY. [Doggedly.] You are talking to Jack's friend.
LADY TORMINSTER. Jack's friend—and mine—don't forget that! And could I say these things about Jack to any one else, and can't you conceive what a joy it is to say them? Besides, aren't we just now on the rim of the world—aren't we a little more than ourselves—aren't we almost on the other side of things? If we ever meet again, we shall look curiously at each other, and wonder, was it all true? As it is, I am scarcely sure that you are real. Everything is so still, so strange. Jack! ”

“ JOE. No one followed you?
MARY. No one. I couldn't run, as I had to carry Minnie.
JOE. What made you do it?
MARY. I don't know—something in me did it—She put the purse down just by the side of my hand—my fingers clutched it before I knew—and I was out in the street.
JOE. How much is there in it?
MARY. I haven't looked, Joe.
JOE. [Wondering.] You haven't looked?
MARY. No; I didn't dare.
JOE. [Sorrowfully.] I didn't think we'd come to this, Mary.
MARY. [Desperately.] We've got to do something. Before we can earn any money at making matchboxes we'll have to spend some weeks learning. ”

“ SIR GEOFFREY. Agreed.
[He hands her the box; she takes a cigarette; he strikes a match and holds it for her; he then takes a cigarette himself, and lights it.
SIR GEOFFREY. And, while smoking it, remember Penelope's web. For I've heaps of things to tell you.
LADY TORMINSTER. They'll keep till to-morrow.
SIR GEOFFREY. That's a fearful delusion. Nothing keeps. There is one law in the universe: NOW.
LADY TORMINSTER. I want to know what you mean by this nonsense about your going.
SIR GEOFFREY. [Puffing out smoke.] Yes—I'm off in the morning. It has occurred to me that I haven't been to China. ”

“ SIR GEOFFREY. [Very earnestly.] I don't think women quite realise what friendship means to a man.
LADY TORMINSTER. I am certain that men don't realise what marriage means to a woman! Dear funeral, am I not a good wife—shall I not remain a good wife, till the end of the chapter? Because there isn't only Jack—there are Jack's children. ”

“ SIR GEOFFREY. You loved him—
LADY TORMINSTER. Of course I loved him—and I love him now.
SIR GEOFFREY. [Triumphantly.] You see!
LADY TORMINSTER. If we women had had a hand in the making of the language, how many words there would be to express our feelings towards the men we are fond of! Of course I love Jack. I'm cruel to him sometimes ”

“ LADY TORMINSTER. Yes.
SIR GEOFFREY. It's so infernally stupid. You're a beautiful woman, of course; but there are heaps of beautiful women. You've qualities—well, so have other women, too. I'm only forty-one—and, as you say, why don't I marry? Simply because of you. Because you've an uncomfortable knack of intruding between me and the other lady. ”

“ MRS. WESTERN. Don't be so foolishly sentimental—it's ridiculous at your age. The young woman is in my employ, as governess to my children. [MARTIN comes in.] Has Miss Farren gone out yet?
MARTIN. No, madam. I believe she's in her room, dressing.
MRS. WESTERN. Ask her to come.
MARTIN. Yes, madam. [He goes.
JUDGE. [Shaking his head.] No sense of proportion, that's the truth—they've no sense of proportion.
MRS. BANKET. Tom!
JUDGE. A fact, my dear—but you can't help it. You've every quality in the world but just that—you will always look through the wrong end of the telescope. ”

“ A girl who has been placed in a position of life where artificiality rules, who has been taught to be artificial and has thoroughly learned her lesson; yet one who would unhesitatingly know the proper thing to do did a camel bolt with her in the desert, or an eastern potentate invite her to become his two hundred and fifty-seventh wife. In a word, a lady of complete self-possession and magnificent control. ”

“ She will be better versed in spending money than a governess, or country parson's daughter.
ALINE. But why this voracity for marriage?
CROCKSTEAD. Lady Aline, I am hunted, pestered, worried, persecuted. I have settled two breach of promise actions already, though Heaven knows I did no more than remark it was a fine day, or enquire after the lady's health. If you do not help me, some energetic woman will capture me—I feel it—and bully me for the rest of my days. I raise a despairing cry to you—Find me a wife! ”

“ The husband's got to down the lover—like a big tom-cat with a mouse—or the author'd have to sell one of his motor-cars! That's just the fact of it!
BETTY. [Looking at the clock on the mantelpiece.] Twenty-five past,
Hector.
HECTOR. [Cheerily.] All right, my lass, I'm off. By-bye, Walter—keep the old woman company for a bit. Good-bye, sweetheart. [He kisses her.] Don't wait up. Now for the drama. Oh, the dog's life!
[He goes. BETTY waits till the hall door has banged, then she sits on the elbow of WALTER'S chair, and rests her head on his shoulder.
BETTY. [Softly.] Poor Hector! ”

“ That's right—of course you did. Don't you know why I have brought you here? That's right; of course you do. The Duchess, your aunt, and the Marchioness, your mother—observe how fondly my tongue trips out the titles—smiled sweetly on us as we left the ball-room. There will be a notice in the Morning Post to-morrow: "A Marriage Has Been Arranged Between—"
ALINE. [Bewildered and offended.] Mr. Crockstead! This—this is—
CROCKSTEAD. [Always in the same quiet tone.] Because I have not yet proposed, you mean? Of course I intend to, Lady Aline. ”

“ I have always been poor—I hate poverty, and it has soured me no less than you. Dress is the thing in life I care for most, vulgarity my chief abomination. And to be frank, I consider you the most vulgar person I have ever met. ”

“ Alice—
MISS FARREN. [Recovering from her shock and bewilderment.] Mrs. Western, it isn't—
MRS. WESTERN. [Sternly, still holding the girl by the wrist.] You dare to pretend—
HARVEY. [Who is now at the back of his wife's chair, looking closely at the bracelet.] Let me look, let me look.... I say, Alice, you're wrong. It's not yours at all. The setting's different.
MRS. WESTERN. [Angrily.] What do you mean, different? You think I don't know my own bracelet? Are you mad? I say it's mine—and it is!
JUDGE. [Stepping forward.] Alice, be careful—
MRS. WESTERN. Careful! You're as bad as he! ”

“ Jack, my dear old friend—the best and only friend I have in the world—is slumbering peacefully upstairs, and Jack's wife is reluctant to talk to Jack's old pal because the sun happens to be hidden on the other side of the globe. Lady Torminster, sit down. If you're good you shall have a cigarette. ”

“ I will finish it my own way. I will say that when a woman deliberately tries to wring an offer of marriage from a man whom she does not love, she deserves to be spoken to as I have spoken to you, Lady Aline. ”

“ BETTY. Silly boy! [She rises, and goes to him; he has taken a cigarette out of the box on the table, and stands there, with his head bent, tapping the cigarette against his hand.] Women only talk "like this," as you call it, to their lovers. They talk "like that" to their husbands—and that's why the husbands never know. That's why the husbands are always sitting in the stalls, looking on. ”

“ She has a side that you've never suspected—a tender, sensitive side—she has ideals.... Well, do you realise what it would mean, with a girl like that? No one knows her as I do. I'm quite startled sometimes, to find how fond she is of me. Oh, have some sympathy! It's difficult, I know—it's terribly difficult. But she loves me—that's the truth—and a young girl's love—why, she might throw herself into the river! Oh yes, you smile—but she might! What do you know of life, with your Blue-books? ”

“ Put her in any drawing-room in the world, and she would at once be recognised as a highborn Englishwoman. She has in her, in embryo, all those excellent qualities that go to make a great lady: the icy stare, the haughty movement of the shoulder, the disdainful arch of the lip ”