Alfred Sutro

“ Everard. (miserably) Mr. Mollentrave!
Mollen. Are there many other young ladies—whom you have to say good-bye to, Everard?
Everard. Be merciful, sir! Oh, Mr. Mollentrave. I love Margaret! (going to her)
Margaret. (reproachfully) Everard!
Everard. I do, I do! And she loves me! Oh, Mr. Mollentrave, help us!
(Both kneel C. holding hands)
Margaret. Yes, yes, help us!
Mollen. What a position for a father! When I think of my Rosamund—the blow to her! And Balsted—poor, doting Balsted!
Margaret. (crawling towards Mollentrave, humbly) We've been very wicked, we know! But we'll do what you tell us! ”

“ Margaret. (more and more puzzled) If you wish it.
Mollen. Ten thousand thanks. You simplify my task. Because the theme on which I have to dwell is not one that can be coldly attacked—scarred veteran as I am, there are still feeble pulsations in my heart when I breathe the magic word—Love! (He looks searchingly at her)
Margaret. (startled) Love! (she throws a quick glance at Sir Joseph, who dives down deeper behind his desk)
Mollen. (with much sentiment) Love! I am fresh from hearing a man tell of his love—oh, the word is too cold!—of his deep, overpowering passion! ”

“ But Margaret, tell me—Everard has been imploring—
Margaret. (softly) Ah, poor Everard! It was not till you opened my eyes, dear Treaby, that I—of course I am fond of Everard—oh, very fond! But—can I hesitate! Between a boy—and a great man—a leader of men! Dear Treaby, (rise and up C.) I beseech you—leave me here, for a moment!
Miss Tre. (rise and up L. C.) I go, dear child, I go—I feel that my eyes are red—I must wash away these tears. Plead for me with your guardian, Margaret—rid us of the hateful Martelli! ”

“ The poets have babbled of love since the first introduction of rhyme;—but all that we know, or need know, is that Cupid is—young! (he turns to Sir Joseph) Balsted! The elderly fisherman baits his fat hook and thinks he has landed the salmon—down below, a barefoot boy wades in, and captures the prize! As a lover, Balsted, you have every quality—every one in the world that appeals to a beautiful girl—every one, with the exception of youth! ”

“ Everard has fallen—in love—with you?
Lady C. Yes! Imagine it! A catastrophe!
Sir J. (dully, down R. C. and sitting) Very awkward. Very.
Lady C. (C.) How could one conceive it! I've been sympathetic—that's all! Talked about Margaret! Oh, I assure you, I've done nothing but talk about Margaret!
Sir J. There's something odd about boys and girls nowadays. But, of course, it's all Mollentrave— (he clenches his fist)
Lady C. What must I do? Tell me—advise me!
Sir J. You haven't accepted him?
Lady C. (indignantly) Sir Joseph!
Sir J. You see, things are just a trifle topsy-turvy. ”

“ Everard. (C. in absolute dismay) Why—what—
Sir J. Isn't the world full of girls whom you could fall in love with? Don't they—pullulate? Aren't there a hundred thousand more women than men in London alone? And must you select, out of them all, the very one whom you—shouldn't?
Everard. (sinking his head) That wretched Treable woman has told you about the verses!
Sir J. Verses! You stooped to verses!
Everard. (humbly) I cribbed them.
Sir J. An attempt to obtain credit—under false pretences! Confess it then, degenerate boy! You love my ward!
Everard. (drawing himself up) Uncle, I do! ”

“ It is your guardian who wishes to know whether this man, this lover of yours (comes C.) this man who yearns for you, who for the last month has been your satellite, shining with your radiance and dark with your darkness, who has set up a temple in his soul whereof you are the goddess—whether this man shall be flung by you into the shadows of hopeless misery, or be made immortal by the knowledge that you—return—his passion! ”

“ My dear friend, you don't really imagine that she loves you? Whatever's real in her loves Everard—or any other good-looking young fellow of his age whom she chances to meet. What she admires in you is your talent, your position, your power. Very well, take them off!
Sir J. (blankly) How can I?
Mollen. I've told you—be senile. Fidgety, crotchety—sensitive to draughts—dyspeptic—adore your food. ”

“ Mollen. My poor Rosamund is a widow. (up L. C. across C. and down R. C.) Also she has had the advantage of correcting my proof-sheets. She has read that passion wins maids, and perseverance widows. She follows the rule. Do the same!
Contareen. I thought—
Mollen. Every siege must be conducted on scientific principles. You should now be back in your trenches. Digging, sir—digging!
Contareen. (eagerly) Look here, Lady Pentruddock has asked me down to her place in Shropshire.
Mollen. Well?
Contareen. Her sister will be there—Muriel, I mean, not Gladys. Muriel has charm. ”

“ Everard certainly seems to admire her—
Margaret. Is it not incomprehensible! She's so old.
Sir J. H'm, if it's the disproportion of age that shocks you, think of us! I—fifty—and you nineteen!
Margaret. (rise, and up to him) My love shall twine round you so softly that we shall divide my youth—shall share it. And, in the days to come, we shall ask—which one is old—Joseph—or Margaret?
Sir J. (sulkily) Conundrums of that kind will be useful, on winter evenings, with the wind howling down the chimney, and the rain coming through the roof— (turn away L.)
Margaret. ”

“ Well, after a considerable struggle with myself, I accepted the inevitable. I moved from my comfortable bachelor's quarters, took this house, found her a companion—who at once proceeded to quarrel with the housekeeper. I had to dismiss her and engage another—the same story! (sits on settee L. by Lady C.) In twelve months I have had five companions. To-day another disturbance—for the sixth time I am bidden choose between them—and I had hoped to go to Scotland to-morrow. This may all sound very trivial—but truly I'm in despair!
Lady C. (laughing) Poor Sir Joseph! ”

“ Everard, I've tried to do my duty by you—
Everard. You have been more than a father to me. Be merciful, sir!
Sir J. I will, I will.
Everard. All I ask is—
[Pg 26]
Sir J. All I ask is that we now drop heroics and descend to more commonplace ground. Leave Olympus and return to the London pavement——
Everard. (L. C. bewildered) I don't understand—
Sir J. (R. C.) Why, after all, when one comes to think of it, there is no especial crime in a young man falling in love with a young woman—
Everard. (up R. C.) A young woman! Margaret! ”

“ Can't I have one room in the house to myself?
Mrs. Mar. (picking up flowers which Margaret has dropped) That was precisely the cause of my altercation with Miss Treable, Sir Joseph. I found her inspecting the photographs on the mantelpiece.
Sir J. Confound her impudence! I'll say a word to her. We'd better keep the door locked in future, eh?
Mrs. Mar. (R. C. adamant) You will have to choose, Sir Joseph, between Miss Treable and me.
Sir J. (wheedling, rise and down R. C.) Come, come, Mrs. Martelli, you and I have been together too long to allow a trifle like this to part us. ”

“ And you complain! Balsted, that's love! The real girl creeping up, through the cotton wool! My dear fellow! Couldn't be better! It couldn't indeed!
Sir J. I don't know—she didn't speak like that at all. And the boy has been odd—he avoids me—he doesn't address one word to Margaret—
Mollen. (with emphasis) The boy follows the rule! He nurses his passion. Rosamund consoles him—she always talks about Margaret! What more do you want? And the girl thinks they flirt! He watches her hungrily—oh, I've observed it!—he waits for his hour. You'll see. ”

“ Lady C. (indignantly) Sir Joseph! Is this your sympathy? (sit L.)
Sir J. (meekly and deprecatingly, rise and to L. C.) My dear friend, I've had seven days of Margaret. I thought my brain was fairly strong [Pg 71] —but it's giving. I tell you I'm growing helpless—turning to pulp—
Lady C. But advise me—advise me!
Sir J. I can't. You know—it sounds absurd—I did have some hopes of marrying you myself—I did indeed. (away R.) Well, now Everard claims you—and I shall soon be led by Margaret to the altar, with Miss Treable propping me up on the other side. We can't do anything—that's how matters are! ”

“ Margaret. (R. C.) (falling on her knees before Sir Joseph) Forgive me!
Sir J. (staggered) Margaret! (crosses to R. C.)
Mollen. (down L. C.) You must forgive her! Balsted, it was your brain, your massive brain, that attracted poor Margaret—but to-day, as she sat beside Everard, two pair of lips met, quite by chance—and your brain was forgotten!
(Lady Claude still sitting L.)
Everard. (rising R.) (appealingly) Lady Claude!
Mollen. (L. C.) Rosamund, you too will pardon, and grant absolution. Rosamund, Balsted, [Pg 86] rise to superior heights—and, from your loftiness, smile on our lovers! ”

“ She—ah, Joseph, you may [Pg 62] not have observed it—but women have quick eyes! Lady Claude was a friend of yours once, I know—but she is a designing woman!
Sir J. (angrily) I say! Look here!
Margaret. Oh, I mean nothing unkind. Women of that age—she is at least thirty-five—naturally crave to be—admired. And it is perfectly plain to me that she—is drawing Everard on.
Sir J. (grimly) Really!
Margaret. She flirts with him outrageously! She won't let him out of her sight! I've been looking forward to finding him a wife—you and I together—some girl who would make him happy.... But Lady Claude! ”

“ Sir J. I need it, I need it! Women, after all, are an unknown quantity to me. Your father has compiled a series of tables, has dissected and analysed—he may be right, I don't know—but I want you to guide me! ”

“ Throw himself away on—Lady Claude!
Margaret. (C.) (offended) You think it's impossible? But I tell you I've seen—
Sir J. My child, we've talked nonsense enough for one morning. Let's go. (takes her hand and is about to lead her away R. Mollentrave comes in breezily up L. C.) Ah, there's Mollentrave. I must have a word with him. Run on to the house—I'll follow. (giving her the basket)
Margaret. (fondly R.) Come soon, dear one—come soon. When my eyes do not rest on you they grow tired with waiting!
Sir J. (R. C.) Please go, there's a good girl! ”

“ Martin. Yes, sir. (he goes)
Mollen. Now see—when Rosamund comes, I shall retire into the back room there, and write a [Pg 40] letter. I shall give you three minutes. Then you take your leave.
Contareen. Quite so. Three minutes will do!
Mollen. And remember—be sprightly! Not a trace of acidity! Persiflage is good—in moderation—Bring in Lady Pentruddock's sister—but don't drag her in! You understand?
Contareen. Perfectly, perfectly. Oh yes, I see. Gad, Mollentrave, I've always done what you told me. But those Nancies and Janes, you know—
Mollen. Tut, tut, women like a dash of colour! ”

“ And here was I, to whom girls are esoteric, mysterious things, of strange, uncanny ways—I, who don't know what to say to them, how to [Pg 18] feed them or amuse them, I who go into no society, have no small-talk, don't dance or play ping-pong—here was I suddenly overwhelmed by this avalanche of laces and muslins!
Mollen. Heaven sent you a full-grown daughter, without the expensive preliminaries! ”

“ Dexter. (R. C.) No bad news, sir, I hope?
Mollen. (L. C.) (fuming) Contareen! The ass, the triple ass! Engaged to Lady Gladys. I am d—— (going up C. and down R. C.)
[Pg 82]
Dexter. Sir?
Mollen. And he gloats! He dares to gloat!
Dexter. (R. C.) Any answer, sir? I have brought a form.
Mollen. Answer—no—no answer! Stay, though—there shall be—yes, there shall! Ah, he gloats, does he, that—moon-calf! Write, Dexter,—write! Sit here and write!
(Dexter sits R. C.)
"Delighted at news. My daughter and Sir Joseph Balsted, who were engaged yesterday"—
Dexter. (open-mouthed) Sir??? ”

“ Many years ago (he looks at Lady Claude who drops her eyes) I loved a lady, who, very wisely, preferred another. (Mollentrave points waggishly to the book) Ah, Mr. Mollentrave, had I then been able to consult your work!
Mollen. I was labouring at it for twenty years before I gave it to the world.
Sir J. My misfortune to have been born too [Pg 17] soon! Well, I settled down to single blessedness, and worked hard. My existence was tranquil. An elderly lady, widow of a man I had known, kept house for me, and left me undisturbed. My life was all work, with an occasional game at bridge. ”

“ I didn't know! (returning to back of settee R. C.) But—Miss Treable—you're my friend, aren't you? You'll help me?
Miss Tre. I am always on the side of love.
Everard. Have I a chance, do you think? A millionth part of a chance?
Miss Tre. You never speak to her!
Everard. How can I? She's too—magnificent—she dazzles me! Her eyes scorch me—I become [Pg 9] idiotic! I can talk, as a rule, I've something to say—but not to her, not to her! Although Martelli thinks—
Miss Tre. Martelli! That hateful name! Oh!
(Her sobs begin again. Margaret enters from back L. 3 E.: she pauses shyly at seeing Everard.) ”

“ Mollentrave's house in Swanage. A low fence runs at back, with a thick hedge; behind is the sea, to which a winding path leads, down the rock. There are alleys running to right and left. Miss Treable is seated on the tree L. C. with Dexter standing before her. A week has elapsed since the last Act.
Dexter. (C.) Yes, Miss Treable, he is a great man—a very great man! His powers of insight are most extraordinary! ”