\ZVK46<«» 44 A DEAD past; -AN- ORIGINAL DRAMA IN 4 ACTS. WRITTEN BY Walter Reynolds Copyright Secured in Great Britain and in the United States OF America. Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1884, by Walter Reynolds, in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. 44 A DEAD PAST." -AN- ORIGINAL DRAMA IN 4 ACTS. WRITIEN BY Waltee Reynolds. Copyright Secured in Great Britain and in the United States OF America. Entered according- to Act of Congress in the year 1884, by Walter Reynolds , in the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D. C. DRAMATIS PERSON/E DOUGLAS, LORD DYNEVOR. COLONEL SIR BRETON OSBORNE. LORD ARTHUR RIVERDALE. COUNT LEON BONAPARTE FRITOUT. BINGS, AN OLD FAMILY SERVANT. ADOLPHUS, A NEW FAMILY SERVANT. MERTON, A USEFUL FAMILY SERVANT. JENKYNS, A GOVERNMENT SERVANT. LADY SYBIL RIVERDALE, SADIE SANDUSKY. MAGARET KILSYTH. MISS RASP, A BUSTLING SERVANT. THPS6-007150 ACT I. The Bynevor Woods in Autumn. Stag^e covered with fallen leaves, tree trunk, &c., &c. Discovered. Bings, Adolphus and Merton. Merton and Bings are completing the setting of a lunch which is partly laid. Adolphus is in a gorgeous livery, stand- ing rigidly, upright and stiff. "When Bings orders him to a duty, he passes the directions to Merton, who carries them out. Adolpli {to Merton). Here ! another plate ! Merton {lays plate). Bings {with Ms Jiand to his ear). Eh ? Adolph. I — aw — said — another plate*. Bings. Late, yes, they are very late, two o'clock they were to get here; never mind, it's a cold lunch, so it won't spoil. Adolph. How many — aw — are to partake ? Bings {with ear biz). Eh ? Adolph {loudly). How many persons will there be to lunch ? Bings. Punch! No, there was no punch ordered. There's plenty of wines tho', of course. Adolph. Oh ! it's really altogether beneath one's dignity to bawl into the ear of an old idiot like this, but what is a gentleman to do. {Calls very loudly), How many are going to sit down ? Merton {is handing out a roast duck from basket and is passing it to Adolph who is not noticing.) Bings {pointing to the duck). A bit brown. Oh, yes, but His Lordship likes his poultry so. Merton {thinks Adolph has the duck, and lets it fall on ground). Adolph. Clumsy ass! {takes stage with dignity R). Bings {hurriedly picking up duck and crossing to Adolph). Do you see what you have done ? The duck is all over grit. Adolph. No — aw— it's the grit is all over the duck. Bings. Bad luck ! I should think it was. Get me a napkin. Adolph {going towards basket). Keally, my life is not worth having with this old imbecile. I must speak to His Lordship about it. Bings. Did ever any one see such careless boobies. A nice state this is in to place before ladies and gentlemen. Come on with that cloth. Adolph {instructs Merton to get cloth). There's one twisted round those glasses, unwind it. Bings. Can't find it. Then, confound you, for a stupid jacka- napes. Why, I could get thro' the work quicker without you. Well, what the eye don't see, the heart doesn't grieve for — {hesitates, then wipes duck clean with the tail of his coat, polishes it with his sleeve and places it on dish. G). Adolph It's all set now. Really, I'm quite fatigued with so much exertion. {To Merton). Open me a dry monopole. (Merton does so, popping cork). Bings. {turning from spread, not having seen this). Ah! they're coming now. I heard a shot. (Sees Adolph drinking.) Well, upon my soul, that's good. Adolph. Yes, it's a fair brand, but I think I prefer Mumm, Extra Dry. I must speak to His Lordship about it. Enter Count Fritout. Count. Ha, gentlemen, comment cava! {To Adolph.) If you vil permettez moi, I vil join you. Adolph. {Ordering Merton to pour a glass for Count). Count. {Drinks.) Ha! Bon, bon, as good as a French vine, as vas evare f atrique out of English gooseberries. {Xs.) Ah ! Mon- sieur Bings, ca va bien ? Bings. {Automatically with hand to ear) Oui, oui. Count. You have choisis un place bien charmant, f©r ze lunch. Bings. Punch, non, oui, oui. Count. Zey are comings, 1 am yere avant coureur. Is everysing ready ? Bings. Oui, oui. Count. For 2 ladies and 3 gentlemen. Bings. Oui, oui. Count. Vat is dis, toujours oui, oui ? Bings. Oui, oui. Count. M. Bings, do you make your chokes on me ? Bings. Oui, oui. Count Zen I tell you zat you forget your place, prenez garde, do you take me for un fool ? Bings. Oui, oui. Count. Sacre non, I vil not shall suffer it, M. Bings. Je suis un Conte Francais, Le Conte Fritout, and it is not parceque I haves poverty, that you shall mettre sur moi vos insultes, if you insult me, vous me donnerez satisfaction, do you hear ? Bings. Hear, oh, oui, oui. Count. {In rage) Vat you von Engleesh donkey jackass. Bings Oui, oui. Count. {In great rage, would almost strike him.) . Adolph. {Strolls down haughtily and points to his ear,) Count. Vat is dis ? {Burlesquing ear bus.) Adolph. The old ass is deaf. Count. Deaf ! Vat you call him ear vas broke and shut up ? Oh, Je vous prie ten mille pardons, oh cher mon Bings. You pardon me? Bings. Oui, oui. Count. Oh, you are noble, like all ze brave Engleesh. {Embraces him) Oh, mon cher ami. Bings. {Struggling free in amazement) What fearful fools these foreigners are, I believe he takes me for a woman, {looking off) Ah ! places, here they come, now, bustle, look lively, {servants stand hack ready to wait at table.) Enter Colonel Breton Osborne, Lord Riverdale and Sadie Sandusky. Sadie. Well, this is real sweet, a perfect Paradise. I must admit that in the matter of rural scenery you English do beat we Ameri- cans. Our landscapes seem to be still in the unfinished state when compared to your's, which have had all the last touches of nature and art lavished on them. Col. There's nothing in them but monotony and dulness, even beauty attenuated becomes tiresome. Count. Oh! comme vous etes ungallant to ze ladies, colonel. Col. Oh, female beauty is always fresh and charming. Sadie. Very kind of you to admit so much of our poor grateful sex, but Where's Lord Dynevor? Col. Where I expected to find him when I got here this morn- ing, where he always is. By her side. Sadie. Her side, whose ? Col. Lady Sybil's. Sadie. Ha, ha, ha. So that's the way the wind blows. Colonel, Sir Breton Osborne, I know what brought you up from London this morning. Col. Indeed, what? Sadie. You are jealous of Lord Douglas Dynevor. Col. You don't know so much about Douglas Dynevor as I do, or you would see that I had no cause to give house room to the green eyed monster on his account; beside, you flatter him. Sadie. Oh, I don't see that, for my part, if I were prospecting for a husband,' there isn't a gentleman in Great Britain whom I should prefer to His Lordship. River (ade) I was afraid she didn't care a straw about me. Col. You may easily hook him. Sadie. Hook him ! Don't speak of His Lordship as tho' he were a mackerel. Col. I mean because he has very little else beside his title. He is as poor as his curate. Sadie. Poor, bah ! That's where you English cut such misera- ble figures in our eyes, because a man doesn't happen to possess a million or two, you give him the perpetual cold shoulder and make him feel as tho' his poverty was a crime Now, on our side, we don't ask what is the condition of a man's banking account, but we dig right into his character, and if his balance there is found to be on the right side of the books, why, we hold out a hand to him quite satisfied as long as he can call himself an honest man. Enter Lord Dynevor and Lady Sybil. Dyn The noblest of all titles, and one that no sovereign on earth can confer upon an aristocratic rogue . Count. Bravo! Bravissimo. Vive Legalite Fraternite. Col. (ade to Sadie) I told you they w«re together. Sadie. I told you you were jealous. Dyn. Ah, Sir Breton, you here ? I didn't expect to see you. Col. No, I suppose not; but I'm here all the same. (Crossing to Lady Sybil and offering hand ) How dy'e do. Lady Sibil. (She bows.) Dyn. I believe we're a little behind time. Sybil. Yes; but the walk here was so delightful that we must be excused. River. What matters ! Time was made for slaves. Count. Yes, for matried ones, to zem it is eternity* Omnes. {Laugh.) Sybil. Oh, what a wicked speech! Byn,. One would think the Count spoke from experience ; but come, let's sit down and fall too. Count Yes, ze cold lunch vil be hot bake in ze sun else— hyn. Conducts Lady Sybil to place. River with Sadie. Seats him- self at head (7, the other gentlemen on ground R and L.) Ah, Bings, another knife and fork, we didn't expect the colonel, you know. Col. That's twice already youv e reminded me of the fact. Byn. Is it ? I beg your pardon ; I'm very sorry. Sadie. 1 don't believe you are one bit sorry, and you should never pretend to what you don't feel. Col. Ah, in that society^ course has its inconveniences sometimes* Sadie. Yes, it has ; but I was reared in the lumber region of the Far West where we don't dress up our words in 18-button kid gloves, and I don't think it would do society much harm in the long run if it were to adopt some of our say-what-you-think kind of principles. Col. Ah, you American ladies affect this fashion of plain speak- ing towards our old-world codes and institutions, but with the most charining inconsistency, you continue to come within their circle and set your caps at the very objects for which you profess the most contempt, standing with your lumber-made fortunes in your hands ready to barter them against the first title which is forced by pov- erty to the exchange. Sadie. No, Sir Breton, not the first. Col. No? Sadie. Ko, for you boast a title yourself. Col. You are complimentary. Sadie. Am I ? then I beg your pardon ; I didn't mean to be. Col. Plain spoken, too. Sadie. We American ladies affect the fashion. Byn. I'm afraid the air has made your wits as keen as your appe- tites. Come, eat and subdue them both. {They feed.) River. You deserved that, Osborne, for being so surly and synical. Sadie. Jealous people always are. River. Well, after all, jealousy is natural, and there's one quality it inspires for which I respect it, and that's pluck. Sadie. Do you admire pluck ! River. I do, because I'm such an awful coward. I'd rather face a cannon than a woman. Sadie. But you have often faced one. River. Ko — at least, not a loaded one. Count. Vat, a loaded voman ? River. No ; a cannon, of course. Count. For myself, I have face many vomen and many cannon, and viz all respect, I prefer ze cannon at all times. Sadie. You monster ! Sybil. Has your experience of the weaker sex been so very un- fortunate, Count? Count. Weaker sex? Zat is a mistake. A voman is always, sometimes ten times so strong as a man, always. Sybil. In what way. Count ? Count. In a married way. Biver. Strange talk that, from a bachelor. Count. Moi, iin bachelor ! Mon dieii, if I only vas. 1 vould give ten years of my existence to be once more times un bachelor again, bat it is no use. I vas marry in France vare ze laws of marriage are ze most pitiless in ze world. Zere ven a man and voman are prononce man and wife, a legal chain is forge about zem which neither insult nor crime can break asunder, and which binds zem mercilessly till death. River. Then there has been a Countess Fritout? Count. Has been ? Mon dieu ! Zere is, my Lord. River. Indeed, and where is the lady. Count. I not know, and I not care. When she did know vere I vas, she lead me ze dogs life. One day ze chain snap broken ; I ran myself loose from her, and I care not vezer she be in Jericho or Egypt Sadie How much better we do these things on our side of the pond. If two people get married wdth us, they can take each other on trial, as it were, and if their incompatibilities become too trouble- some, they can appeal to the law, which, like a wise guardian, frees them from their yoke, and both can go their own road again. A little duck, if you please. {Merion gets it.) Dyn. The Americans are right, too, for there can be no justifica- tion for a law which sometimes degrades a woman in a life-long servitude to a brutal savage, or chains her whole existence to a drunken wretch. Count. Ah, bon! Mais ven ze leg is in ze ozer boot? When it is ze voman zat is — Sadie. The woman! Oh, women, never do anything wrong; at least not in the States. Count. Vel, Je suppose it is not every w^oman zat make zere husband so miserable as mine make me. Col. I don't know. Lord Dynevor, 1 believe, is another terrible example; and that's why he speaks so enthusiastically, I suppose. Count. Vat ! has my Lord Dynevor been unfortunate as well ? Byn. {evading question.) Excuse me. Count; you are not eating; some chicken. Lady Sybil. Bings, Chateau Lafitte. {Adolph orders Merton.) Bings. {ear bus) Beg pardon, my Lord ? Byn. Some wine. The ladies w^ould like a little Lafitte. Bings. Cold to the ladies' feet. Oh, Adolphus, bring a rug. Omens, {laugh.) Byn. Poor Bings. I'm always forgetting his infirmity. Col Why don't you pension ofl' the old fossil. Sybil. Oh ! His Lordship could not part with poor old Mr. Bings; he has been in the family all his life. Col. {ade.) How her face brightens with the slightest touch of interest to him or his. {Aid.) Oh, I'm not surprised that Dynevor expresses himself so forcibly on the divorce question. Count. Vraiment, why? River. Oh, come, Osborne ; I say, suppose we change the sub- ject; this one is very dry. Col. What; do you shirk it then, as well as he V Sybil. Suppose 'we talk about trade. Sadie. Ah ! there, /'wi at home. In trade, the American beats all creation. His flag flies in every corner of every land. Lyn. But is hardly ever seen upon the sea. Sadie. Eh ? Dyn. Oh, it's true ! when he wants to cross the ocean he has to get a foreign-built ship to carry him. Sadie. Well, you may be right in that, but in politics— Byn. Oh, politics he leaves entirely to the Irish. Sadie. Well, then, in love. Dyn. Ah, there, I confess you corner me. Sadie. I should think I did. Yes, sir ; at any rate, we've got love and marriage down to a fine point in the States. Given-a-ball, masculine meets feminine — introduced, exchange glances, she droops her eyes, he sighs a sigh, both palpitate some in the region of the diaphragm. Good evening; call in again. He calls next day. Good morning ; moves his sentiments; she seconds the motion, resolution carried, parson visited consummation, marriage, live happy ever after. Col. Or at least, until the divorce court sets them at liberty to recommence the routine. But, there, so long as a woman can render some sort of esteem to her husband, and he can provide her with all the luxuries that modern life has rendered indispensable, love is a superfluity. Sadie. A superfluity — love is a myth. I heard a great deal about it when I was at school in Boston, but I've never had any proofs of its existence. River. You cold-blooded little woman, never ? Sadie. Never, Rii^er. But you'd like to have it proved to you, wouldn't you ? Sadie. Oh, yes ; if it was real love ; but the so-called samples of the article which have been submitted to me up till now have been as dull and stupid as New England Sundays, and lots of Yankee girls have assured me they would rather any day have a Yanit-y Fair, or a pick-me-up at Delmonico's, than five minutes of that excessively, boring institution of society called a spoon. Biver. Ah, they're wicked, those Yankee girls, and don't know what love is ; that's my belief. Count. Take care, prenez garde ; I vas once in love. Sadie. What, with your wife ? Count. Oh, non, non ; not for un moment. Sadie I thought that was too much to expect of any Frenchman. Omnes. (^Laugh^ River. Now, I plead guilty to being sentimental, and I can con- ceive no greater happiness than being eternally in love with one's wife. Dyn Nor I, and living a life that should be one long poem set to the happy melody of the wedding bells. Col. Yes, the theory sounds pretty, not to say lackadaisical, but the practice doesn't obtain nowadays. River. Nowadays are bad days. All the honest qualities of our human nature are laughed down. Dyn The outcome of our lightning civilization, which has en- larged our brains and contracted our hearts. Count. And ruined our stomachs. Sadie. That's true of us, for every American is a dyspeptic. Dyn. Then, how can one expect to be in love when one has indi- gestion? Sadie. Oh, we get heartburn, which is the American equivalent. Sybil. It's a shame to joke upon a sacred subject. I have been taught to regard marriage as the holiest of all human sacraments, and to hold those who become united for money or convenience as guilty of the worst of blasphemies. Dyn. And so they are, and richly deserve all the misery that such a course entails upon them. River. For my part, I would rather marry a peasant who really loved me, than a Princess if she did not. Col. Ah ! Riverdale, you are positively too good to be at large. You ought to be on exhibition in a glass case, labelled : " The Ani- mated Virtues." Sadie. And you, Colonel, might be locked up in an iron cage, with the notice : "Beware! the animal inside is spiteful," painted on the bars. {Eating fiece of duck) Oh! oh! oh! [Holds her mouth.) River. My dear Miss Sandusky, what is the matter ? Sadie. The duck! Omnes and servants. The duck ! Sadie. {Putting serviette to her mouth and 'withdratving it .) There, is it one of my teeth ? River. {Taking it and examining it.) No, it's a big bit of gravel, I think. {Holding it uf) Bings. {Shaking his fist at Adolfhus) You villain! {To Sadie.) It's an English wild duck. Miss, and they feed on pebbles. {Threat- ening Adolf h) Sadie. Well, Bings, I'm an American bird, and I don't. {Bings takes away her plate^ and in his rage^ not knowing, what to do with the bit of duck., at last throws it at Merton., who bobs; it hits Adol- phus, who retires to wife his face., with ultra dignified rage.) Adolph. Vulgar brute, to treat a gentleman like that, and before ladies, too. I must speak to His Lordship about it. River. Have something else Miss Sandusky ? Sadie. No ; thank you ; I'm not hungry anymore, but you might telegraph for a dentist. Col. {Has hem drinking very freely during scene and now becomes loud loTien speaking) Never mind, Miss Sandusky, a broken tooth is not so bad as a broken heart, and that is what I hear Dynevor's wife died of. Omnes. Lord Dynevor's wife ? Syhil Lord Dynevor's wife ? Col. What, have none of you ever heard the story of his mar- riage ? So he's been keeping dark, eh ? Oh, well, it's all past and gone now; so I'll relate it. Dyn. { Visibly angered.) You need not, Sir Breton, unless you think it absolutely necessary. Gol. Oh it'll pass the time. Here, you cad, give me some more wine. {AdolpJi. orders servant, who passes Col. wine. When the troops were ordered for service in India, Dynevor and I were in the same regiment, and as we quelled those Oriental niggers in less than no time, we fellows had nothing to do but to get into mischief, which you may be sure we did with all the industry peculiar to the British soldier. But the cream joke of the mess was Dynevor's falling in love with a black-eyed English girl he saw at the Corinth- ian in Calcutta Dyn. Do you feel bound to go on with the story, or will you be satisfied with the amusement it has already caused ? River. Pray consider His Lordship's feelings, Osborne. Col. Oh, give me some more wine, {Adolph and Merton bus.), we've no business with feelings in this age. Well the black eyes 10 were too much for him, and wheif the regiment was called home» Dynevor got leave, stayed behind in Paris, and by jingo, he married her under tlie French code, going thro' both ceremonies, the civil and the religious. Well, of course, we chaffed him unmercifully, and served him right too, for any man who is fool enough to marry a woman he knows nothing about, simply because she has a dainty figure and a pair of cunning eyes and lips, deserves all River. {Has risen and is talcing Sadie off on Ms arm.) Col. Here, Riverdale, old man. stop and hear it out. River. Excuse me, (going) Miss Sandusky, I will bring you back when Sir Breton has finished his very entertaining story. {Exit with Sadie.) Count. Lady Sybil, vil you ze honor do me ? {Offering her his arm.) Sybil. Thank you. Count, but I will remain to hear Sir Breton Osborne's apology for the insult he has put upon our host. Count. Bon bon, and he vil make it sapristi ! Gol. Apology! For what? The story is true, and if Lord Dyne- vor wishes you to believe. Lady Sybil, that it is not, I consider it my duty to undeceive you. Dyn. Lady Sybil, will you do me the favor of accepting the Count's escort and leaving me with Sir Breton? Syh'l. Thanks, no, for if Col. Osborne wishes me to believe that he is a gentleman, I consider it my duty to undeceive him. Count. Bravo ! a true spirit Engleesh lady {going. At Col.) A b^d spirit Engleesh dog. {Exit ) Dyn. Col. Osborne, you are not on the list of my invited guests. Why are you here ? Col. I am here in the character of friend to Lady Sybil. Dyn. I have yet to learn that she regards you as such. Col. Whether she does or not, I will convince her of my sincerity, by preventing her from being dragged blindfolded into a matrimo- nial alliance with Dyn. Be careful. Col. Osborne, I warn you my patience has it's limits. Col. So has mine, and I warn you that Lady Sybil shall thor- oughly understand h^r position and yours. Sybil. Thank you, Col. Osborne, but I am fully capable of look- ing after my own interests, and even were I not, you would certainly not be the person I should apply to to protect them {gives her arm to Dyn). Will you kindly see me to the hall, my Lord? Dyn. {Refering ^pointedly to Lady Sybil's action.) I trust, Sir Breton Osborne, you now fully understand my position and your own. {Going at wing, turns.) Good day! {Exit %vitk L. S.) Col. Cad! Prig! Conceited fool ! He always had the advantage . over me. In our school days, he had the luck of everything. From India he came out covered with honors, while I wasn't even men- tioned, and now, he thinks to run away with the only woman who ever fired my soul with anything like a real passion and whose money would pull me through my cursed difficulties. But she's too pretty and too rich to be lost without a struggle, and if hard hitting will win the fight he shan't complain of the lightness of my blows. That Yankee girl was right, I am madly jealous of him, and when I see him looking into her beautiful face as tho' his eyes were j'ead- ing her very soul, I feel that I could do for him {fause). He shan't have her. By Heaven, he shan't. 11 {The servants have cleared away the lunch during the Col.^s speech, Adolph returns.) Adolph. {Tapping Col. on the shoulder .) In your usual bad tem- per, Governor. Col. What is that to you ? Adolph. Oh come, don't be cross, but tell me what's the matter? Col. Nothing that you can mend, so get out. Adolph. Stuff, I've the instincts of a gentleman and can sympa- thize with all you're feeling now. You love Lady Sybil — Col. Silence, you vagabond ! Adolph. Oh, that's very rude, and likewise a reflection on your- self, for you keep my company. Col. Well, just now, I'd rather have your room. Adolph You always were an ungrateful beast, but you are par- ticularly so now, for you owe me thanks at least for having let you know so quickly that Lady Sybil was here and that your rival was laying siege to her heart. Col, I can see all this without you're telling, besides I don't want to be seen talking with you. So go. Adolph. I will, but I must take advantage of your visit to bleed you of another £10 note. I'm hard up. Col. And so am I. Adolph. Yes, that's the old story. Don't keep me waiting; it isn't gentlemanlike. Col. Isn't it enough that you get double wages; one from your master and one from me — that you will never cease to rob me ? Adolph. Rob ! Hark, at the pot calling the kettle black. Rob ! Robbery is no worse than cheating at cards. Why, one word from me and you'd be cashiered from your regiment to-morrow; so, hand over the money. Col. Well, I suppose I must. {Hands 7iote.) Adolph. I suppose so too. As Artemus said, you scratch my back and I'll scratch yours ; but if you don't scratch fair, why, I must speak to his Lordship about it. {Exit.) Col. To think that I should be at the mercy of a low-lived cur like that, who was my body servant in the regiment. He found out ^00 much about me, so I must put up with him. Enter very cautiously at back, Margaret. Marg. {looking round). This must be the place. They told me at the house he was at luncheon in the woods. Ah, perhaps this gen- tleman — Col. {turns., seeing Marg..^ starts iti amazement) Great heaven ! Marg. What is the matter ? I trust I have not frightened you ? Col. Yes ; no ; that is, I was buried m thought, and not supposing any one to be near me, I must confess to being a little startled when I turned at seeing you. Marg. I didn't know there was anything about me to inspire alarm. Col. Oh, no ; on the contrary, everything to charm. How very extraordinary. I never saw anything like it in all my life. Marg. Like what ? Col. Oh, I beg your pardon. I was thinking aloud. {Pause.) You remind me so strongly of a lady I once knew that 1 could almost swear she had risen from the grave and was now standing before me. 12 Marg. I have indeed been very near to death, but thanks to a wonderful constitution, I am still above ground. Col. I am amazed! I thought myself proof against all sur- prises, but the astonishment the sight of your face and form have caused me has roused even me from the impassability of years. Might I ask your name ? Marg. Oh, yes; I am called Marguerite; that is, I am when I am in France. Col. Marguerite! Ye Gods! And your surname ? Marg. My surname \%— {looking off.) Ah, there he is; that is the person I have come to seek. Bonjour, Monsieur. {Exit.) Col. Stay one moment, Madame ; the fate of two men depends upon your answer. She does not heed me, but runs like a hare after some one who is also running in the direction of the hall. Who has she seen? What does she want? Can it be s/i6 herself ? No, impossible ; and yet, oh, if I could but be sure. I will be sure. {Calls.) Madame, madame. {Exit., calling after her.) Enter Sadie and Lord Riverdale. Sadie. Oh, yes, you may smoke, if you like. River. I like, but do you ? Sadie. Like ! But you will be shocked. River. With you ? I couldn't be. Sadie. Well, then, I — smoke — myself! River. No, do you? Then have a cigarette. {Offering one from case.) {He smokes.) Sadie. No, thanks; it's a vice I only indulge in private. It al- ways punishes me, too, and I don't like it ; but, like a number of other young ladies, I pretend I do. River. Why ? Sadie. Because, it's " the thing." Oh, what a hollow sham " the thing" is River. Do you think so ? Sadie. I do. Society altogether is a huge falsehood — a pretence, a merciless, ridiculous nineteenth century idolatrous mockery. River. With we English, yes. Sadie. Oh, with we Americans, as well. We have an aristocracy on our side. River. Have you ? Sadie. Oh, yes ; a privileged class that governs with money. River. Filthy lucre. Sadie. To which we bow just as low as you. Dimes and dollars are our Dukes and Duchesses. River. You expressed very different sentiments when speaking to Col. Osborne just now. Sadie. Ah, that was because he wanted taking down a peg or two. River. Admitting that, I still thought your people only acknowl- edged the nobility of right and merit. Sadie. We make a pretence of doing so, I know; but in the States, as everywhere else, merit with an empty pocket gets consid- erably left, I assure you. No sir ; it's greenbacks lords it over all — our railroads, our telegraphs, our lands, our everything. River. I've been told all men were equal under your flag. Sadie. A pleasant delusion, that is all ; for you can see any day a poor wretch who has stolen a loaf for his hungry wife and children get twelve months, while thimblerigging office-holders, who have 13 appropriated millions ride through the streets in carriages, the cost of which has actually been paid out of the very money the poor wretch in jail has contributed in the shape of taxes. River. {Pause^ sfnoking.) I like you. Do you ? Why ? Because you've got such an uncommon lot of common Sadie. River. sense. Sadie. River. Sadie. River. Sadie. River. Sadie. River. Have I ? Yes, and common sense is so uncommon. So it is. Now, I'm very common, but I've very little sense. Oh, I don't know that. That's because you don't know me. Oh, yes, I do; I've studied you. That exercise didn't take you long, for I'm very super- ficial. My outside, which is Poole's the tailor, is the best of me ; as for my heart, very small ; my soul, very smaller ; and my brain, very smallest compatible with existence outside of a lunatic asylum Sadie. It was a fair average heart that gave that poor widow woman a £5 note yesterday, and a very passable soul that visited the poor little girl who is down with the fever. River. How did you know that? Sadie. Widow women have grateful tongues and I have ears. River. Widow women have noisy millclacks. Sadie. Oh, come, you needn't be ashamed of being found out in a good action, it's not the first time I've caught you either, and I've come to the conclusion, that, take you altogether, you're a pretty good fellow, altho' you have got a title. River. I'll apologize for the title if it offends you, or better still, I'll share it with you. Sadie. Eh? River. Will you take it, fair halves ? Sadie. Oh, my lord, you've taken my breath away. River. Have I ? then take it back again. (Kisses her.) Sadie. Oh ! oh ! that's not the thing. River. Isn't it ? Sadie. Oh ! not at all. River. But like everything else that's outside the hollow sham — it's very jolly. Sadie. (Archly) Real sweet. River. And symbolical, as well. Sadie. Of what ? River. The good feeling between Great Britian Sadie. And the United States of America. River. Yes. Sadie. Of which both nations are so proud. River. And which both hope will never be disturbed. Sadie. Never ! River. Then shall we renew the friendly assurances. Sadie. As often as the representatives of both countries River. Feel that they like it. Sadie. Yes. River. (Kisses her and exeunt.) Enter Lady Sybil and Lord Dynevor. Bgn. (Speaking as he enters.) I would not have spoken yet, but for that man's insulting inuendoes, but Lady Sybil, if you will let 14: me, I will tell you all, and you shall be my judge. When I was ordered with my regiment to India I was but a lad, and rushed into the fighting, as I did all else, with the raw inexperience of youth. At the close of the war, I met a woman in Calcutta who exercised what I now regard as an incredible fascination over me. It would be useless for me to attempt to excuse myself in your eyes, suffice it that I was inveigled into a marriage with her. It was but a few short weeks after I had made her my wife in Paris that I discovered how fearfully I had been duped. She was an accomplished adven- turess who had seized upon me for my supposed money and my title. To live with her was 'impossible, for having accomplished her end, she threw off all restraint and openly disgraced me every hour. In dispair I settled a sum of money on her and induced her, after a terrible and degrading scene, to leave the city, and live under her maiden name, discarding that which my title gave her, I .sold out my commission and wandered aimlessly about the world, tormented constantly by the spectre of my folly and dis- grace, and at length returned to England a broken man. When I met you, Lady Sybil, all the horror of my situation recurred with tenfold force, for to see you was to love you, madly, passionately, and hopelessly. I tried to avoid you, to drag my- self away from your presence, but it seemed as tho' I were tearing my very heartstrings asunder. My passion terrified me, and almost drove me mad, for it was a crime to love you. I had a wife who was not a wife, for our souls were not united and she herself was somewhere away in the world, I knew not where. But to-day, this very hour, the news has come of the poor creature's miserable death in a gambling hell in Paris. Osborne must have heard of it before I did myself. I pity her from my soul, indeed, indeed I do, yet if you could conceive of half the torture I have endured while chained to her by those pitiless bonds which the axe of death alone can sever, you, too, might perhaps, find some spark of pity in your heart for such a miserable man as I have been. Sybil. I would, I would, indeed, I would, Byn. Oh, if then, a life of devotion in the future could expiate the wretched past, and help you to forget what I once was, now that I am free. Sybil Free ! Dyn. Yes. Free to look into your eyes without reading in their depths a mute reproach — free to hold your hand in mine without re- morse, free to ask you if you can love and will take one with such a wretched past as mine to be your companion on the road of life. Sybil, can you ? will you ? Sybil. 1 can, I will, if only for pity for the suffering you have so nobly borne. Take me, and I will so devote myself to your future that your past shall be nothing to you henceforth than a dreadful dream from which you have awaked to the reality of my love. Dyn. Then you do really love me ? Sybil. I do, I do, with all my heart and soul ! {Embrace.) Enter at picture Col. Osborne, Riverdale and Sadie arm in arm Col. {Choking with rage.) I understand now why I was not an invited guest, but by Heaven — Dyn. Col. Osborne, I warn you — River. Come, Osborne, you have had too much wine. Col. Riverdale, I can settle my differences with Lord Dynevor without your Lordship's interference. 15 Dyn. I beg you will spare me further insult from your violence before Lady Sybil Riverdale who is now my promised wife. Sadie. Your affianced wife, oh I'm real glad. Col. Wife ! No, by Heaven, she shall never be your wife ! Not if I can help it. Sybil. My Lord, come away {to Dyn). Col. No, he shall not stir till 1 have done with him. Dyn. Col. Osborne, were it not for the presence of these ladies — Col. Ladies, oh I'm not afraid of them, nor do I need, like you, to make use of their presence as a shield for cowardice. Dyn. By Heaven ! — Sybil. {Restraining him.) Lord Douglas, let me beg of you — Col. Yes, hold him. Lady Sybil, and let him crawl off like a whipped hound. Sybil. Coward! {Releasing him.) Col. But if you go, I will still follow, and never leave you until I have convinced you that he will serve you as he did his first vic- tim, who has just died in Paris of a broken heart, and that you will be chaining yourself for life to a titled blackguard! Dyn. {Fells him at a bloxu.) Enter Bings, Adolphus, Merton. Picture. ACT 11. Chamber in Dynevor Hall. Discovered. Miss Rasp, Adolphus and Bings. Adolphus seated in chair R. Bings in chair L. Rasp. {Dusting, etc.) As usual, you see Mr. Bings, I have to do the work myself, for to leave it to those good-for-nothing lazy parlor maids is to leave it undone. {Dusting Adolph's chair.) Adolph. {Rising.) That old crocodile is a horrible nuisance. There is positively no peace in the house for a gentleman of my highly nervous temperament. Rasp. {Eyeing him contemptuously.) What are you standing there for like a figure in a wax works {imitates his ridiculously upright attitude.) What's the matter with your backbone ; won't it bend? Adolph. My bearing, Madame, is the result of my military educa- tion. When I was an officer's gentleman, I was the most upright man in the British army. Rasp). Upright! oh, get out; you must have swallowed a corporal's bayonet. Adolph. Miss Rasp, you arV positively pussonal, aw, painfully so. I must speak to his Lordship about it. 16 « Hasp. Mr. Adolphus, you are positively a fool, but there what could be expected from a man with a name like Adolphus ? Adolph. Or from a woman with a cognomen like Rasp? It positively grates like a cinder in the teeth. Hasp. " I'll thank you to remember who you are talking to {dusU ing 'cery hastily and getting angry)^ and if it comes to that, what right have you here at all ? {Threatening him with duster.) Adolph. Right ! I am Lord Dynevor's favorite gentleman, and I am here waiting for his pleasure as soon as he shall arrive. Rasp. Well, you will please wait for my pleasure in your own part of the house, which is the servant's hall, until he does arrive. Adolph. I, aw, do not take my orders from you. Rasp. You don't? Adolph. No ; but from your betters. Rasp. My betters, you puppy ! please to understand that I have been in this family all my life. Adolph. Then the sooner you leave it the better for the fam- ily- Rasp. Oh! oh! what! you image! you conceited essence of frills and flunkeyism ! take that ! {Striking him with duster^ he does does not wince under the bloios, nor change his attitude as he goes towards D. G. When there., he turns., seizes the duster from Rasp with mock regal dignity and throws it at her feet.) Adolph. An Henglishman never knows when he is beat, but this is really too hawful, and I must speak to his Lordship about it. {Exit majestically.) Rasp. {Rushing down, pulling Rings out of his chair and pull- ing him round to face her.) Did you ever see the like ? The cad! to put me in such a temper {loudly) oh! I could kill him; I declare he's made me go goose-flesh all dowm by back. Rings. {Ear bus.) Eh! my Lord and Lady got back V All right then, bustle, bustle. {Going C.]* Ras;p. Well, was ever a poor woman surrounded with such a lot of 4diots? What with that stick of horseradish that's just gone out, and this deaf old oyster, I'm nearly driven out of my mind. How ever His Lordship can tolerate them about him I don't understand. Rings. Well, Miss Rasp, come along, what's the use of stand- ing here while her Ladyship may be waiting to give you some commands Rasf. Come here. Sings. {Ear bus.) Eh ? Rasp. { Very loudly^ Come here. {Fetching him dorvn.) Rings. Can't hear? No, my hearing is not so good as it was, I know Rasp. {Ra-wling in his ear.) They've not got back yet. Rings. Oh ! I beg your pardon, then ; sit down again. Rasp. {They sit.) Well. I really think I must, for these two men are a little too much for me. What is a man like that good for in this world, anyway ? That's what I want to know. Rings. Do you know, Miss Rasp, I've been thinking that ever since his Lordship got married the second time. Rasp Yes, there is another piece of stupidity. I should have thought he'd had enough of marriage after the life of misery he led with that horrid woman. I'm sure those weeks we were in Paris he went thro' enough to turn^iiim grey. I used to ihink the men were bad, but she beat everything I ever saw. When a man is 17 really bad, lie's bad ; but when a woman is wicked, she's the very — ahem ! I'm not usually a cruel woman, Mr. Bings, but when I heard that creature was dead, I cried for joy. Just to think that our brave boy that I nursed myself should have linked his life and the title of our old house to such a wretch as she. Well, if there is a hot place down there, {pointing to floor) she's as warm as she could hope to be. Bings. I can't hear a blessed word you're saying, but I quite agree with you all the same. Enter Adolph, showing on Col. Osborne. Col. Take my hat. Adolph. {Taking hat.) I will, {ade?^ but if I hadn't got to keep up appearances, you should take mine instead. Col. What time are they expected ? Adolph. They have telegraphed they will be home to dinner. {Exit.) Col. Ah, Bings, Lord and Lady Dynevor not yet got back ? Biugs. {Ear bus.) Eh ? {Going up ) Col. Your master and mistress not got home to-day ? Bings. Me! going away? Yes, if you're going to stop, I am. {Exit?! Col. {Borving politely to Rasp, she turns her back on kim.) At any rate, Miss Rasp will not deny me the pleasure of her society? Rasp. No, you can't frighten me out of the room, like those cowards of men. Col. You don't seem to hold a very high opinion of me. Rasp. I've heard too much about you. Col. But I've never done you any harm. Rasp. No, but I've a terrible dislike of snakes, even though I've never been stung, and understand this, Colonel Osborne, the whole household is not at home when you call. Those are our orders and I hope I need noi explain the moral. Col. I perfectly understand, but I'm here on business ; to pay a debt, in fact, I owe v