Arthur Wing Pinero

“ Brooke Twombley.
Awfully sorry—what? [Brooke hurries out.]
Miss Munkittrick.
Where is papa?
[Imogen enters, carrying an aigrette.]
Imogen.
Oh, Miss Munkittrick, what a shocking mishap!
[They fasten the aigrette in Miss Munkittrick’s hair.]
Miss Munkittrick.
Have you seen my papa?
[Lady Euphemia, carrying a sash, hurries in as Imogen goes off. Miss Munkittrick rises; Lady Euphemia and Egidia adjust the sash hastily.] ”

“ Lady Euphemia Vibart.
Oh, Imogen, that’s too ridiculous!
Brooke Twombley.
Quite absurd—what!
Imogen.
Besides, if you want money you can work.
Brooke Twombley.
Oh, it’s no good everybody working. It’s this stupid all-round desire to work that throws so many men out of employment. I’ll look for Valentine. [Imogen gives him her note.] He’s sure to be about. We’re going to shoot over Claigrossie Moor this morning. [He goes out.] ”

“ Earl of Drumdurris.
From Reeves & Shuckleback!
[She snatches the telegram from him.]
Everybody.
What’s the matter?
Lady Twombley.
Julian, look at your wife! Brooke, Imogen, come to your mother! No more worries by day and bad dreams at night! No poverty—no cottage—no—no vegetables! I—I am a rich woman!
[She falls back fainting into Sir Julian’s arms as they all surround her. At the same moment Lebanon rushes in with Mrs. Gaylustre. He has a telegram in his hand; his aspect is wild, his face white.]
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
Lady Twombley! Where is she? Lady Twombley! ”

“ The city is on the eve of a financial earthquake! Joseph’s name will be a ’ouse’old word from Mile End to Kensington! Lady Twombley, we meet at the hop to-morrow night for the last time—in Society. [Boisterously.] Whoop! Dash Society! [He performs a few steps of a Highland dance.] Excuse my humour. [He goes out.]
Lady Twombley.
The Bills! The Bills! They mustn’t lie there.
[As she goes to the table Sir Julian, looking very white and dishevelled, enters, and, standing opposite to her, takes up the Bills and presents them to her.] ”

“ Sir Julian Twombley.
No man’s pecuniary position has ever demanded or received more consideration than my own. Day and night my pecuniary position lashes my brain into the consistency of a whipped egg.
Lady Twombley. ”

“ Imogen.
Oh, that person!
[Imogen snatches up the box of playthings and hurries out. Mrs. Gaylustre enters. Probyn retires.]
Mrs. Gaylustre.
[To everybody.] How d’ye do? How d’ye do? Lord Drumdurris, charmed to see you. How are you, Brooke?
Brooke Twombley.
[To himself.] Brooke! Impudence!
Mrs. Gaylustre.
You look bilious, Kate.
[She kisses Lady Twombley, who sinks on to the settee.]
Brooke Twombley.
[To Drumdurris.] It’s too bad of the Mater! Fancy a fellow making a chum of his tailor—what?
Earl of Drumdurris.
Mr. White, may I speak to you?
[Brooke, Drumdurris, and Valentine go out.] ”

“ Must I? Dance then! [They take their places for the dance.] Pa! Valentine, Imogen! Brooke, Effie! Keith, Egidia! Lady Macphail, Sir Colin! Dance! Dance with foolish, thoughtless, weak-headed Kitty [Pg 188] Twombley for the last time, for to-morrow she becomes a sober, wise, happy, and contented woman! Dance!
[They dance the Strathspey and Reel—Sir Julian with Lady Twombley, Drumdurris with Egidia, Brooke with Lady Euphemia, Valentine with Imogen, Lady Macphail with Macphail. The Dowager sits apart gloomily.] ”

“ Don’t go under, Julian, till we’ve given them the benefit of our magnificent position——
Sir Julian Twombley.
Our mag——
Lady Twombley.
Wait till my Brooky—our Brooky—has won some handsome, wealthy girl who is worthy of him. Hold on till Imogen has made a marriage that will make [Pg 41] every true mother’s mouth water. Then I’ll settle down with you alone, in a marsh. But don’t sink into obscurity till the end of the year! I can do wonders by Christmas! Give me till then, pa—give me till then!
[She throws her arms round his neck. Imogen’s harp is heard again. Mrs. Gaylustre enters.] ”

“ Mr. Nazareth, of Burlington Street, will accommodate me for a time; a couple of bills, you know, at three and six months—what?
Lady Twombley.
[Speaking in a whisper.] Brooky, Brooky, I’ve thought of those dreadful things for myself. [Pg 25]
Brooke Twombley.
For yourself, Mater! Why, you can always get the right side of pa.
Lady Twombley.
Brooke! Brooky, I must tell you. Just now poor pa has no right side.
Brooke Twombley.
Mater!
Lady Twombley.
It’s as much as the dear man can do to get a rattle out of his keys. For a long time, Brooke, we’ve all been outrunning the constable. ”

“ All days are equally convenient.
Sir Julian Twombley.
Kitty, I will hold on till Christmas!
Lady Twombley.
Thank you, pa—I—— [She turns to him suddenly.] Oh, pa, I haven’t got—I haven’t—I——
Sir Julian Twombley.
Haven’t what, Kitty?
Lady Twombley.
N—nothing. Go—go to Dora. [He goes out.] Oh! where shall I turn for money? Where shall I turn? Where shall I turn—for money? [Mrs. Gaylustre advances and faces Lady Twombley.] Ah! Mrs. Gaylustre!
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Oh, Lady Twombley, I am in such distress!
Lady Twombley.
Distress!
Mrs. Gaylustre.
[Producing Lady Twombley’s letter to Brooke.] ”

“ Macphail.
Will be what?
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Dimmed. What did you think I said? Oh, Sir Colin, don’t carry this unsuitable bride to Ballocheevin!
Macphail.
Well, it’s a serious step; but I’ve been thinking it would be another in the house.
Mrs. Gaylustre.
You don’t want another in the house. You need a strong, self-reliant wife who will take you out of the house.
Macphail.
Eh?
Mrs. Gaylustre.
A woman, loving but firm, tender but enterprising, who will bear you from your dilapidated home and plunge you into the vortex of some great city. [Suddenly.] Have you ever been to Paris? [Pg 167]
Macphail. ”

“ Valentine White.
Good-by, Lady Euphemia.
Brooke Twombley.
I say, Effie, Mr. White won’t stay.
Lady Euphemia Vibart.
[Indifferently.] What a pity!
Brooke Twombley.
He has turned against civilization, you know, and has become a sort of pleasant cannibal. [Pg 11]
Lady Euphemia Vibart.
A cannibal! That is too interesting. Pray remain, Mr. White. My brother, Lord Drumdurris, is on duty at the Palace to-day and is coming on here. We all knew each other as children. He will be too delighted. ”

“ Brooke Twombley.
[To Lady Euphemia.] Good-morning.
Lady Euphemia Vibart.
Why, it’s Imogen! Oh, let me congratulate you. [Kissing her.] The news is too delightful.
Imogen.
Thank you.
Brooke Twombley.
Accept my congratulations also. Splendid fellow, Macphail; not one of those men who talk the top of your head off. [Pg 106]
Imogen.
[Writing.] No, not quite. Brooke, dear, will you give Mr. White a little note from me?
Brooke Twombley.
Certainly. By the bye, while I think of it, you’ll be glad to hear that Effie has honored me by consenting to—er—marry me—what!
Imogen.
Effie! ”

“ Brooke Twombley.
To Effie.
Lady Twombley and Sir Julian Twombley.
Euphemia!
Dowager.
Euphemia! Why, how dare you conspire to entrap a child of mine into a moneyless marriage?
Sir Julian Twombley.
My dear Dora, you yourself suggested——
Dowager.
If I may be guilty of such an expression—fall-lall!
Brooke Twombley.
But, aunt——
Dowager.
Hold your tongue, sir! Ah, I believe you all have abominable motives! [Pg 179]
Lady Twombley.
[To herself.] The telegram! The telegram! Why is there no telegram?
[The music of the Strathspey is heard. Imogen enters with Lady Euphemia.] ”

“ The scene is a conservatory built and decorated in Moorish style, in the house of the Rt. Hon. Sir Julian Twombley, M.P., Chesterfield Gardens, London. A fountain is playing, and tall palms lend their simple elegance to the elaborate Algerian magnificence of the place. The drawing-rooms are just beyond the curtained entrances. It is a May afternoon.
Brooke Twombley, a good-looking but insipid young man of about two-and-twenty, faultlessly dressed for the afternoon, enters, and sits dejectedly, turning over some papers. ”

“ Why does he drink people’s health across the table and call the men-servants “old chaps?”
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Dear Jo! There’s nothing classy about him.
[Drumdurris, in shooting dress, enters, carrying a light wooden box.]
Lady Twombley.
Why does he swallow his knife and build pyramids with his bread; and tell long stories with no meaning at all or else with two?
Mrs. Gaylustre.
Well, you must take Jo as Heaven made him. So you’d better make things smooth for him with Lord Drumdurris. If not— [Pg 119] —
Lady Twombley.
If not?
Mrs. Gaylustre. ”

“ Lady Macphail is just driving away. [Pg 78]
Macphail.
No!
Imogen.
Yes, there she goes.
[Macphail goes hastily to the window and looks out.]
Macphail.
[To himself.] Oh! Mother!
[He goes out quickly unnoticed by Imogen.]
Imogen.
She has turned the corner, Sir Colin. Did you see her? Why, where is he?
[Valentine enters. She does not see him.]
Valentine White.
Good-bye, Imogen. [She turns to him.]
Imogen.
Ah! [Falteringly.] Why will you go away, Val?
Valentine White.
You know my craze. Everything in this country is so stuck-up.
Imogen. ”

“ If your pa finds out what a muddle I’m in, I fear he’ll throw up public life and bury us in the country, and then good-by to my dear boy’s and girl’s prospects. So if I contrive to clear you once more, don’t do it again, my poppet, or you’ll break the heart of your loving mother, Kitty Twombley.” The Mater’s a brick—what! But I wonder if she has any notion how much it tots up to.
[He places the letter upon the back of a large saddle-bag arm-chair while he takes out the schedule.] ”

“ Sir Julian Twombley.
[To himself.] I see—I see the change in my wife that Dora spoke of.
[Probyn enters with cards on a salver. At the same moment the Dowager enters and looks out of the window.]
Dowager.
[To herself.] They are punctual!
Lady Twombley.
[Looking at the cards.] Lady Macphail and Sir Colin. Not at home. If ever a woman was out I am.
Dowager.
[To Probyn.] Stop! [To Lady Twombley.] Kate, what are you doing? This visit is planned by me! ”

“ Oh, ladies are trying in business—they are dooced trying.
Lady Twombley.
You—you wretch! Do you think I haven’t endured enough for the past three months without this? Oh, pa, what will you say to your Kitty when you know the disgrace she’s brought on you! Oh, my chicks, my chicks, my blessed chicks!
Mr. Joseph Lebanon.
Lady Twombley, my pride has been wounded, my self-respect has been ’urt in this recherché ’Ighland ’ome for, I ’ope, the last time. I shall retire from the hop early to-morrow night and hook it—bring my visit to a close—on Thursday morning. ”

“ Lady Twombley.
Why?
Dowager.
Don’t deceive yourself, Kate Twombley. You are aware that Julian’s position in the Ministry is precarious?
Lady Twombley.
You think so?
Dowager.
Everybody thinks so. It’s my opinion they’ll make a Jonah of him and cast him from them before many months are over. You know what that means?
Lady Twombley.
Horrible! Julian giving up public life and set [Pg 33] tling down in some dismal swamp as a country gentleman. He has threatened it.
Dowager.
Very well then; you must assure your children’s future before the blow falls. What could you do for Imogen in the country? ”

“ Dowager.
It is our duty to our friends. Do you think if anything serious happened to me, my friends wouldn’t like to hear of it without delay? Julian! [Sir Julian writes.] Besides, it will be current talk at the dance to-morrow night. [Pg 113]
Lady Macphail.
The dance! Aye! To-morrow night they shall see a Macphail lead the Strathspey with the girl who is to be his bride!
Imogen.
No, indeed they won’t!
Lady Macphail.
What!
Imogen.
I can’t make myself so supremely ridiculous.
Lady Macphail.
Ridiculous!
Lady Euphemia Vibart.
Oh, Imogen!
Dowager.
Imogen!
Lady Twombley.
Imogen! ”

“ Oh, Val. [Pg 104] “I therefore suggest that you obtain a nastier appointment than that of Deputy-Assistant-Head-Gamekeeper at Drumdurris without delay.” That will do—beautifully. [In tears.] Oh, Val, why have you never spoken? I know you are poor, but I would have gone away with you and lived cheerfully and economically in that rock if you had but asked me. Why, why have you never asked me?
[She sits on a footstool looking into the fire. Brooke, in shooting dress, strolls in with Lady Euphemia. They do not see Imogen.] ”

“ I miss the little Jenny with a tumbled frock, [She quickly disarranges her bow and sash.] the thoughtless romp who was generally minus one shoe! [Pg 85]
Imogen.
[Fiercely.] Valentine!
[She takes off a shoe and flings it away.]
Valentine White.
Jenny!
Imogen.
Now! play! play marbles!
Valentine White.
What!
Imogen.
Play marbles!
[They go down upon their knees, she deliberately arranges the marbles for the game, he staring at her blankly.]
Imogen.
My mark—play.
Valentine White.
I beg your pardon, Jenny—I’ve been all wrong.
Imogen.
You have indeed, Val. Play. [He plays seriously.] ”

“ Katherine, I have been telling Brooke of the change in his prospects.
Brooke Twombley.
I say, Mater, such a blow—what!
Lady Twombley.
Pa, why can’t you wait?
Sir Julian Twombley.
Wait—for what, Katherine?
Dowager.
Wait till the boy can patch up his future with a wealthy wife, of course.
Sir Julian Twombley.
Really, Dora, I don’t think it would be absolutely fair——
Dowager.
Fair! People’s actions are like their heads of hair—they can be dyed flaxen. [To Brooke.] Boy, [Pg 178] why do you let the grass grow under your pumps in this way?
Brooke Twombley.
I haven’t let the grass grow, Aunt Dora. ”

“ Lady Macphail.
Ah, if we were at Castle Ballocheevin, with the wind roaring round Ben Muchty, and the sound of the pipers playing by the shores of Loch-na-Doich, then you would hear Colin’s voice rise loud and high.
Sir Julian Twombley.
As we are denied these obvious advantages, it is almost necessary to ask you to explain— [Pg 73] —
Lady Macphail.
The lad has met your child on but three or four occasions.
Macphail.
Just three occasions and a bit, mother.
Lady Macphail.
But he loves her with a love that only a Macphail can experience.
Lady Twombley. ”