'^> ^' ^^ . S^ % ^ ^ ->^, A' ♦vi^ v: -^ ^ » * *• A <-i 0^ .. <. "^rr.s^^'.A ,%. * ■■ <- v> <■ ^x<^^ t/- .N •-..0*^ .^ -^^ ^-^^ .^.i .0 o: A^' •^/>, -^^^ ^.v- -t^ •f^ v-^' s" '/^ O H ^ '^'Tr^r ^ x^ ^ .\^ nO' ^ v^ Oo. .0- V' A>' A *c<- ^-^i -"oo^ 'H ^ ^^ 9 ^^.. -R ^ ■xv \- ',/. ^S" =0 ^^. ,^v , - . , '°^/> * ^ N ■^' '^^ -.■« ■i%^\^ J'' / '-^-^ .0^ POSSESSION WITH THE GROOVE, THE UNBORN, CIRCLES, A GOOD WOMAN, THE BLACK TIE ONE- ACT PLATS OF CONTEMPORARY LIFE BY GEORGE MIDDLETON Author of Embers, Tradition, NonuadaySy etc. " these women are. More brain, O Lord, more brain! or we shall mar Utterly this fair garden we might win." Modern Lo've. NEW YORK HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 1915 Copyright, igis, BY GEORGE MIDDLETON ?5 3^2,r Copyright in Great Britain and Ireland, and in all Coun- tries subscribing to the Bern Convention. Published Janu a ry -, igis These plays in their printed form are designed for the reading public only. All dramatic rights in them are fully protected by copyright, both in the United States and in Great Britain, and no performance— professional or amateur —or public reading, may be given without the written permis- sion of the author and the payment of royalty. Communica- tions should be sent to the author, care of Henry Holt and Co., 34 West 33d St., New York City. THE QUINN A BODEN CO. PRESS RAHWAY, N. J. MAR -8 1915 ©CI.D 39891 t ' O- To my good friend RALPH CURTIS RINGWALT PREFACE It is a fact that many plays which aim at a serious presentation of life are denied a hearing solely because the manager — necessarily commercial — has learned from experience that the theater in America has not been able as yet so to organize its audiences that such plays will be as liberally supported as kaleidoscopic comedies and lithographic melodramas. The dramatist, therefore, who prefers to follow the impulse within him, irrespective of whether or not his play may have a wide popular appeal, has had little encouragement. This is obviously so where his subjects are quietly inti- mate and where the clash of character is subtly mental or emotional; especially when one compares such plays with those others, no more dramatic in essence, which naturally command a greater audience because the action is physical, external, and more readily compre- hended. If he be honest enough, however, to recognize frankly the many reasons why conditions are as they are, he need not bewail what may be only a transitional state of affairs. He will pursue his work for the joy it will bring him : he will not compromise with what vision and art he may possess. By doing this he will at least achieve his own self-expression — ^which should be of prime importance to him; and he will not lose his pro- vii viii PREFACE portion by coddling himself with self-pity over the neglect of the larger public. Speaking for such workers I have suggested in my preface to Nowadays the value of play publica- tion: not as a substitute for production but as an alternative for those whose dramas may offer little attraction to the manager because of theme or treat- ment. Through publication the dramatist thus gains a certain audience otherwise denied him, and time, too, may bring him the production which each play must have to make It a vital living expression. It has been this thought — ^which contains no criticism of the many excellent plays that win an easy way to the footlights — as well as the limited opportunities afforded the one- act play in America, which has impelled me to offer another volume to a reading public already generous to my earlier efforts. Possession continues my series of one-act plays begun In Embers and Tradition. In it I have sought once more to depict intimate phases of modern character expressing Itself on contending planes of evo- lution. As Spinoza points out, one should look at all the motives of human feeling which drive people into action, not as vices of human nature, but as properties belonging to it, just as cold and heat belong to the air. To reflect these motives, with a sympathy which does not sentimentalize them, should be. In my opinion, the highest aim of the dramatist, who through the moving quality of his medium may thus in turn broaden a little the human sympathies of the beholder. With this idea in the background these plays, in the main, are studies PREFACE ix in marriage and family relations, having the emphasis on woman — blindly groping or clear visioned, as the case may be — about whom to-day the conflict of social traditions with growing individualism is centered. G. M. October 29, 1914. CONTENTS PAGE Preface vii Possession ........ i The Groove 59 A Good Woman 95 The Black Tie 125 Circles 153 The Unborn 187 POSSESSION THE PEOPLE Howard Banning, a prominent financier, Katrine, his divorced wife. Polly, their daughter, Anne, an old family nurse, John, the butler. SCENE The entrance hallway in Banning's home. New York City, Late one March afternoon. POSSESSION * /f S the curtain slowly rises the broad entrance y4w hallway of a luxuriously appointed residence is •^ -^ disclosed. The porch without is faintly seen through the wide door whose beveled glass panel is covered with fine lace. Directly opposite this street entrance the broad stairway mounts to the floors above. In back, a short section of the wall, on which is an impos- ing bronze-shield clock, divides the open spaces of two handsomely decorated rooms that extend beyond: the one at the left is obviously a reception-room; the other, partly hidden by the stairway, is the dining-room. In the niche, made by the stairs and the wall at the right, a cozy corner is visible in which is tucked a small settee accessible to the ^phone on a low table. The hall- way itself is of the finest paneled wood, here and there supporting electric clusters now unlighted. It is, of course, simply furnished, though there are several long low attractively carved chests which stand against the visible and invisible walls. These are cushioned in tone to match the soft Oriental rugs on the hardwood floor. The entire impression is of studied simplicity made possible by great means. * Copyright, 1 9 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 4 POSSESSION Though it is late afternoon — the hands of the clock, in fact, indicate a quarter to five — the sun still pours in sufficiently through the glass door and the windows suggested in the extreme rear to light the hallway. For some moments no one is seen. Then Polly comes from the dining-room, looking for her " Alice in Wonderland/* Polly is about six or seven. She is dressed in a neat frock and her hair is tied with a ribbon which sets off her thoughtful face. She is rather a winsome body, with a quaint attractive charm all her own. She finds the book on one of the chests and slowly goes up the stairs looking at the pictures. Then she is no longer seen. A few seconds after this, the figure of a woman is indistinctly observed outside trying to look in through the street door. She hesitates a moment; then a key is heard slowly turning in the lock. She opens the door almost stealthily and stands there. She absently pushes the door to as though fearing one might see her and, not knowing what to do with the key, places it in her handbag. It is Katrine Banning. Katrine is about thirty. The thin outlines of her delicate face quickly reveal a woman of natural refine- ment and her general manner indicates assured social position. At present her large deep eyes are narrowed with suppressed excitement, her frail body quivers with alert attention; she seems tuned to a purpose. One in- tuitively gains a sense that she is not naturally self- willed, but has been made so by overwhelming circum- stance — a woman determined but unused to the per- POSSESSION 5 vading emotion which is now impelling he?* life. She is quietly gowned. She gains control of herself, and after looking about the room for a moment as though it recalled many thingSj her eyes finally rest on the stairs. She slowly moves toward them — hesitating, gaining courage, and finally confident. As she is about to ascend them, how- ever, the telephone sharply rings. She quivers. In- stinctively she retreats into the reception-room as she hears the outer dining-room door open and close. With a quick glance in that direction, she conceals herself in back as John, the butler, in conventional garb, enters from the dining-room. As he goes to the 'phone Katrine steps out and listens, though she cannot be seen by the butler because of the intervening stairs. John {At the ^phone) Hello? . . . This is John. . . . Beg pardon, Mr. Banning; at half-past five? . . . (Katrine starts and quickly glances at the clock.) Very good, sir. Early dinner . . . I'll tell cook . . . Yes, sir . . . Anne has just brought Miss Polly in. . . . She's upstairs. . . . Very good, sir. (John hangs up the receiver. He is about to go when he notices a draught and looks at the street door, which, during this, has blown open. As he crosses to close it Katrine again retreats out of sight, John becomes somewhat sus- picious, but closes the door and then crosses into the dining-room. Katrine, thinking he has POSSESSION goncj comes out and starts quickly toward the stairs. John steps out, also, in front of her. He is civil but suspicious throughout.) John I beg pardon. Do you wish to see Mr. Banning? Katrine You don't know me? , John No, ma^am. Katrine Ohj yes ; you're new here. John Some months. Katrine That explains it. John (Js she again starts to go up) I beg pardon; perhaps you've got the wrong house. Katrine (Cynically) The wrong house? John (Firmly) Mr. Banning's very particular and I must be- POSSESSION 7 Katrine {Realizing his suspicions) — careful ? Yes. One must be careful these days. John Will you leave a card? Katrine You might call Anne. John {Surprised) You know Anne? Katrine {Pointing to the push-button) Press the button three times. It's her call, I be- lieve. Then stay here till she comes. John {Doing so, puzzled) I beg pardon if I've made a mistake. Katrine You are quite right to be careful — ^with a child upstairs. John Thank you. 8 POSSESSION Katrine I forgot I was a stranger here. (She begins to laugh nervously y much to his amazement.) Me — a stranger here! John I beg pardon, but KIatrine I told you, you did quite right. John (Points to reception-room) Won't you wait in there? Katrine (Abruptly) Is that clock right? John A trifle slow. Katrine Oh, yes; it never was on time. (As she begins laughing again nervously , Anne enters in back, completely astonished on seeing Katrine. Anne is about sixty, with white hair and a kind face. She is dressed in black with a white frilled cap.) POSSESSION 9 Anne Miss Katie! Katrine Anne. Anne Oh, good Lord ! It's Miss Katie herself ! Katrine Mr. Banning's new butler thought me a thief. Anne A thief? Katrine Isn't it ridiculous? John I beg pardon, but the front door was open and no one Katrine {Impatiently) Tell him, Anne. So he'll know me if I call again. Anne It's Mrs, Banning! John {Astonished) Mrs. Banning! Oh, I beg pardon. {Recovering himself.) Mr. Banning will be here himself at half- past five. 10 POSSESSION Katrine {Glancing at the clock) Yes, I know. I heard you. (Anne motions John to go. He leaves quietly in back; then Anne, her manner changed to one of extreme solicitude^ goes to Katrine^ who is seated on the chest laughing nervously.) Anne You'll have hysterics. Katrine (Bitterly) Think of a mother having to steal into the house to see her own child ! Anne Hush! Hush! He frightened you. Katrine (Controlling herself) I haven't given way like this once — since it all happened. Anne (Quieting her in a motherly fashion) There now, Miss Katie. Katrine I'm all right now. POSSESSION II Anne Yes, yes Katrine I thought Polly might be alone; or only with you. I didn't want any one else to see me. I had my old key. She's upstairs? Anne {Hesitating) Yes. Katrine {Looking at the clock again) Then I can see her, before Mr. Banning comes. Anne ( Glancing quickly up toward the stairs, fearing Polly may hear) Is it best to see her now ? Katrine Anne! She's not getting used to my being away from her? Anne It wasn't easy for her at first ; but Mr. Banning told her Katrine {Sharply) What did he tell her? Say it, Anne. 12 POSSESSION Anne That you'd gone away on a long trip, and wouldn't be back for a long time. Katrine Did he say anything unkind about me ? Anne I never hear him speak about you. Katrine Then you think Polly doesn't know what has happened ? Anne Ah, Miss Katie ; she's not old enough to understand such things. Katrine {Starting toward the stairs) I must go to her If only for a few moments. Anne {Half stopping her) Miss Katie Katrine You stop me, too? Anne It's breaking my old heart, Miss Katie, to see you taking on like this; but she'll tell Mr. Banning and he gave me particular orders POSSESSION 13 Katrine {Abruptly) To shut me out? Anne {Lowering her head) He might send me away. Katrine Oh, yes — yes. {She sits again, slowly, as though overcome with perplexity.) Anne Mr. Banning is so changeable-like these last months. There's no telling what he'll do. Katrine She mustn't lose you. Anne He says she needs a woman about and that he's trusting her to me now. Katrine To you? Yes {Half breaking) — and my arms are empty. Anne He never smiles; even when he's loving her. 14 POSSESSION Katrine He loves her? Does he really love her? Anne (Slowly) Yes. If you'll pardon me, Miss Katie, it seems as though you both love her more since this took place. Katrine We both love her: yet the courts gave her to him. (Dully) They couldn't understand. Anne (With a sigh) If people don't understand us and they're stronger, there's nothing to do but give in to them. Katrine (Rising impulsively) But I have not given in! Anne Don't we all have to in the end ? Katrine (With a certain imperative firmness) No: not inside — not in our hearts and souls. I'm her mother: she's my girl. I'm wasting time. Anne You're going to see her? POSSESSION 15 Katrine Upstairs or here. Anne But if Mr. Banning should find out? Katrine He'll never know I saw you. You won't be blamed. Send her down here for a book or something. Do as I tell you. {Clutching Anne's arm fiercely.) Anne, you've known me ever since I was her age. Do you think I am not even fit to see her? Anne No, no. Miss Katie. Only I can't believe it's all true — when everything was so nice and comfortable here for you. I can't believe it's true. (Anne goes upstairs shaking her head.) Katrine {Half to herself, surveying the room slowly) Everything so nice here! {She goes quickly to the door, after glancing at the clock which is now pointing to five.) A half hour. {A thought strikes her and she goes, with suppressed excitement, to the 'phone.) Hello? Plaza 4433. {She waits nervously.) Yes, Sheldon's? . . . Send me a taxi at once. . . . Ban- ning. . . . Yes ... 34 Park. ... At once ... I am waiting. {As she is 'phoning, PoLLY comes slowly down the stairs, not knowing who is talking. Finally i6 POSSESSION when she reaches the bottom she and her mother recognize each other.) Katrine Polly! Polly {Rushing eagerly to her arms) Mama! Mama! (Katrine hugs and kisses her repeatedly for some moments as though words could not break through her inarticulate emotion.) Katrine Polly! My little girl! . . . Dearest! Polly You've come back? Katrine Yes, yes. Polly I'm so — so glad ! Don't cry, mama. Katrine I can't help it, dearest. Ah, you look so well, so pretty. You've grown, my darling Polly I'm so glad you're home again. (Katrine looks POSSESSION 17 down J trying to keep back the tears.) Did you have a nice trip ? Katrine Oh! Polly Where have you been? Jw^TRINE {Controlling herself) Fve been far away. Didn't your father tell you? Polly Papa said he'd tell me all about it some day. But why didn't you come to tell me about it before you went away ? And you didn't kiss me good-by. Katrine I did kiss you good-by, child. But you were asleep. Polly Why didn't you wake me up ? Katrine It's best sometimes not to waken happy children. Polly But you've come back to stay with us now? i8 POSSESSION Katrine {Evasively) You've missed me? Polly Yes. I've been so lonesome. Katrine But you had your father. Polly {With childish mirth) Oh, yes; and he's such fun these days. He said he must be papa and mama to me while you're away. He plays with me every time I ask him now. He was always " too busy " before. We sailed boats in the bath-tub yesterday and he got his coat all wet. Will you sail boats with me? Katrine Yes. Polly Papa says he's going to take me on a real boat soon. Katrine A real boat? Polly Yes. A boat that goes over the ocean. POSSESSION 19 Katrine {Half terrified) He's going to take you over the ocean? Polly Yes. When Spring comes. And we're going to stay a long, long while. I told Anne, maybe we were go- ing over to find you. But now you've come back, we can all go together. {Happily) Won't it be fun? Katrine {Nonplussed) Next month! Polly I'm getting all my things. Anne's having them made for me. And I've got a red hat with a long feather. Come, see it. ( Taking her hand and trying to drag her to the stairs) ICatrine {Holding her close again) He sha'n't take you; he sha'n't. Polly But, mama, I want to go. Katrine You want to go? 20 POSSESSION Polly Oh! it will be so wonderful. Aren't you glad we'll all go together? Katrine {Drawing her close with suppressed excitement) Polly, you do love me, don't you? Polly Heaps and heaps. Katrine But you love me more than any one else? Polly More than any one — except papa and Anne. Katrine {Impulsively) I can't let you go. {Glancing quickly at the clock, which has moved on.) Polly! Would you like to take a ride in a taxi with me? Just you and me? So we may talk? Polly Won't you wait for papa? Then we can go in his car. He'll be so glad to see you. Katrine But I want a long talk with you first. Won't you ccme? POSSESSION 21 Polly {Eagerly) I'll ask Anne if I can go. Katrine {Hurt) There's no need of asking Anne, if your mother wants you. Polly {Hesitating) But papa said I must always ask her. He says there are bad people about who want to steal pretty little girls like me. Katrine {Coaxing her) I know. But this will be a secret, a secret between you and me. Polly {Entering into the spirit of it) A real secret for nobody but us? ICatrine Yes. Polly Goodie. Katrine Get your coat — your warm coat. And don't let Anne see you or she'll guess our secret. 22 POSSESSION Polly My coat is in the play-room, 'way upstairs. Katrine Go the back stairs. Hurry. It's getting late. Polly It's so exciting. Katrine {As Polly comically tiptoes off in back through the dining-room Katrine holds her arms out after her) Dare I? You're my child, too; and he's taking you {As Banning opens the door and enters Ka- trine turns. He throws his coat and hat down on the chair. They eye each other: he in quiet resentment and astonishment at her presence; she with a certain subdued nervousness and fear, lest Polly should immediately return. Howard Banning has already passed forty, though the slight tinge of gray about the tem- ples and the lines of his face, deepened as they have been by great responsibilities, suggest he is older. His physique, however, reveals power controlled by a will which is indicated in his firmly set features. His manner toward Katrine is one of assumed coldness, though the bitterness and attempted consideration be- tray deeply stirred feelings ujiderneath — feel- POSSESSION 23 ings which always sway him in spite of his severe schooling in life.) Banning {Coldly) What are you doing here? Katrine {Controlling herself) I came to see Polly. Banning The courts have decided that question. Katrine I ask five minutes alone with her. Banning {Refusing it) I am sorry. Katrine Just five minutes. {He is silent.) She was born upstairs. Doesn't all the pain I went through entitle me to five minutes — five minutes that you'd give a stranger who wished to speak to her on the streets? Banning You could have remained something else. Katrine I'm still her mother. 24 POSSESSION Banning You have forfeited any rights here. Katrine But not the right to feel. Banning That is your punishment. Katrine Oh, yes: you still believe in punishment. Banning When one deserves it. Katrine {As she gazes at him sadly) And you dared to judge me! Banning You offered no defense in court. Katrine Before the law? No. I had none to give — there. Banning {Bitterly) You were her mother. You should have thought of the consequences before you and Mace POSSESSION 25 Katrine (Quickly) But it was not the mother in me that he caught. Banning {Sarcastically) No : it was my wife. Katrine {Simply) In her loose moments; yes. Banning Can you say it without shame? Katrine Yes: I have understanding of myself now. Banning And that means justification, I suppose? Katrine I said understanding. Can't you understand my suffering and give me just five minutes with Polly? Banning {Violently clutching her arms) Katrine, why did you do this to me? {As he loses control of himself.) Why did you make a fool of me? Why did you deceive me? Answer! Katrine! 26 POSSESSION Katrine {Coldly) Please take your hands from me. You forget I am no longer your wife. (They stare at each other a moment: then his hands slip down her arms and he turns away. She looks at him and then nervously toward the dining-room door where she expects Polly. John enters from there as Katrine eyes him with quick apprehension.) John I beg pardon, Mr. Banning: your taxi is here. Katrine {Involuntarily) Ah! Banning A taxi? What would I want with a taxi? John {Surprised) He said you 'phoned you were in a hurry. Banning I didn't order any Katrine / ordered it. POSSESSION 27 Banning {Without suspicion) Then say Mrs. Banning will be there in a moment. ( They wait till John goes out through the dining-room. Banning steps quietly before Katrine as she now makes a move toward the stairs. ) Do you completely forget what has happened? Katrine Could I? Banning Then does your "understanding" include me? Do you understand what you did to me? Katrine Yes, yes. Banning {Reproachfully.) You deceived me, Katrine. Katrine Let me go. It is only Polly's mother who is stand- ing here. Banning {Stopping her) You should not have forgotten you were a mother. {Firmly) Now, please go. I don't want you to 28 POSSESSION see her. It's not easy, I know. I'm sorry. But you need have no fear for Polly. Since she can't have a mother, she w^ill have everything Katrine — everything a father can give. I had all a husband could give — at least, everything he thought I should have. But one thing was wrong from the start be- tween us: it's why I am afraid to have her grow up here alone with you .and away from me. Banning (Icily) And what, pray, is that? Katrine It's your attitude toward women, Howard. You must change that before you hurt her, as you did me. (Polly, with her hat and coat on, comes run- ning in excitedly from the dining-room.) Polly I'm ready, mother. Anne didn't hear me. {She sees Banning.) Oh, papa, you've come home, too. Banning {Stunned) Then you have seen Polly? Katrine {Hugging Polly) Yes. POSSESSION 29 Banning So! Polly {Happily) Isn't it just lovely, papa, to have mama back again to stay? I told him that you'd come back, mama. Oh, vi^e both missed her so; didn't we, papa? Katrine Polly! Polly It's been so lonely here except when papa plays with me. Oh, I'm so happy now. {Kisses her.) Aren't you happy, papa, that mama's come home ? Banning Home! You see, Katrine, what it Is? Katrine But you at least have had her all this time. Polly {Whispering to her) Shall we tell papa our secret and only keep it from Anne? PCatrine {Silencing her) Hush! {Pleading with Banning, who gazes at them) Just five minutes alone with her, Howard. {There is a tense pause. Polly looks from 30 POSSESSION one to the other, not understanding. Finally Banning seems to give a silent consent. He turns to go up the stairs.) Polly {Pouting) Can't we take papa along in the taxi with us? Banning {Turning sharply) Katrine ! Katrine {Defensively) The child meant Banning {Taking Polly quickly from her mother) The taxi. I see. Katrine No! Banning I might have known ! Katrine {Defiantly) Well, why not? Banning Wliy not? Going to steal her away from me, eh? POSSESSION 31 Katrine She's my child, too. (Banning laughs harshly.) Polly (As she looks from one to the other without under- standing) Why, nobody's going to steal me, papa. I'm only going with mama for a ride. Banning {Calling up the stairs) Anne ! Anne ! Come here ! Katrine (Appealingly) Howard ! Polly What's the matter? Banning (Brutally) Your mother has no right to be here. Katrine Let me tell her ! Banning Not now. 32 POSSESSION Katrine {Distracted) Polly, come to me, dear. Banning You stay here. (Anne enters quickly down the stairs, and realizes the situation. Banning immediately controls himself before her.) Banning Anne; take Polly to her room. Anne Yes, sir. Katrine {Poignantly) No, no. Anne, Anne! Polly I don't understand. You both want me and Banning Go with Anne, Polly. I want to talk with your mother — alone. Polly {Protesting) But, papa POSSESSION 33 Banning That's a good girl. Now, do as I say. / Katrine \ {Desperately throughout) Have you no pity, Howard? Anne {Taking Polly's hand) Come, dear. Katrine My arms are empty, Howard — empty. Polly Mama! Banning Go with Anne Katrine {Holding out her arms) Polly! Polly! Polly! Polly But, Anne, why won't papa let me ? (Anne gently leads the bewildered child off. Katrine and Banning both look after Polly. Then Katrine sinks on one of the chests, overcome. He turns to her, bitterly.) 54 POSSESSION Banning You tried to trick me. {She does not answer except with a sob.) Katrine! You tried to trick me! Katrine Yes. Banning To steal her away. Katrine {Pleading) Only for a ride with me, at first. But when she said you were going abroad for a long while Banning Where were you going to take her? Katrine Anywhere. I didn't know. Banning To give her what? Katrine A mother's love. Banning Who robbed her of it? Katrine I'm here to give it. POSSESSION 35 Banning And what else? Katrine Protection, support, all. Banning {With a harsh laugh) You? Katrine Yes: if you'll let me. Banning Let you? And how are you going to do it? With Mace's money? Katrine {Her whole defensive manner changing to one of as- sertion) With my own money! I'm earning it now — ^work- ing. Banning Working? Katrine Women do, you know. Banning {With incredulous sarcasm throughout) You earning money? 36 POSSESSION Katrine {Abruptly facing him) How did you think I would live? Banning / offered you money. Katrine Yes: that was your one human act in all this! But I could no longer give j'^ou anything in return. Mace offered me money, too. I had nothing further to give him. There seems to be only one reason women think they can take money from men. Banning So Mace lets you work? Katrine {Emphatically) He has nothing to do with my actions. Banning {Astonished) Then you're not going to marry him? Katrine Why should I? Banning For the sake of your name — if nothing else. POSSESSION 37 Katrine Who disgraced my name? Banning Your own act. Katrine Which you and the courts spread abroad. But does that give you both the further right to keep my child from me? Banning Since you forgot what you owed your husband, every right. Katrine What has her future to do with what I owed you? You divorced me, didn't you ? The law no longer com- pels you to support me, does it? I have paid the social penalty, haven't I? What further do I owe youf Banning You owe it to me to leave my daughter alone, so that she will forget you as I want to. Katrine But my child loves me. Banning Children forget — like some women. 38 POSSESSION Katrine (Quickly) And I should want her to forget me if I were still what I was when I lived here with you. But I'll never let her forget me now — for now 1 can be a good mother to her. Banning You're absurd — laughable ! As if a woman like you could be a good mother after what has happened. Katrine I can because of what has happened. Banning It was all of your own making. Katrine {With directness) Are you so sure ? Have you ever asked yourself in- side whether it was all my fault? Have you, Howard? Banning There's nothing to argue. I only know one miser- able, rotten fact: the one fact a man never forgets. Katrine Which thousands of women accept and forget in men! {He dismisses it.) A mother has her great fact, too: that she bore her child! Has any man ever the right to forget that? POSSESSION 39 Banning That doesn't excuse what you did to me. Katrine No. If my fidelity was all you prized me for. Banning {With feeling) You think that was all I ? Katrine It was all you considered when the test came. You thought of nothing else. You turned me out without a word. You didn't even ask for an explanation. Banning {Bitterly) What could you have explained? Katrine Nothing then, perhaps — that's why I didn't try. For then I didn't know myself. Banning But you did know I had given you everything. Katrine For teas and Tangoes and Bridge and pretty gowns and jewels, yes. But what did you give me for my- self? 40 POSSESSION Banning {Not understanding) Yourself ? Katrine Yes, for me — me/ To do with as / saw fit. Banning I gave you what every man in my position wants to give his wife: leisure; comfort and leisure. Katrine Yes. And it was leisure which ruined our life to- gether. Banning (Laughing cynically) A woman ruined by leisure! Katrine Leisure! Leisure! Not leisure to use as I wished, to use in something I thought worth while, in some- thing which differed from your way of looking at life. But leisure with you always watching it, curb- ing it. Banning Do you think I had time to bother about how you spent your days? POSSESSION 41 Katrine (As he walks up and down impatiently) You always questioned me. You always disap- proved of my actions if they differed from those of our idle women friends. You knew exactly what I should and should not do. I mustn't do this or that, for fear people would talk. Why, do you remember how you stormed because I happened to contribute to those poor garment strikers the money you had given me to waste on Bridge? Banning (Denying her words throughout) I told you then I couldn't have my name in the newspapers mixed up with that damn radical stuff. Katrine That's it. Your name! Now we have it. {He faces her.) That's always what I had to consider. Banning You were my wife. It was your business to con- sider me. Katrine But did I have to make everybody think I believed the same as you? Did I have to make all my opinions only pale reflections of yours? Couldn't I be myself in what I v/as trying to do to escape my boredom here, without fearing everybody would criticise you? Couldn't I do or say anything for myself because I bore your name? 42 POSSESSION Banning {Sarcastically) And I suppose that was the reason you forgot your home? Katrine With servants to run it. Banning You had your child. Katrine Which you insisted our nurses should bring up. You didn't even want me to nurse my own child be- cause it interfered with — {suddenly) Why, How- ard, now that I think of it, you didn't even ask me if I wanted to have a child. Banning {Recoiling and staring at her as though he could not grasp how much she has changed) Katrine ! Katrine And what did I know of these matters when you brought me here? I didn't know anything of chil- dren. I didn't know anything of their health or care or education. Nothing. Yet I found myself a mother. The greatest thing in life. Yet I was unprepared, ignorant. And when I tried to reach out and learn, when I wanted instruction and help, when I felt I POSSESSION 43 simply had to be something myself before I could be anything to her — you laughed at me. {He protests) Oh, you meant it in kindness: you meant it all in kind- ness: that's what is so tragic! Banning {With icy incredulity) And you think now I should let you have Polly ? Katrine Yes ; because I love her more than ever now, and be- cause now I am free to learn. {Pleading suddenly again) Polly is only a girl, Howard; she'll be a woman soon. My heart's longing for her as she grows up, so she won't make my mistakes, be ignorant as I was when I married. For there are facts about men and women you never could tell her with your way of thinking about women. Howard, let me be part of her life every day as she grows into womanhood. Banning {Still gazing at her incredulously) But you don't seem to realize what you are! Katrine Yes, I do. But what was I? Do you realize that? {He is silent.) What was there for me, here? A few hours with you. What for ? Theaters, opera — {With sincerity) Howard, what was my life here? Banning Just what you made it. 44 POSSESSION Katrine What you made me make it ; an empty shell of a life on silk cushions, bored — ^bored, depressed, careless, and useless. You gave me leisure and I made the most of it. Banning With Mace! Katrine {Wearily) Oh; it might have been anybody. Banning {With bitterness) And you think a woman who can say that is fit to bring up a young girl? Katrine {Persuasively, with deep feeling) Why not? Because I'm not full of remorse, weep- ing away what little strength I have in regrets? Be- cause I'm looking forward, not back? Because I'm using what happened in the past to lead my future into something better? Has my one fault — miserable, des- picable, anything the world may call it — has it torn out my mother's heart? Haven't you seen it breaking here? Do you think I'd have come back here after all you put me through, if my motherhood weren't still alive? Can your courts and your laws and all the sins of the world stamp out that feeling? Can you crush out all the good in me, because I've been guilty of my one wrong to you? Can you judge me as I POSSESSION 45 stand here, with my eyes open to life for the first time, by that — only that — and nothing else? Banning {Who has been moved by her words) God, Katrine! Don't I know you love our child! Katrine Then let me have her. Banning You love her: but so do I. Katrine I know: I know. Banning {Poignantly) If — if it were only to somebody else you were plead- ing! But you wronged me — me. Your husband! I can't get that out of the way. I can't forget it. — You're pleading for yourself. But what about me? Because you want her, does that bring back the home that is broken up? Katrine Was it a home? Banning Must / lose her, too, because you're a woman ? Are you going to play on that weakness to gain your end ? 46 POSSESSION Katrine We fight with what weapons you men leave us. Banning You deceived me. You steal into the house now like a thief. You try to trick me: yet you stand there justifying yourself and your rotten wrong to me, be- cause you bore her. Can't a man love his child, too? Katrine Doesn't that make you understand my love? Banning {Bitterly throughout) But why should I give her up? Why should I let her go with you? What about me? What is there here for me? She's all there is now. Am I going to let you push me aside because you're a mother? Any woman can be a mother! You talk as though it was something unusual. You think you bear the whole responsibilities of a child. You think the father's just a — — . Why should I pay for all the wreckage that you brought about just because Nature happened to make you as it did ? Katrine Am I not paying it, too? Banning {Persistently) But how are you going to square the account with me? POSSESSION 47 Katrine Was I alone to blame for our failure? Banning Answer me. Katrine {Insistingly) Was all the fault mine ? Banning You're evading my question. Katrine I want your answer. Banning ( Trying to put conviction in his words) Yes; the fault was all yours. Katrine Howard! If I'd been happy here, would we have gone on the rocks? Could any woman have come to this alone? Banning If you'd been a stronger woman Katrine (Quickly) Grant my weakness, then; grant everything I was. Shouldn't you have helped me and strengthened me? 48 POSSESSION Banning {Confused) But Katrine (Searchingly) Howard ! Howard ! Was all the fault mine ? Banning {He is halted by her tone: he seems to question him- self for a moment, then he waves it aside) What difference does it make who's to blame when a thing's done ? Why talk of blame at this late day, in the face of all this wreckage and waste? Katrine {Quickly) Wreckage — ^yes; but whether it is to be waste or not rests with us. {He looks at her.) Howard, there is good in this — if only you will see it. Banning Good? Here in this empty house? Katrine Yes; for you and me. Banning There can be nothing between you and me. Katrine There is always Polly! POSSESSION 49 Banning Polly! Katrine Look how much more we both have to give her now? Banning Living apart? Katrine {With vision) Yes: even that way. It's not as it should be, of course: but we must build out of the wreckage as best we may; and you and I have built better apart than we did together. Don't you see how we can go on building for Polly? That's where she, too, will gain by all this — if we wish it. Banning ( Wearily ) I can see no gain. Katrine But you can see what you call my sin has not broken me: you can see I've grown really to love her through my need, through my anxiety for her future, through everything. Isn't Anne right? Haven't we both grown to love Polly more since this happened ? Banning Anne dared ? 50 POSSESSION Katrine But isn't she right ? Was either of us a good parent before? What was there in our lives worth handing on to Polly? {He starts to answer.) What? Here we were: two people: you with your money-making and me with my leisure. Did either of us give her love? Banning What / gave was love. Katrine Like it is now? {Smiling.) Now you play at sailing boats in the bath-tub — and you got your coat wet! Banning {Moved) She told you that? Katrine Yes. You never played with her before. Polly noticed it. Banning {Almost inaudibly) Poor little kid. ICatrine Howard, that is the good in all this, if we will admit it. Her love didn't hold either of us to very POSSESSION 51 much before — did It? And now we are both stronger through our suffering. Yes; better for ourselves — and Polly. {She comes close to hifn.) Our marriage is over. It was a failure. But we're still her father and mother. Must we be enemies fighting over the pos- session of our child ? Can't we be friends for her sake ? Banning Friends? You and me? With this wrong between us? Katrine The wrong was between husband and wife. Polly- stands between father and mother. That's all we are now, Howard. Father and mother! She's our child: born of you and me. She loves us both. Can't we both have her till she grows up and leaves us — as children do? Banning Father and mother! (Banning rises after a long pause. He has been deeply moved, yet he hesitates. Then he looks at her as she stands there watching htm with a calm serenity. He moves slowly to the foot of the stairs. There is a silence,) Banning ( Calling) Polly! Polly! 52 POSSESSION Yes, papa. Come here. In a minute. Howard ? Polly ( Upstairs) Banning Polly Katrine Banning {Turning' to her quietly) Was I nothing in your life? Katrine Oh, yes: Howard. Banning Then why did it all happen? Katrine Maybe you came into my life too early to stay all through. I was a girl. How could I know? Banning {Lowering his head) I thought I was a good husband, as men go. POSSESSION 53 Katrine You would have made some woman very happy. I suppose down deep, Howard, I didn't only want to be taken care of like lots of women we know. Banning Maybe it's an old, old story, after all. Katrine Yes: the world is full of old stories. Banning {With difficulty) I love Polly, Katrine; but Katrine You think I have some claim? Banning We will let Polly decide which one she will go with. Katrine {Quickly) No! Banning Are you afraid? Katrine It would be cruel of us to shift the decision on her. 54 POSSESSION Banning But it's her life. Katrine Suppose she chooses me? Banning Fin willing to take that risk. Katrine {Startled) You think she might not come with me? Banning That's what we must find out. {Calling.) Polly! Katrine Oh, you'd let me see her, wouldn't you? You'd let me hold her in my arms? Banning And if she went with you? Katrine I should always want her to hold her father's hand. I don't want her to lose either of us. All I ask is to let me see her now and then; let me have her part of the time. Banning It can't be that way. She — she must decide! POSSESSION 55 Katrine No, no! My love is greater than that. You've broken me, Howard. Rather than submit her to that, I give in. You have the powder here. The courts have given her to you. And w^e've got to submit, as Anne says, if the stronger can't understand us. Do w^hat your heart says, How^ard. I only ask you to be bigger than the lavv^. (Polly comes down the steps slowly and stands there puzzled for a moment, between the two, who gaze at her. Then she goes quietly to Banning.) Polly You called me, papa? Banning {With an effort throughout as he strokes her hair and holds her hand) Your mother has come back from a long journey and — she v^ants you to go with her. Polly Hasn't mama come back home for good? Banning Polly, it's this way; I Katrine I'll tell her, Howard. 56 POSSESSION Banning I couldn't tell her everything. Katrine {Calmly) She shall know everything in time. And I shall be fair to you, Polly (Puzzled) Papa, I wish you'd tell me what it means. Banning {Half breaking, as he sits with his face buried in his hands) I don't know what it means — I don't know. Polly Do you, mama? Katrine Sometimes I know. But not for very long, dear. (Katrine crosses to Banning and puts her hand tenderly on his shoulder, but he rises and moves away from her gently as she withdraws her hand.) Banning {Recovering his self-possession) To-morrow your mother will come to you, Polly, and you're to go with her for a while. POSSESSION 57 Katrine (Overwhelmed) Howard ! Polly Am I going to live in two places? Katrine (Hugging her) Yes; in both our hearts. (Banning has pressed the push-button, John enters from back.) Is the taxi there? Yes, sir. Banning John Banning Mrs. Banning is ready now. (John crosses to door which he opens, and stands there waiting. Katrine looks at Ban- ning as his back is turned. Then she kisses Polly.) Katrine To-morrow, Polly. (Katrine goes to the chest on which she has left her bag, containing the door-key. She takes thisj decides to keep the key, turns and 58 POSSESSION looks back at Banning, who is now facing her.) Thank you, Howard. (She hesitates^ tries to say some- thing but sees the futility) Good-by, We may need to talk to each other again. Banning About what? Katrine About Polly. (Katrine goes out. John closes the door and goes off in hack. Banning sinks into the chair again, staring before him.) Polly Papa; why must I live in two places? {She goes to him but he does not answer.) [the curtain falls] THE GROOVE THE PEOPLE Sarah Greenwell Constance, her younger sister SCENE A bedroom at the Greenwells' cottage in a small village, late one June night. THE GROOVE* A COZY bedroom in a little cottage is disclosed. A'W It is quaintly furnished. An old wooden bed is -^ •*• at the left projecting from the wall: directly against the opposite wall is a small dressing-table with a dainty flowered covering. Above this hangs a mirror reflecting the two candles now lighted, which are rest- ing amidst the toilet articles. Beyond this there is a broad window through which the moonlight is now streaming. In back a doorway opens into another room. At the foot of the bed is a steamer-trunk full of clothes, with its lid open. On the other side of the bed in back is a large wardrobe. There are some chairs, a what-not, and several old-fashioned pictures on the quietly papered walls; but the room is otherwise scantily furnished. It has, however, the air of unpre- tentious comfort. Constance is alone. She is about twenty-two, with abundant beauty and an entrancing charm. She is full of vitality, flexible in mood, with the occasional authority of approaching womanhood; but she is es- sentially youth — with its mingling of unconscious self- ishness and spasmodic consideration. She has just put on her kimono over her night-gown. As she hums happily she takes down her hair. She * Copyright, 19 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 62 THE GROOVE stops J after a moment ^ puts her bare feet into her pretty tuffed slippers, goes to the trunks lifts the tray and takes out a daintily framed photograph. Looking at it half dreamily she slowly crosses to the dressing-table, plac- ing it between the two candles, whose light reveals the photograph of a young man. She kisses it but turns its face down quickly so it cant be seen as she hears the door in back open. Sarah, her sister, enters, Sarah is ten years older: very plain so far as ex- ternals go; rather a quiet personality, in fact, though colored subtly by her humor and generous sympathies. Her hair is down in long braids and she, too, wears her kimono and bedroom slippers. Throughout there is a sense of deep personal in- timacy brooding over the two as they talk with subdued voices, fearing to disturb their mother in the next room, Sarah (Softly closing the door) Mother's asleep now. Constance I thought you were never coming. Sarah It's been such an exciting day for her: having you come home and all. {Going to her.) . You must be tired, too. Constance (Feeling the back of her head) I am. I'm all in a knot back here. THE GROOVE 63 Sarah Let me rub it. Constance (As Sarah rubs her neck) Um! I could purr like a pussy cat. What won- derful fingers you have, sister ! Sarah I do this to mother every time she has one of her bad headaches. She's grown to depend on it. Constance Dear little mother. Sarah (Slipping her arms close down and kissing her) Dear little sister. Constance I've looked forward so to this hour alone with you. Sarah * We haven't had many these last four years, have we ? Constance No. (As Sarah stops rubbing and turns her around.) That's so relaxing. Sarah Let me look at you, dear. 64 THE GROOVE Constance {Playfully taking hold of Sarah* s braids) Wouldn't it be lovely if we could always wear our hair down like this? Sarah Why? Constance We both look so much prettier. Sarah I didn't know I could be improved upon. Constance Oh, yes, you can. {They both laugh) I mean Sarah All the good looks went to you, didn't they ? ( Con- stance smiles.) Mother says John would have been a handsome man if he'd lived. Constance I should like to have had a real brother. Sarah Instead of so many volunteers? Constance Well, I couldn't help it if the boys liked me. THE GROOVE 65 Sarah Of course not. You are all unpacked ? (Sarah goes to trunk and unpacks it during this, hanging the things at intervals in the wardrobe, Constance combs and braids her hair,) Constance Now, don't you worry about that trunk. Sarah But your pretty dresses will all get wrinkled. Constance (Playfully) You are beginning to take charge of me again. Sarah You see I haven't changed since you last saw me. Constance A year can't change a fellow much. Sarah It's made you more beautiful, Con. Constance {Glancing covertly toward the photograph) That's because Sarah Because you're a woman now. My little sister's a woman ! 66 THE GROOVE Constance {Thoughtfully) Yes; in some ways only — only — I haven't entirely said good-by to the little sister. {Impulsively) Is everything the same here? Sarah Just the same. {Holding up a skirt.) Goodness, that needs a new braid. (Constance pays no attention to the clothes as she ties small pink ribbons to her braids, look- ing now and then in the mirror.) Constance Mother's well, isn't she? Sarah Yes; she sleeps so much better, too. Constance What does she do all day? Sarah Oh, the days pass somehow. Constance Does she still keep up her church work? Sarah That's the only social life we have here. THE GROOVE 67 Constance Any other excitement in the village? Sarah We've got a new minister. Constance Good looking? Sarah Yes, but fifty. Constance Interesting ? Sarah Mother likes him. Constance {Turning abruptly to Sarah) Sister, you Ve had awful tough luck with men. Sarah {Laughing and taking it good-naturedly throughout) Absent treatment, you mean? Constance Don't you find it terribly unsatisfactory? (Sarah zvaves it aside, but Constance per- sists tuith a certain hidden curiosity.) Sarah, haven't j^ou ever thought of getting married? 68 THE GROOVE Sarah I've got imagination, Con, and lots of time to think. Constance Well, why don't you get married? Sarah ( Casually ) For the simplest reason in the world: nobody has asked me. Constance Have you encouraged them? Sarah {Simply) Nobody's ever been in love with me, Con. Constance Haven't you ever been in love, either? Sarah No. Constance {Amazed) And you don't seem a bit sorry? Sarah I hate people who pity themselves. Maybe I'm not the marrying sort. V £> THE GROOVE 69 Constance You'd make the best wife in the world. You love to take care of people. Sarah (Smiling) Is that all a wife's for? Constance (Wisely) Lots of men seem to think so. (With a sigh) Maybe you're too good to be married. Sarah (Coining to her and tweaking her good-naturedly) Maybe the reason I've had no chance to marry is because I have such an attractive little sister. Constance (Mischievously ) Did you send me away to college to avoid the com- petition ? Sarah I didn't succeed very well, did I? Constance (Seriously) Sarah, don't you ever get tired of it here? Don't you ever feel like some excitement? 70 THE GROOVE Sarah {Evasively) You forget we have a new minister. Constance Oh, be serious, sister. You're in outrageously good spirits to-night. You're jesting about the most sacred matters. {With enthusiasm) Don't you ever want something thrilling to happen, something that gives you a prickly sensation right down to the toes? Sarah That's why I am so happy to-night. {After a moment's instinctive hesitationy as Constance leans forward^ waiting' eagerly, Sarah steps towards her mother s door, listens, and then comes close to her sister.) What would you say if I told you / am going to have an adventure? Constance Who is he? Sarah It isn't a man: it's a trip. Constance A trip? Go on, I'm crazy to know. {Shaking her.) Go on — go on. . Sarah I've made all the preparations. I've told no one. THE GROOVE 71 I've only been waiting for you to come back home so you can take my place here with mother. (Constance immediately drops all her banter and gives Sarah a frightenedj questioning look.) Oh, it isn't so dreadful, Con ; don't be frightened. Constance {Slowly) How could anybody take your place with mother? Sarah You could and only you. {Smiling.) It will be a change for mother to talk to a college graduate. Constance {Dubiously) Mother's a dear, but it doesn't need a college educa- tion to talk to her. Sarah {Laughing) Yet think of all the new subjects she can discuss while I'm away, Constance {Hardly grasping it) You're really going away? Sarah Yes. Does it surprise youv so? 72 THE GROOVE Constance Sort of. Sarah {With naive enthusiasm throughout) It did me, too. But you get used to a surprise when you think and plan over it for a year. Constance {As she fingers the photograph in thought) Sarah, I can't seem to think of you away from here. Sarah I'm part of the landscape, eh? Constance Yes. The reliable oak mother's clinging to. Sarah v^ & ^ I felt kind of timid myself at first. Constance {Looking at her) Why, you're blushing now, Sarah. You're all ex- cited. Sarah It thrills nie down to the toes, as jou said. Constance What are you going to do? THE GROOVE 73 Sarah {With delight) Fnj going to N.ew York to study nursing! Constance {Disappointed) You call that an adventure? Sarah {Happily) It. seems like it to me. Constance But couldn't you learn nursing here? Sarah I've read all the books Icould get, but the only place to really learn is' in a hospital. Constance Ugh! I hate the thought of it. Sarah {With suppressed excitement.) It's the one thing I think I can do ; so v^hen I made up my mind I made inquiries. My ! how I ^trembled over that fir-st letter! I felt so daring and reckless. The money question bothered me at first, as I didn't want to touch our little income. But to-day — on the same train, that you came — there was a letter from the Nurses' Settlement in New York. They told me 74 THE GROOVE there's a place open where I can study and, by taking charge of some children in the district, I can pay my oWn way. {Glowing) Thifik of that! Constance {With a hidden thought) When are you going? Sarah They'll hold it open two weeks. Pm going to write them to-night that I'll be there the fourteenth. That will be giving you and me a chance for a visit togetlier first. Constance {Eyeing her closely) Sarah, have you told me the real reason you want to go? Sarah {Frankly) Why, yes, dear. Constance There's no man you want to get away from? Sarah {Laughing) Nonsense ; you've got men on the brain. Men don't supply all the romance in the world, silly ! This is^ my romance — just like religion is to mother. It's my ad- venture — my — I was going to say — my flight. THE GROOVE 75 Constance (Slowly) You're doing it because you think every woman ought to have a job ? Sarah (Taking her hands and speaking with great simplicity) No, no j nothing like that. It's a personal feeling. I ' suppose what I need is a change — something complete for a while. I'm in a groove, Con, and I've been going along in it for years. Most of the women here are living in grooves, too; only they don't know it. Mother is: she's so comfortable in hers; she simply couldn't stand having a change; it would upset her beyond words. Lots of them are like mother. It's so easy to slip along year after year in your own particu- lar groove. It has its ups and downs, of course; but it's there just the same. I've noticed some of the grooves are all.re^dy for us; our fathers and mothers crease them out and we follow right along. Some of us make them ourselves — maybe I have: like the ani- mals in the ground that haye their little runways over w^hich they go day after day. After a while you think / ^ ^ of it as. part of your life : something you do mechani- cally because you've always done it. (Sweetly) Well, I thought I'd like to get out of my comfortable little groove to see what it would be like. So I made up my mind I'd try it for a year at least. Constance (Startled) A year! 76 THE GROOVE Sarah Yes; maybe I won't last that long. Some of those who've left come back: the groove is so much easier. But in a year, with what I know now, I'll be a well- qualified nurse and — {Tenderly) — maybe perhaps you'll want to be getting married by then and go away — {As Constance turns aside) What is it. Con? ^ d ^ Con, I do want you to be married some day. What is it, dear? Aren't you glad I told you about my going? Constance {Restrcnned) Have you told mother ? Sarah Not yet. Constance Why? Sarah I thought it would be easier for mother when she had you already here with her. Constance One of us must stay? Sarah {Simply) Of course. We're all she has. (Constance eyes the photograph again, while Sarah looks toward her mother s door THE GROOVE 77 as though listening to hear a sound. There is a pause.) Constance {Quietly) I'm SO' glad you told me, sister. You ought to have it. I don't see how you've stood it all these years. Sarah I have not been unhappy : only I need a change. Constance Is that all you call it? Sarah I said it was my romance, Sut I've waited a long while. (Constance lowers her eyes.) What is it, Con? Say it, dear. Constance {Softly) Mine has come quicker. Sarah Your what? Constance My — my romance. Sarah YouVe always had romance. You're beautiful. 78 THE GROOVE Constance I mean the real one. Sarah {Beginning to understand) The real one? Constance Yes. {She hesitates and then slowly gives the photo- graph to Sarah, who gazes at it quietly.) Sarah In love? (Constance nods quickly.) Oh, I've been talking about myself and not- about you. And '/'"' you had this to -show me. Constance {In spite of herself) Do you like him? Sarah Yes. But I suppose it flatters him. Constance {Emphatically) Not a bit. Sarah Is he tall? Constance Over six feet. THE GROOVE 79 Sarah You always liked tall boys. Constance When I could get them. There's so much more to love. Sarah And they all were fond of you. Constance {In good spirits agdn, and no longer thinking of Sarah) Not the way Paul is. Sarah Paul? Constance {Glowing) Paul Lamar. Isn't it a lovely name? He is the most wonderful man I've ever met! He's strong and brilliant and Sarah Yes, yes. Constance He's a civil engineer, like his father. I've known him all winter and we've seen each other every day. He asked me yesterday if — if I would marry him. 8o THE GROOVE Sarah Marry him? {There is a long silence. Then Sarah^ more serious, lifts Constance's head and gazes into her eyes.) Constance I love him, sister, I love him. Sarah {Slowly) I believe you do. Constance I couldn't write about it till it happened for sure. Sarah y {Simply) ^ It must be nice to be loved. Constance It is. Sarah But we mustn't be sad about it. YouVe been in love before. Constance {Half peevishly) I hate to think of that. Besides, I was young. You said yourself I'm a woman now. I've never been in love before: honestly, sis, never really before. THE GROOVE 8i Sarah I'm not blaming you. (6'//// gazing at photograph.) Only I want you to be. sure of yourself. Constance I am sure this time — ^very sure. Sarah / {Cheerfully) \yThen we must have him down for a visit. Constance You want to look him over? Sarah {Laughing) Yes. Could he conie now?' Constance He said he'd hang on the mail-box. Sarah We'll wire him to-morrow. {She gives back the photograph to Constance, who places it on the table.) I certainly want him down before I go away. Constance {Troubled) Before you go? 82 THE GROOVE Sarah My being here will help mother get used to him. And then he can come down every once in a while to visit you. When I come back you'll know for sure if your heart has made no mistake. Constance {Half desperately) I tell you I'm sure now. / Sarah You should give it time. Constance {Involuntarily) You don't know what it is to wait. You've never been in love. Sarah {Simply) I know what it is to wait. Constance Forgive me, Sarah. Sarah {Taking her hands again affectionately) I haven't had much experience, Con; but I'm your older sister. I've sort of watched without taking part in what goes on. There's love and hate and sorrow here in this little place just like everywhere else. THE GROOVE 83 That's " the ups and downs" Ispoke of. And people make mistakes. I want thje best there is for you: a home, cbfflfgn, and a full life. Constance Is there any way of knowing beforehand except by what you feel ? Sarah Feelings are real but not always right. There's no other way of knowing. And people always mean to make their marriage happy. If things go dead wrong afterwards, they can ht fixed -up. . (Impressively) But don't forget, Con, you never can fix up a. marriage that isn't just quite right. That was mother's marriage, you know. Constance (After a long, thoughtful pause) A year's a long while when you're young. Sarah The years become longer as you- grow older — less happens. (Persuasively) So don't be impatient, little sister. Remember I want you to be happy that way above all else. So wait till I come back. Constance (With difficulty) Sarah, I haven't told you everything. His father has a government contract to build a huge viaduct in 84 THE GROOVE Brazil. He has offered Paul a chance with him out there. It's a great opportunity. He's so ambitious. Sarah He's going? Constance Yes. Sarah When does he go? Constance In two months. Sarah For how long? Constance (Slowly) Three years. Sarah (After a pause, as though afraid to ask) And he has asked you -to go with him ? Constance Yes. Sarah You told him you'd go? THE GROOVE 85 Constance I said I would write him after I saw you and mother. Sarah {Very quietly) You want to go? Constance I love him. {In the silence that follows Sarah sits mo- tionless, though her eyes have flashed for a moment with instinctive rebellion which Con- stance detects.) I didn't know about you and your plan to go away. Sarah {Almost inaudibly) The groove! Constance {Kneeling beside her and burying her head in Sarah's lap) No, no, Sarah, I won't accept it — I v/on't. I've always taken everything from you. I won't take this. I'll stay — I'll wait. (Sarah looks at her and runs her hand lovingly over Constance's hair in obvious appreciation of this impulse.) Sarah Let me think a moment. 86 THE GROOVE Constance I know all it means. You've counted on it so and — Oh, why isn't mother different! Sarah We must accept people as they are. ^ Constance If she only had a life of her own; something to occupy it — some work! She's well — she's able Sarah She feels she's done her duty having us. ^ Constance (Rebelliously) If I ever have a child, I hope I won't feel it must sacrifice for me. Sarah Yes, you will: if you're like mother — dependent, with nothing but her home and her children, since- father died. Constance It isn't right. (Quickly) Can't you go anyway f Have somebody come here in your place? Write Cou- sin Sally or — oh, Sarah; tell mother about it. She'll understand. Tell her how you've counted on it. Let me tell her; let me remind her how you've stayed here with her, year after year THE GROOVE 87 Sarah Hush! She'll hear you. Constance I want her to know. Sarah {With quiet firmness) Suppose she didnt understand ? Gould we take that . risk, of' hurting her? (Constance bows her head.) ItVwhat she feels — that is all we have to go by. She's often said she gave her youth to us. . Constance {Bitterly) And you have given yours to her in return. Sarah I've done it willingly. One is enough. Mine is nearly gone. {With resolution) You sha'n't give ^yours, Con. > y ^ u Constance But I won't accept it. Sarah {Smiling) Yes, you will. Youth does. Constance You didn't. 88 THE GROOVE Sarah No one else had a claim on me. Somebody loves you. Constance (With less persistency) But, sister, he'll understand. Sarah Don't you know me well enough to see that I couldn't let my- foolish little plan stand between you and him? Constance I'd blame myself every day — every hour. Sarah What for. Con? Because life has brought you some- thing you didn't seek? Something that makes life? It isn't anybody's fault ; unless it is mine in m.aking- you go away. Constance It wouldn't have happened if I'd stayed here like other girls. Why did you make me go ? Sarah Because I noticed in' our garden that the seeds which fell from a plant never grew up if they took root in the shade of its own leaves. That's why the wind scatters them out into free soil. THE GROOVE 89 Constance (Slowly) Yet see what has happened. Sarah (Patting her hand) But it has happened. So let's look it in the face. Constance It seems all twisted and wrong. Sarah I made one mistake, Con; it only just dawned on me. I forgot you could never be contented here when you finally did come back. It must be a small place here after you've had a glimpse of the world. Constance Oh, Sarah, it is a small place. Sarah (Smiling) When your heart yearns for Brazil. ' Constance I love you, too, sister; very, very much. Sarah But you don't need me to- make you happy. (Con- stance protests.) No.; you don't. Yet I can. always keep in your heart far away in. the corner where you 90 THE GROOVE can come to me if ever you need me. And you will cbme if- — ? (Constance kisses her hand in acquies- cence.) So you must go with him, if you are sure." » Constance But I -hate to think of you slipping back into the groove ? Sarah {Cheerfully) See here, little sister. I don't want you to spoil any of your own joy thinking of me like that. People can make choices ; they can go or they can stay if they wish ; and when they make their choice they shouldn't rebel at what they haven't taken. Now I feel I must stay here with mother. I've had my foolish dream and — and sometime far off— I may. dream of doing it again. But I ^ must stay here now. . ^ Constance Oh, Sarah! Sarah There's no arguing that in my heart. You see, I'm not pitying myself or being sorry, Con. For a. mo- ment, it did seem to put out the light. But I'v€ been looking at.it too steadily and it- hid the other objects. So promise me you'll be happy about me. Constance Can't I do anything? THE GROOVE gi Sarah {With the intensity of profound conviction) Yes. Don't you ever let your life slip into a groove! (Constance sits deeply impressed by the thought. After a long pause Sarah rises and goes to the dressing-table.) I forgot to fill your lamp. ■ {She sees the photography picks it up, looks at it wonderingly, and then puts it down silently. Then she blows out one of the candles, crosses and pulls down the bed-covers which are flooded by the soft moonlight.) You must go to bed. You're tired. Constance I'm not sleepy. Sarah I want to see you in. bed before Lgo. Constance Won't you tuck up with me like v^^e used to? Sarah We'd talk ; and you must get your rest. Come. Constance {Rising and going to Sarah) Oh, sister ! 92 THE GROOVE Sarah {Impulsively throwing her arms about her and then holding her at arms' length while speaking earnestly) We women must learn to see- clearly. All the women I know mix their feelings with the facts.. Constance You're the finest sister in the world. Sarah Nonsense, dear; I'm the only one you have. {She slips off Constance's wrapper.) Come! Constance {As she slowly gets into the bed) But I'm not sleepy. Sarah {As she pulls up the covers) Does the moonlight bather you ? Constance No. Sarah I've left a blanket here. It gets chilly toward morn- ing. Good-night, little woman. Constance Good-night. (Sarah leans over and kisses her, then moves her hands over her forehead several times as THE GROOVE 93 though quieting her. She lingers a moment and then moves slowly to the table. As she lifts the lighted candle she catches a glimpse of her own tired face in the mirror. She is startled for a moment, then turns slowly away, carrying the candle toward the door.) Sarah ? Sarah Yes? Constance Do you think there are any grooves in Brazil ? (Sarah smiles zuisely and goes out into their mother s room, closing the door quietly.) [curtain falls slowly] A GOOD WOMAN THE PEOPLE Cora Warren. Hal Merrill, a magazine writer, SCENE At Cora Warren s flat. A large city in New York State, Late one winter evening. A GOOD WOMAN* Jt SMALL room in what is a modest hut corn- el fortable flat, up several flights of stairs. In ■^ "^ backj a door opens on the landing. A snow- lined window may be seen at the right through the pretty lace curtains. Opposite this a door leads off into the other rooms. The furnishings are simple but ade- quate; wicker chairs, a couch, a small table, carefully selected pictures, some book-shelves, and a large warm rug upon the hardwood floor are conspicuous. A house telephone is on the left wall near the door. There is something seclusive, personal, and intimate about the little room, softly lighted by several shaded wicker- lamps which blend in color with the one-toned pat- ternless wall-paper. Outside the wind is heard howling as it drives the snow and sleet against the window. After some mo- ments, a bell is heard. Cora Warren enters quickly and opens the outer door, admitting Hal Merrill. She closes the door and kisses him. Cora Warren is a woman of thirty, full of rich feeling, sensitive, impulsive, yet withal clear-visioned and courageous. There is every mark of refinement, culture, and distinction in her speech, with nothing exotic or abnormal in her manner. She is in a pretty negligee. * Copyright/ 1914, by George Middlcton. All rights reserved. 98 A GOOD WOMAN Hal Merrill is older, beginning to settle, in fact, but full of mental and physical vigor, in spite of fea- tures which, when relaxed, betray a certain careworn expression. He, too, is evidently well-born, and has had, no doubt, many advantages. His heavy over- coat, rubbers, and soft felt hat are wet with the snow, Cora I'm so glad you've come. Why, you're all wet. Hal {Taking off his overcoat) I walked uptown. Cora {Playfully admonishing him throughout) In this storm? And you knew I was waiting? Hal You are always waiting. Cora You'll get your death, dear. Give me the coat. I'll hang It over a chair before the gas stove. And your feet — my — my I Soaked ? Hal No, rubbers. Cora So you did mind me and wear them. A GOOD WOMAN 99 Hal Yes. (Kicking them off.) Cora You must take more care of yourself. What would I do if you were ill ? You should have ridden. Hal It clears your thoughts to walk with the snow beat- ing in your face. Cora {Detecting a hidden meaning) Hal? Hal It's good to be here with you again, Cora. Cora (Cheerfully again) Yes: it's been so long since yesterday. {They laugh.) Now sit down and rest. I've a hot toddy all ready for you. Hal Just what I wanted. Cora Here's your pipe — old and strong as ever. Did you forget the tobacco? 100 A GOOD WOMAN Hal No. {Taking the pipe.) You always make it seem like home, dearest. Cora {Hurt) "Seem"? Hal {Holding her hand during a slight pause) You know what I mean. Cora {As she strikes a match and lights the pipe which he has filled) How worn and tired you are, dear. I'll be glad when this lawsuit is over. Just relax. Let go. {She kisses him.) Dearest. (Cora takes up the coat and rubbers, going out quickly in back. Hal stops smoking, the smile disappears, and his head lowers, as he seems overcome with the mood he has been trying to fight back. Cora comes in unobserved luith the toddy* She looks at him, shakes her head and then comes, placing her hand on his arm. He starts up from his reverie.) What is it, Hal? Hal Nothing. A GOOD WOMAN loi Cora (Not believing him) Take this, dear. Hal Thanks. (He sips it.) Um! it's hot, Cora. Just the right amount of sugar, too. (Cora watches him questioningly as he sips it slowly. She picks up a couple of sofa cushions and comes over to him, placing them by him, on the floor. She sits on them, waiting for him to speak.) Hal That tastes good. Cora You're sure you didn't get chilled? Hal I walked rapidly. Cora Did anything go wrong with the case? Hal {Patting her) What makes you think that? Cora Something's worrying you. 102 A GOOD WOMAN Hal Something did: but it's all settled now. Cora So that*s why you walked in the storm? Hal Yes. Cora Vm glad It's settled; only I should like to have helped settle it. Hal Cora? Cora (She turns and looks up into his face) Yes? Hal / I wonder how great a test your love for me would stand ? Cora Could I have given more? Hal There is something more I must ask. Cora {Puzzled) Something more? Tell me, Hal. A GOOD WOMAN 103 Hal {Holding her head between his hands) Is your love strong enough to accept a silence ? Cora Aren't there silent places in every love? Hal {With some slight hesitation) I mean if — if I should do something which I thought best not to explain. Cora {Simply) I should accept everything so long as you were honest with me. Only Hal Only what, dear? Cora {Thoughtfully) Silence itself is not always honest. Hal In this particular matter will you let me be the judge of that ? Cora A woman In my position must accept. 104 A GOOD WOMAN Hal Cora! Cora (Quickly) Oh, I didn't mean that, Hal ; that was unworthy of me. Hal You know how I love you. Cora Yes, yes, dear. Of course I know. I am ashamed of nothing. I'm proud of all we have here in the quiet. But the snow beating against the window has been reminding me all day of the world outside. Hal The snow is so free! Cora Yes; and you and I are bound by secrecy. That's what hurts: the secrecy. Hal (Stroking her hair) If you could only be my wife. Cora (Smiling) Just for the freedom it would give me to share everything in the open with you. That's all. Just for the freedom we can't have now. A GOOD WOMAN 105 Hal But, Cora,' even in marriage itself only the happy are free. Cora {Intimating a hidden thought) I suppose the most difficult thing for some people is to give freedom. {He nods in understanding.) Poor Hal! How you have suffered, too, v^rith this tangle we are in. {The 'phone rings. They are surprised.) Who could that be? Hal {Nervously) No one knows your number ? Cora No. {The ring is repeated.) Hal {Dismissing it) Central's made a mistake. Don't answer it. Cora Everything startles me so these days. {Dismissing it too.) Have another toddy? Hal Not now. io6 A GOOD WOMAN Cora Tell me about the case. Is " Boss " McQuinn still going to take his libel suit into court? Hal It's called for to-morrow at ten. Cora {Pleased) To-morrow! It's come at last, then, after all your months of work. To-morrow. ( With a sigh ) And I can't be there in court to hear you when you testify, or to follow, in the open, each step we've talked over here. That's where my position hurts. Hal {With apparent difficulty throughout) Perhaps I sha'n't take the stand against McQuinn, after all. Cora You mean it won't be necessary? Hal Not exactly that. Cora But what you wrote about McQuinn in the Monthly ? Hal Every word of my exposure was true. A GOOD WOMAN 107 Cora But you've said so often the whole defense of the magazine in McQuinn's libel suit against it rests on your testimony alone. Hal Yes, yes. Cora {Disappointed) I see. You mean the Monthly has decided to re- tract ? Hal No. Cora {Not quite grasping the significance) Is this why you walked with the snow beating in your face? Hal {With feeling) This is the silent place! Fm not going to testify in this suit, after all. Please don't question me about it, dear. Cora {Startled) Not going to testify? io8 A GOOD WOMAN Hal {Earnestly) Just trust me, Cora; and let me be silent as to the reason. Cora {Restraining her instinctive impulse to question and placing her hands on his shoulders) Whatever is the reason, I know you must have suf- fered. It is not like you to give up. {He lowers his eyes. ) You've never asked anything greater of me than this silence. Hal {Deeply moved) Perhaps I've never given anything greater, Cora. {The 'phone rings again: they look toward it.) Cora {Slowly) Did you give our number to any one? Hal {Nervously) No. (// rings again.) Cora Nobody ever rings here but you. {She goes apprehensively to the 'phone in spite of his movement to restrain her.) Yes, this is Cora Warren. . . . Who? ... Mr. Mc- Quinn ! ! {They look at each other. She quickly controls herself and speaks casually.) A GOOD WOMAN 109 Mr. Merrill? . . . You're mistaken — ^why should he be here? . . . Theres' no need of ringing me up later. {She hangs up the receiver.) He laughed, Hal. He laughed! (She goes to h'un.) He has found out about you and me ! ! Hal No, no. Cora {Shaken) That's what it Is. It was the way he laughed ! Hal {Confused) Nonsense. Cora {Slowly grasping the situation) For months you've told me McQuInn has been fight- ing for his political life, desperate over your exposures. He's been doing everything to " get " your witnesses — to " get " something on ynu. Why, he offered you money — enough to make you independent for life. You refused all that ; but, now, you're going to do what he wants. Hal I'm doing what I want, I tell you ; what / want. no A GOOD WOMAN Cora That's not so. This investigation has been your absorbing passion for months. You've seen what it means to the hundreds of w^omen and children who have suffered by his exploitations. He's got something on you, something you had to give in to. Hal No, no! Cora It's you and me, Hal. You ask silence of me be- cause you didn't want to hurt me. It's you and me; you and me. Hal No, no! Cora {Slowly) Hal, it is that. Answer me, boy. It is that — isn't it? Hal {Admitting it, after a futile denial) And I didn't want you to know. Cora He threatened to tell about our relations together if you testified against him ? A GOOD WOMAN iii Hal Yes: the blackguard. Cora {Moved) And you love me more than- Hal {Tenderly) I only did what any man would. {She lowers her head.) Dearest, don't take it so hard. I'm glad a chance came to show you how I loved you. Cora I knew without this proof, Hal ; I knew. {She sits with her face buried in her hands. He stands beside her.) Hal McQulnn met me to-night, on the street, alone. He said he knew about our three years — our summer abroad — this place — all. He said he hated tO' hit a woman, but he knew he was beaten and had to use any weapon he could find. All he asked of me was silence and he would give the same about us — or for me to forget a bit on the stand or muddle my testi- mony. Of course, I saw what it would mean to the case : but it was the only way to save you. {He shrugs his shoulders.) He must have guessed I'd come straight to you. He has ways of finding out *phone numbers. 112 A GOOD WOMAN I suppose he wanted to frighten you and thus make sure I wouldn't change my mind. Cora (Slowly) Did he mention your wife? Hal Yes. Cora (Desperately) Did you tell him you and she had been separated be- fore you met me? That she didn't love you, that she hated you, yet clung to your name because she knew you wanted freedom to marry me? Did you tell him she wouldn't give you that freedom, because of a few words mumbled over her by an official and because she said she was " a good woman " ? Hal I did not discuss the matter. It was my wife who told him about us. Cora Your wife! Hal Yes. That act describes her, doesn't it? A GOOD WOMAN 113 Cora {Bitterly) And the law gives a woman like that the right to keep you — a woman whose body is dry and her love cold — and it discards me who — oh! Hal {Sarcastically) It was my wife's way of disentangling me. She thought I'd rather give you up than this case. She thought I'd sacrifice you. But she didn't know me: she never knew me. Cora And she knew me! Hal It's done. Now we must forget and go on. Cora {Gazing dully before her) What are you going to do now? Hal That's what we must think of. Cora It will mean you will have to leave the Monthly. Hal Yes. They're tired of the suit, anyway. Their ad- vertising has fallen off. {Putting his arm about her) We have each other. 114 A GOOD WOMAN Cora {Ominously) And always we'd fear McQuinn knocking at our door. Hal {Trying to cheer her) Nonsense, dear. He'll never bother to come up our stairs. Cora How we women hamper you men. {He protests.) Yes, we do. Your wife's " respectability " and my Hal Hush, dear. It's not our fault. Cora That we love? No. But because we've spoken the whole language of love the world blames us. {With growing emotion) If I'd kept my love hidden, worn myself sapless, wasted without expression, then I'd have been " a good woman " ! If I'd seen you casu- ally, or if I'd let you come near me, with the flames smoldering, burning us both inside so that there was nothing in our thoughts but fire; nothing of comradeship and beauty that we now have — then I'd still have been " a good woman." But because I let you see my love, because I wasn't a contemptible tease, because I knew all things were equally important in A GOOD WOMAN 115 love, because I gave myself to you, I'm not '* a good woman"! {She laughs ironically.) Hal We live in the world, dear. Cora And we must go on living. {With a quick resolu- tion) But there is no need now of our being cowards! Hal Cowards ! Cora Yes. Up to now, Hal, as I see it, we have not been that. We did what we believed was right, no matter what others may say. But now you and I are thinking of doing what we know is wrong; and that is the test of our courage. Hal You mean? Cora That now we're asking somebody else to pay the price: the hundreds of women and children in this city whom McQuinn would still go on exploiting if you did not go on the stand and drive him out of power. Hal {Losing momentary control) It's true; it's true. But how could I ask that of you? ii6 A GOOD WOMAN Cora Why not? Hal No, no. We must think of ourselves now — our- selves. Cora {Putting her hand on his arm) You and I cannot do as many others. We've got to keep right, in each other's eyes, or the w^orld will beat us. Hal I've done the hardest thing for you I could, Cora. Cora It's not always easy to be a coward, Hal. And that's what I'd also be if I accepted. Somebody else would be paying. Somebody else. That can never be right. {She bows her head. There is a long pause. He rises, goes to the window, then paces up and down. The snow is heard freely beating against the pane. Her mind slowly gains con- trol of her emotions and she looks up at him.) Hal? Hal Yes. Cora If you went on the stand to-morrow and told the truth about McQuinn, would your relations with me hurt your statement about him? A GOOD WOMAN 117 Hal {Bitterly) No. It's only a woman whose sex morals can be taken that advantage of in our courts. Cora ( With deter m inatio n ) Then you must tell the truth. Hal {Desperately) And have you hurt? Never! Cora I would be hurt far worse if you did not love me enough to do what I ask. Hal Cora! {Comes to her.) You don't realize what it means. Cora {Calmly) I realize that your public usefulness would be de- stroyed because you wished to protect my reputation. What people think of me matters little now. Hal What people think of j^ou means everything to me. Cora You fear to have them think me a bad woman? ii8 A GOOD WOMAN Hal Cora! Cora Then what difference what they think so long as we understand each other? Hal They'd forgive a man. But you're a woman. They'd never forgive you — never. Cora Nothing will be harder than cowardice. Hal {Going to her) I can't do this — I can't. They'd think me a cad to sacrifice you like this. Cora That thought has made liars and cowards of many men! Hal We mustn't be foolish. There's nothing greater in life than what two people feel for each other. Cora {Desperately) That's why I am asking this of you. Don't make it harder for me — don't ! A GOOD WOMAN 119 Hal You are thinking of those out in the city ; I am think- ing only of you. Cora But you mustn't. Hal You're worth more to me than all of them. Cora But you must think of the people. Hal The people? That mob any fool can lead with a few catch phrases ? That ignorant mass that cheers one day and crucifies the next? What do they really give anybody? I'll tell you. Nothing but ingratitude and scars while you live with immortelles and a monument when you're dead. Why should I sacrifice you for them? Cora Hal! You don't know them Hal Oh, yes, I do. They can't sustain their moral atti- tudes. It's all a periodic fit with them. They shout a lot while the brass band plays and they cheer any fool in the red light. Then they settle back into their old self-righteousness while the McQuinns are always on the job. 120 A GOOD WOMAN Cora You're unjust. You don't know what you're say- ing. It's because they are Ignorant that strong leaders like you should go to them. {He laughs.) You must not forget those others who are working with you against McQuinn. Hal The Reformers? Huh. I know them, too. I'm sick to death of political reforms and reformers who plant together but reap their fruits separately. Cora {Trying to stop him) They're human and Hal Yes; that's it. Damn human! Why, even now they're squabbling over who shall run for Mayor once they put McQuinn out of power. They're fighting, just like the grafters, with all the same petty jealous personalities. Reformers! Would they put you on their visiting list even if they knew you sacrificed your reputation for them? With all their political morality do you think they'd dare go against public opinion on private morals? No! They couldn't run for office themselves if they did. They'd think you unclean Cora No, no! A GOOD WOMAN 121 Hal Yes: just as they think McQuinn unclean. They'd accept your sacrifice. But they'd use it as they use their causes: to ride into power themselves. Reform- ers! I sha'n't sacrifice you for them. What do they care for you and me ? Cora But it's not a sacrifice to do what is right. Hal Others will try to do what I have failed in. There are always plenty of reformers. I don't want the glory. I've seen the graves of martyrs. No, no. I'll go through with what McQuinn demands just because it's you and me who matter — you and me. Cora With McQuinn always waiting at the door. ( The 'phone rings sharply again.) You see? Hal Damn him! Why doesn't he leave us alone? — — ^* Cora We'll never be alone again. Hal I'll fix him. 122 A GOOD WOMAN Cora {With calm strength) He must be answered now as well as later. Hal {As she starts to the 'phone) You sha'n't do this. Cora I'll not let your work be ruined by my cowardice. Hal I tell you I'm through with that work. Cora But you're not through with my love ! It's my love speaking now for our love, which I must keep clean in my own eyes. Our love which the law punishes by denying it freedom to live in the open! Our love which keeps me from being " a good woman " — ^like your wife ! {She goes to the 'phone. Hal, seeing the futility of further words, sinks hack into his chair overcome by what the future holds.) Yes. This is Cora Warren. . . . Who wishes to talk to Mr. Merrill? ... Is this Mr. McQuInn talking? . . . Mr. McQuinn, I'm glad you rang up. . . . I'm fully acquainted with the particulars of the case. ... Yes, of course, we're going to be sensible. . . . What are you going to do? . . . Thanks for putting it so clearly. I wanted you to say that to me also. A GOOD WOMAN 123 We're not at all anxious to have this story come out. . . . No. But Mr. Merrill is going on the stand to-morrow to tell the truth. . . . Yes. . . . And . . . if the story is subsequently published . . . or if he is cross-examined by your lawyers about our relations, / shall go on the stand, produce a record that you 'phoned me twice, and corroborate his statement that you tried to blackmail him into silence. . . . You are quite sure you understand ? . . . You're sorry for me ? . . . Oh, that's all right, Mr. McQuinn. . . . What's that? {Her voice trails off.) Yes, I know I'm ''a hell of a fine woman." {She hangs up the receiver and goes slowly to Hal.) You did what you thought best for me. I did what is best for you. Hal {Holding her close as she kneels beside him) Poor dear, brave girl. He'll publish it. I know him. And then — oh! Cora Yes, dearest. But he didn't laugh this time! {There is a triumphant smile upon her face.) [the curtain falls] THE BLACK TIE THE PEOPLE Secretary Ford. Netha, his wife. Stella, their daughter. Nettie, Mrs. Ford's maid; a mulatto, Jo, Nettie's hoy. SCENE An upstairs sitting-room at the Fords'. One spring afternoon. THE BLACK TIE* F M fHE outlines of the room are simple. A deep m bay-windoiUj with delicate sash-curtains , is at -^ one side, looking apparently down on the street below. Near this there is a small desk littered with letters. In back, a door opens off into Stella's room. Another door, into the hallway and stairs without, is directly opposite the window. On the further side of the room, a longer table, filled with magazines and books, supports a telephone. The Oriental rugs, the quiet mahogany furniture, and carefully selected pic- tures upon the wall betoken means. Several vases con- tain fresh floiuers. The room is cheerfully lighted by the strong sun pouring in the bay-window, Mr. and Mrs. Ford are seen: Mr. Ford, seated in a deep, comfortable chair, is glancing through the newspapers, looking now and then over at Mrs. Ford, who is writing at the desk. Mrs. Ford is in her late thirties, bien soignee, and enhanced by a gown in the very latest fashion. One senses social authority and a calm outlook on life which nothing fundamentally disturbs. Ford is older, comfortably middle-aged, in fact, yet not devoid of physical attractions. His kind face re- veals a sympathetic nature, though he remains essen- tially a man of large affairs. * Copyright, 19 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 128 THE BLACK TIE They are indeed a harmoniously happy couple in the best circumstances J to whom life has been good. Mrs. Ford {Signing a letter) There, that's answered. I've accepted for the thirti- eth at the Lawsons'. Ford {With a sigh) All right. Suppose we might as well get it out of our system. Mrs. Ford What time is it, dear? Ford {Looking at his watch) Just two. {Casually J as he reads the headlines) Are you going to use the car this afternoon? Mrs. Ford There's a the-dansant on at the Westertons'. I promised to drop in. Want to come? Ford I thought I'd play a few holes of golf. Fve had a hard week. Mrs. Ford Miss Lee is going to be there: she's got some new steps to show us. THE BLACK TIE 129 Ford If you don't mind, I prefer to try some old strokes instead. (Nettie enters. She is about thirty, obviously a mulatto, though her heritage is written lightly, if indelibly, upon her black hair and attractive features. Her quiet manner of speech has scarcely the slightest trace of racial accent. Though her face is expressive, there is an in- scrutable something about her eyes which would excite the imagination of any one sufficiently interested to consider her more than a maid in the household.) I beg pardon. Nettie {Quietly) Mrs. Ford What is it, Nettie? Nettie What dress shall Miss Stella put on? Mrs. Ford ( Casually ) Oh, any of her little white ones. Ford Tell Miss Stella Fd like to see her. 130 THE BLACK TIE Nettie Yes, Mr. Ford. She's only got to slip on her dress. (Nettie goes out quietly,) Ford You're not going to take Stella to the Westertons' ? Mrs. Ford Why, what a foolish question. {Smiling.) She's going to parade. Ford {Putting down his paper) Parade? Our Stella? Mrs. Ford {Speaking casually throughout as she sorts and reads her letters) Yes, haven't you noticed her prattling about it? It's to celebrate the conference of Sunday-school teach- ers or something, I can't quite make out. I think all the different Sunday-schools are sending their children. Ford {Half deprecating) Oh, I don't like to have our Stella Mrs. Ford Neither do I ; but all her little friends are going, so I hadn't the heart to refuse. {Glancing out the win- dow.) It's a nice clear day, too, and they don't march far. THE BLACK TIE 131 Ford I never thought she was much interested in her Sun- day-school : she's always seemed willing enough to take trips with us over the week-ends. Are you sure it is all right? Mrs. Ford Yes. I telephoned the Thompsons. Jack's going, too. I thought I'd send Nettie down with Stella and she can bring the child back afterwards. Ford I want Stella to have a good time, of course. {Smiling.) Dear, you don't think she's trying to imi- tate you? Mrs. Ford How? Ford ( Good-naturedly ) You would march to the Capitol with that Suffrage petition, you know. {They laugh as Stella enters^ followed by Nettie, who is trying to fasten her dress. Stella is a sweety rather precocious child of ten. She has on a beautiful, though simple, white frock with a large pink ribbon belt and hair-bows.) Stella Oh, daddy! {She runs and kisses him.) I'm glad you're home in time to see me. 132 THE BLACK TIE Ford My little girl! How beautiful you are! Mrs. Ford Tom, you'll spoil her. Nettie (Smiling and showing her affection for Stella throughout) Let me finish it, Miss Stella. I couldn't make her wait, Mr. Ford. Ford Is that a new dress? Stella {Pouting) No: I wanted a new one for the parade, es — pec — i — ally. Ford Goodness ! That's a big word for such a little girl. Stella {Stamping) You make me so mad when you call me " little." I'm taller than Jo now, and Nettie always calls him " her big boy." Don't j^ou, Nettie? (Nettie smiles.) Ouch! you stuck me! Nettie I am sorry. Miss Stella. THE BLACK TIE 133 Stella (Smoothing out her dress) This horrid dress! I wish I had a new one. Mrs. Ford I told you I'd get you some new ones when you went to visit grandma. Stella (Pouting) She won't have a parade, will she? Ford I hope not. Es — pec — i — ally, if it's going to make our little girl so cross. Nettie (Hushing Stella) She isn't cross, Mr. Ford; she's excited about the parade. Mrs. Ford Nettie, I want you to take Stella down in the car and Stella (Disappointed) Oh, mama, aren't you going to watch me march? Ford Your mother has an engagement. 134 THE BLACK TIE Stella {Petulantly) I hate engagements, I hate them. They always take you away from me. Mrs. Ford {Going to Stella) Why, what's come over you to-day, child? {Kiss- ing her,) There, dear, you mustn't speak like that. I have sent for the car and I thought Nettie might take her Jo along, too. Stella {Brightening) That will be nice, won't it, Nettie? Nettie {Pleased) I can come fetch my Jo later if Ford No; ride down all together and send the car back for us. Nettie Thank you. Jo is looking forward to the parade so. Ford {Mildly interested and humoring them throughout) Jo is going to be in the parade, too ? THE BLACK TIE 135 Nettie {Proudly) Yes, Mr. Ford ; indeed he is. Stella Nettie's got him a new suit. Ford A new suit? How interesting. Nettie Yes, Mr. Ford. This parade is all there is in that big boy's head of mine. You might reckon it was a circus the way he jumps thinking of it. Stella Nettie says she has put a big black tie on Jo so she can see him when he passes. Ford {More interested) You're going to watch Jo pass? Nettie {Beaming) Yes, sir. Mrs. Ford But, Nettie, I'll have to change my gown after you take the children down and 136 THE BLACK TIE Nettie (Hesitating) You want me to come back? Ford (To Mrs. Ford) Let Nettie go. Fll fasten it. Mrs. Ford ( Smiling good-naturedly ) You're a hero, Tom. Nettie But I'll come back if Mrs. Ford (Dismissing it) If Marie isn't here, I'll let Mr. Ford. I want you to enjoy the parade. Nettie Thank you. I want so to see Jo march past. He's been waiting ready downstairs since twelve o'clock. Jo's never missed his Sunday-school in over three years. And I reckon I'm not going to let him miss this parade. All the children get a flag with a white cross on it, to keep, he tells me. Stella Oh, mama, Jo looks just lovely! I saw him all ready when I came in. \ THE BLACK TIE 137 Nettie {Embarrassed) Hush, Miss Stella! Stella But he does. Nettie's put a white duck suit on him so he'll look clean. Didn't you, Nettie ? Ask mama if you can't bring Jo up and show her. Please, daddy, let her. Ford {Humoring them) Yes, do, Nettie. Bring Jo up. Let's see the little fellow. Nettie Can I, Mrs. Ford? Mrs. Ford Certainly, if Miss Stella's all ready. Nettie You think there's time? Mrs. Ford Didn't you say it starts from G Street at two- thirty, Stella? Nettie I think it's at three, Mrs. Ford. 138 THE BLACK TIE Mrs. Ford Mr. Ford will look it up in the paper, to be sure. Nettie I don't want Jo to be late. (Nettie goes out quietly, pleased at the prospect of showing her boy to them. Mrs. Ford goes to Stella, who has been Stan ding tho ugh t fully . ) Mrs. Ford What Is it, Stella? Stella (Slowly) Mama, do you love me like Nettie loves her Jo? Mrs. Ford (As Ford looks up) Stella! Stella Jo's all Nettie thinks of. She's always talking about him and making him clothes to wear and Mrs. Ford (Caressing her) Nettie's a good girl, but she doesn't love her Jo any- more than I love you, darling. Stella But she's going to watch Jo march. THE BLACK TIE 139 Mrs. Ford All mothers love their children, only their lives are different. Stella {Persistently) Why are they different? Mrs. Ford They are not born the same. Stella Is there a different stork for some girls? Mrs. Ford You're too young to understand yet. Stella That's what you always tell me. {Suddenly) But would you cry if daddy hadn't let me parade to-day? Mrs. Ford I'd be sorry, of course, but it wouldn't be some- thing to cry over. Stella Nettie'd cry, wouldn't she, if you didn't let her Jo march? Mrs. Ford But I have nothing to do with that, dear. I40 THE BLACK TIE Ford Stella, come here. (She goes to him as he puts his arm around her.) You must never think your mother doesn't love you. When people have a great many things in their lives, these little matters can't mean as much as it does to those who have only a few things to interest them. You see, dear, your mother has so much and Nettie has so little. That's why the parade means more to Nettie. Stella Is that why she's crazy to see her Jo march and mama doesn't want to see me march? Mrs. Ford Oh, the questions of children. Ford Hadn't you better watch out for the car, Stella? Stella All right. Only I wish some one would explain things to me. A girl's got so much to learn. (Stella goes, half-pouting, to the bay-window and looks out. Mrs. Ford smiles and makes a half-amused gesture to Ford, who shrugs his shoulders and resumes reading. Mrs. Ford glances over at Stella and becomes thought- ful.) THE BLACK TIE 141 Mrs. Ford Have you found out the time for sure, Tom? I'd hate to have the children late. Ford Yes, here it is. Nettie was right. It's at three. (He starts at something he has seen in the paper, motions her to come nearer so Stella wont hear, and points to the paper. Mrs. Ford takes it, reads it, and then lowers it slowly. They look at each other, apparently moved by what they have read.) Mrs. Ford {Quietly) That's too cruel. It can't be true. Ford The newspapers are always right with this sort of news. Mrs. Ford Why don't you telephone and see ? You might catch Mr. Grayson. Ford {Getting 'phone book) Will he know? Mrs. Ford He'd know that. {Shaking her head) I can't be- lieve it. {Calling) Stella. 142 THE BLACK TIE Stella Yes, mama. Mrs. Ford Get your hat and see if you can put it on yourself nicely. (Stella goes out im back. Ford waits till she has gone.) Ford {At 'phone) North 312. (Mrs. Ford puts the paper down on the chair and comes half anxiously beside him.) Hello. . . . Give me Mr. Grayson. . . . Hello, Gray- son, this is Ford. Yes, Secretary Ford. ... I want to ask whether that story in the afternoon paper is true? No: the one about the colored children not being allowed to parade with the white children. . . . I don't want to hear the reason — ^just if it's true. Oh ! . . . That's all. . . . Good-by. {He hangs up the receiver.) It's true, Netha. Mrs. Ford That's too bad. {They look at each other as Nettie is heard outside. ) Nettie Come along, Jo ; don't be scared. They asked to see you. Come. THE BLACK TIE 143 (Nettie enters holding Jo's hand.) Jo is about eighty and darker than his mother. He has on a white suit with a shiny patent-leather belt and a large black tie. They stand there: a look of pride upon Net- tie's face as Jo grins and leans shyly against her. The Fords are nonplussed and stare at each other.) Jo is scared. Make a bow and say good-afternoon, Jo. (Jo grins and draws nearer his mother again.) Mrs. Ford {Trying to find words) Good-afternoon, Jo. Nettie {Smiling) I reckon, Mrs. Ford, I'll see him with that black tie on. Mrs. Ford Yes, yes. Where did you get it? Nettie I've had it for years. It was a scarf which my old mother had from her master's wife before the war. I never could wear it myself somehow, so I cut and sewed it all week for Jo. It is old, but black, somehow don't ever wear out. 144 THE BLACK TIE Black- FORD {To himself) Mrs. Ford (Nervously) How pretty? Isn't it, dear? Ford {Moved by the situation) Yes, yes. Nettie {Beaming proudly throughout) I made this here white duck from some old pants of yours you had throwed away, Mr. Ford. They look so well with his face, but they speck so. {Shaking Jo half admonishinglyj aside,) You've gone and got your shoes I shined twice this morning all dirty again. Why did you do that? {She kneels quickly and brushes off the shoes as Jo smiles. Then she recalls where she is, and rises, embarrassed.) Excuse me, Mrs. Ford. This here boy is all I've got in the world. He's a good boy, minds all I say, except once in a while. (Jo grins.) I was afraid it would rain to-day. Jo and I have looked forward to this parade so. I tell Jo it's to glorify God that he's marching — 'cause if there wasn't no God, Jo couldn't parade to-day. THE BLACK TIE 145 Mrs. Ford (With appeal) Tom. Ford (After a helpless effort, as he watches Nettie straighten Jo's tie) Nettie, you're quite sure Jo isn't too tired to march ? Nettie (Proudly) Tired? Jo tired? Only this morning he raced Mr. Thompson's boy, Master Jack, off his feet. And Master Jack is some runner, isn't he, Jo? (Jo grins.) Jo's got good blood in him, though his father didn't amount to much, and muscle. Put your arm up, Jo. (He does so.) When he grows up, he'll be too strong for words. It most breaks my arms now to spank him. (Jo grins again.) Hasn't never been sick a day neither and Ford (Interrupting kindly) I was wondering, Nettie, if — if instead of the pa- rade this afternoon, you wouldn't like to take Jo for a long automobile ride in the country — after you took Stella down? Mrs. Ford (Quickly) Yes, do, Nettie. We won't need the car and — — 146 THE BLACK TIE Nettie {PFith a certain quiet dignity) Thank you, Mrs. Ford. But Jo is going to parade for the glory of God, ain't you, Jo? Ford ( Turning aside) For the glory of God! (Stella comes running in excitedly with her hat on,) Stella The car's here. Hurry, Nettie, get your hat on. Nettie Yes, Miss Stella. {Starting toward door) Come along, Jo. Ford (At a motion from Mrs. Ford) Nettie. Stella (Impatiently) Don't stop Nettie, dad ; it's getting late and Ford (With difficulty throughout and trying to soften his words) Nettie, I — I am afraid, after all, you had better let Mrs. Ford take Stella down. THE BLACK TIE 147 Stella {Eagerly) You're going with me, mother? Mrs. Ford {Glancing at Ford) Yes, I'll take you down. Stella But, mama, you promised to let Nettie and Jo go with me, and if they walk down now, they'll be late. Nettie We can hurry, can't we, Jo? Ford Nettie, I'm sorry but — very sorry, but I'm afraid you misunderstood about Jo and the parade. (Nettie; looks up quickly and instinctively draws Jo closer to her.) The paper says they've changed their plans at the last moment and — and Mrs. Ford Don't worry, Nettie. Maybe sometime soon again they'll have a parade just for the little colored chil- dren. Nettie {Not understanding) Just for the little colored children ? But his teacher said 148 THE BLACK TIE Ford {With reluctance) I know. But to-day's parade Is only for the little white children. Nettie (Slowly) For the little white children? Stella They're not going to let Jo march to-day? Ford {Shaking his head slowly) Not to-day, Nettie. Nettie {With a fierce primitive cry of pain) Oh!!! Mrs. Ford You don't care, Nettle, If Nettie {Poignantly) Don't care? Mrs. Ford {Confused) I mean — oh! {There is a pause as Nettie slowly regains her calm. But an inscrutable look has come THE BLACK TIE 149 into her face, as she stares before her, clutching her boy close in her skirt, so that he is almost hidden. The others can say nothing at the poignancy of the grief they have just wit- nessed.) Dad? Yes, Stella. IVhy can't Jo go? Stella {Quietly) Ford Stella Ford {Hesitates, as he looks at Nettie, still staring inscruta- bly before her) Because Stella But Jo goes to his Sunday-school, too, like I go to mine. And he has never missed a Sunday In three years — Nettie told you. Why won't they let him march? Is there something he has done that he shouldn't, and they are punishing him? Ford No, no. It's nothing he has done. I50 THE BLACK TIE Stella Then, why do they punish him? Mrs. Ford Stella! Stella {After a pause, going to Jo) I am sorry, Jo. There are so many things we boys and girls won't know till we grow up. I am sorry you can't parade to-day. (Jo starts to cry. At the first sound Nettie hushes him imperatively and then, with her former impenetrable calm, speaks kindly to Stella.) Nettie Are you ready, Miss Stella? Stella {Eagerly again) Yes; we'd better hurry. Mrs. Ford I'll take her downtown, Nettie. Wait for me till I get my hat, Stella. Nettie You go down and wait for me, Jo. I'll get your hat for you, Mrs. Ford. (Nettie goes out, without a word, into the room in back, as Stella goes over to Jo who, standing by the door, looks crestfallen.) THE BLACK TIE 151 Stella (Kindly) Come along with me, Jo, and see me get In the car. Come. (Taking his hand.) I'll tell you all about it when I come back and I'll bring you my flag with the white cross on it, so you can always keep it. (The children go out together, hand in hand. Ford looks at the paper silently, then throws it aside. ) Mrs. Ford (Shaking her head) It's almost too big for words, when one sees it like this, isn't it? But I suppose poor little Jo would have to learn, sooner or later, things are different for him. Ford (Bitterly) " For the glory of God ! " I wonder what would happen if Christ should come back — colored! Mrs. Ford Tom! You say the most shocking things! It's horrible. But you know we can't alter life. Nettie (Re-entering quietly with the hat and hatpins, which she hands to Mrs. Ford) Your hat, Mrs. Ford. 152 THE BLACK TIE Mrs. Ford Thank you, Nettie. {Putting it on) 1 wish I had my hand-mirror. (Nettie starts to get one) Never mind, this will do. Good-by, Tom. Ford I'll see you and Stella off. Mrs. Ford We'd better hurry. She'll be late. {They start as though to say something to Nettie but seem at loss for words. Then they go out. Nettie is left alone. She stands for a sec- ond and then, without a change of expression, goes slowly over to the window and pulls aside the curtains. She looks out at the car with Stella in it, as it apparently goes off to the parade,) [the curtain falls] CIRCLES THE PEOPLE Professor John Owen. Elizabeth, his wife. Ida Lawson, their married daughter, SCENE The sitting-room at the Owens' in the city. Late one winter evening. CIRCLES * jt COMFORTABLE sitting-room is disclosed. A-m A door in hack opens on a hallway with, the -^ -*■ stairs leading to the floor below just visible. Another door at the right opens on Mrs. Owen's bedroom, A window is at the left near the fireplace with its blazing logs. By this is a large easy-chair close to a table which contains a lighted lamp and some books and magazines. The sofa beyond this, the heavy rugs, the soft curtains, the dull lambrequin on the mantel, supporting the inevitable clock, and the well- worn chairs, all seem to have become part of a room which has gained a homey atmosphere with the years. Mrs. Owen is seated, intently reading a popular novel. The clock strikes the half-hour and she looks tip, apparently surprised at the time. She puts down the book after placing a silver paper-cutter in the leaves to mark her place. Then she rises, stares at the fire thoughtfully, as though fascinated by its cheerful flame. Mrs. Owen is nearing fifty. Her manner sug- gests, somehow, that her repose is not innate, but has been acquired through long schooling: her face, too, in spite of its calm beauty, seems to reflect the quiet that has followed a storm. She is dressed in a loose gown which enhances her natural dignity. ♦Copyright, 19 14, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. 156 CIRCLES As she is standing there, Ida, her daughter, enters unobserved and halts in the doorway, irresolutely look- ing at her mother. Ida Lawson is about thirty; calm, too, like her mother; though one feels it is but the temporary bit upon a nervous, restless spirit. She has a pleasing per- sonality not without obvious physical charm. She is dressed in street clothes with hat and furs. After a pause she throws the furs aside. Mrs. Owen, hearing her, turns in surprise. Ida Mother. Mrs. Owen Why, daughter! Ida I'm glad you are here. Mrs. Owen {As they kiss) We seldom go out now. I was just going to bed. Ida Was it father's light I saw in the library? Mrs. Owen Yes, he's reading, as usual. He likes a cold room, you know. Didn't you stop? CIRCLES 157 Ida No; I came right up. {Trying to appear casual) What's he reading? Mrs. Owen How should / know? {Seeing Ida take off her hat) Anything the matter? Ida IVe come to spend the night with you. Mrs. Owen Oh, that's nice. It's never been the same here these six years since you and Curtis were married. Is he well? Ida Yes. Mrs. Owen I've been reading that novel he loaned me. {Show- ing it to her.) He said it was very interesting. Ida It bored me to death. {There is a pause.) Mrs. Owen Has Curtis gone away on business? Ida No. 158 CIRCLES Mrs. Owen (Surprised) But if your husband's home ? Ida (Evasively) I thought I'd like a change. Mrs. Owen I'll tell Frances to air your old room. Ida I did when she took up my bag. Mrs. Owen How I hated to have you leave that old room of yours. Nothing's been changed since the day of your marriage. Ida I was full of wonder then. It will seem strange sleeping there again — with what I know now. Mrs. Owen (Intuitively) Is anything the matter? Ida No. (Crossing to the fire.) My hands are cold. Mrs. Owen And little Helen? CIRCLES Ida I left her asleep. Mrs. Owen Is she quite well again? Ida Yes, her cough is ; all gone. 159 Mrs. Owen You were so susceptible to colds, too. You must tell her nurse to be more careful these damp days. Ida {Thoughtfully) Helen is like me in many ways, isn't she? Mrs. Owen Yes: but I wouldn't worry. Ida Were you like your mother? Mrs. Owen What a funny question. Ida ( Curiously ) But were you? i6o CIRCLES Mrs. Owen I'm afraid not: your grandmother was too self- willed. At least that's what my father used to say. Ida {Absently) What a circle life is. Mrs. Owen ( Gently ) But you didn't come this time of night to talk of circles, did you? Ida No. Mrs. Owen Then there is something the matter. Ida I'll tell you to-morrow. Mrs. Owen Why not now? Ida {Trying to dismiss it) You're tired and it's late. Mrs. Owen {Pleading quietly) We have had so few talks together, Ida. CIRCLES i6i Ida But it's — It's always, somehow, been so hard to tell you things. Mrs. Owen {Hurt) Hard to tell your own mother? Ida It may be naturally hard for me to confide In any- body. Mrs. Owen Perhaps, then, I'd better call your father. Ida {I71 spite of herself) He always freezes me so. Mrs. Owen Ida! Ida Just leave me alone to-night. Mrs. Owen I know you don't mean to be unkind. Ida Don't mind me — I 1 62 CIRCLES Mrs. Owen {Shaking her head) I can't make you out ; it worries me ; for who should know you better than your mother. (Ida turns away.) Your father and I both love you so. You've always been everything to us — our only child. You know what it is to have an only child, too. (Ida looks at her in question as Mrs. Owen goes to her.) If little Helen were troubled, would you want her to go to any- body but you? And if she didn't ? Ida {Uncomfortably) Don't, mother. Mrs. Owen Perhaps you'd better go to bed. I know you've been worried about Helen's cold, but — tell me in the morning if you wish. Good-night, dear. Ida I can't sleep now. {There is a pause. Then she speaks abruptly.) Mother, I've left Curtis. Mrs. Owen {Startled) Left your husband? No, that's not possible. Ida Why not? {Grimly) Things are finished in this world. CIRCLES 163 Mrs. Owen Nothing ever is — nothing. Ida (Firmly) This is. Mrs. Owen (Starts to protest and then halts) That tone of yours makes me shiver. It was the way your grandmother had at times. I heard it in your voice once before : the night you told us you were going to be married. Ida When you and father tried to argue me out of it. You didn't want to be left alone here. I remember how determined I felt then, too. Now I've left Curtis. And I've come back to you. Isn't it all funny ? But Mrs. Owen Ida (Interrupting) It's no use, mother. It won't be as hard as you think. Making up my mind is what has worn me out. Now I've got hold of myself. I see what I must do. I'm going to use my brain for once straight through. I've only followed my impulses before: they've made a fool of me. i64 CIRCLES Mrs. Owen Dear, you said yourself you were tired. You can't see clearly. You're not yourself. Ida Then who am I? (Mrs. Owen looks at her and shakes her head sadly as John Owen enters softly.^ Owen is in the early sixties, super-refined, rather precise in enunciation, and he suggests in both manner and appearance a certain cold- ness of exterior. He is entirely devoid of dis- cernible emotion. He has on eye-glasses at- tached to a black cord, and wears a smoking- jacket, though he has not taken off his collar or made himself otherwise comfortable.) Owen Frances informed me you were here, daughter. Why didn't you come in and see me? Ida {Somewhat restrained as they kiss) You never like to be disturbed when you are reading. Owen {Rather didactically) Bergson bores me anyway: he is trying to under- mine intellect with his emphasis on intuition. There is nothing logical about intuitiom though it gains its end by leaping over dark places. It's a purely femi- CIRCLES 165 nine endowment; a defense against man's muscularity; but, on the whole Mrs. Owen {Interrupting J to his obvious displeasure) Ida's come to spend the night. Owen Indeed ? Ida I suppose you also want to know the reason. You'll have to know later, anyway. Mrs. Owen {Nervously) To-morrow, Ida: your father is tired. Owen {Irritably to Mrs. Owen) I am still capable of expressing my own sensations, Elizabeth. Ida {Half to herself) And here is where I grew up! Mrs. Owen She and Curtis have — Oh, it isn't true! Ida I'm not going to live with Curtis any more. I've left him. i66 CIRCLES Owen ( Takes off his glasses and motions with them through- out as he looks at her in growing astonishment) Left your husband? Mrs. Owen I can't believe it, either. Ida Father, I know my own mind. I'm not a child; I'm' thirty; I'm married; I'm a mother. I've left my husband for good. I'll never live with him again, never. Owen There's no need to get excited. Ida I want you to see quite clearly I mean what I say. Owen {After a pause) I can't believe it. Left your husband? What's the trouble? {With a logical air as though it were a theorem.) Sit down and let me have the facts: then we can discuss the matter clearly. Ida {With a touch of emotion) Oh, why didn't you simply take me in your arms? CIRCLES 167 Mrs. Owen {To OwExV) Don't be unkind to her. This has upset her. Owen {With some asperity) These women! I don't mean to be unkind, Eliza- beth. I understand her feelings. But somebody must keep his head. You women fly off so. I cannot give her any advice unless I know the facts. Ida I didn't come for advice. Owen Then, why did you come? Ida I had to go somewhere, didn't I? Mrs. Owen {Comforting her) You did quite right to come to those who can help. Ida {With a catch in her voice) I don't want help! Owen {With a quiet persistence) But misunderstandings happen in the best marriages. i68 CIRCLES They can generally be straightened out if people will only talk them over. Ida Talk, talk! Curtis and I have talked for months. I'm sick to death of talk. I just want to draw myself under a cover and sleep. Oh, to sleep in the dark! (Ida has covered her face with her hands. There is a pause as the others seem at a loss, though Owen is a trifle impatient. Mrs. OvfE^ finally goes to her.) Mrs. Owen Can't you let your father help you ? Owen {With reserve) If she doesn't feel that I am capable Ida {In a matter-of-fact tone) What do you wish to know? Owen You might take a less impersonal tone, daughter. I don't wish to probe. Mrs. Owen {Trying to soothe the situation) Don't make it difficult for your father, dear. You know how he hates to show his feelings. CIRCLES 169 Ida Since I've come back to you I suppose it's not quite square to be silent. Mrs. Owen {Relieved) She'll tell you now, John. Owen Is it more than a misunderstanding? Ida It's everything. I wasn't a foolish romantic girl when we married. I didn't expect too much. But he and I can't even be friends. Mrs. Owen {Quickly) There is somebody else? Ida That's what everybody thinks nowadays when a marriage goes wrong. Mrs. Owen ( Enigmatically ) One generally realizes then. (Ida eyes her with an intuitive flash of under- standing. ) Owen Are you trying to protect your husband ? I70 CIRCLES Ida Why should I? I'm no longer proud. The law would say he was guilty. Mrs. Owen Oh, the shame! Ida (Quickly) But I'm not sure the fault is his. The law doesn't seem to consider temperaments, does it? We're all in one mold. Perhaps Fm to blame. Who knows? Mrs. Owen (Shocked) Our daughter to blame? Owen What are you saying? Ida What few of us who get the divorces are willing to acknowledge : our part in the guilt. Owen (More seriously) You*re thinking of getting a divorce? Ida (With determination) Yes; it's fairer to him. CIRCLES 171 Mrs. Owen Oh, Ida, perhaps it may not have to be that: it's so awful. Ida I know how unpleasant notoriety is to our family. That's the penalty of father's importance. I thought the fact that Curtis had other women would be enough to make you accept it easily. (Mrs. Owen turns away.) Owen Are you quite sure you have thought over what a divorce would mean? Ida I never thought of it till it became my personal question. If that's what you have in mind. Owen {Shaking his head) But it's not your question alone. That's my point. Society Ida {Sharply) Father, I can't be sociological. Mrs. Owen Then, what about Helen ? 172 CIRCLES Ida {Calmly) I shall send for her to-morrow. Mrs. Owen {Alarmed) You are going to separate her from Curtis ? Owen Don't be foolish, Elizabeth; if Ida has determined on a divorce and her husband has been guilty with other women Ida {Quickly) I wouldn't resort to such a trick. Owen Trick? Ida {Scornfully) Do you feel that Helen is mine, just because my husband happened to break the law, the ridiculous law which declares he can't be a good father to Helen be- cause of his episodes? Mrs. Owen {Shocked) Episodes? Is that what you call them? CIRCLES 173 Ida What else can I call them, when I see they haven't changed or influenced his life one bit? Surely you know, father, how unimportant such experiences often may be to a man like Curtis. Owen {Fundamentally offended) I know nothing of the sort! You ought to be ashamed to make such remarks before your mother. If you don't think his episodes mean anything, why are you denying him his right to Helen ? Ida Because Helen belongs to me, not to him. I carried her alone. He went away during most of my time. My condition offended him. She's mine because Curtis didn't sit by my side when Helen was born; because he didn't suffer through seeing me suffer. All he was willing to give to parenthood was a man's mo- mentary pleasure: I gave pain — such long pain. Why, during all those months he never even warmed me with his hands. Owen {Shocked) What do you know of a man's feelings at such a time ? Ida I'd like to know about other men. {She goes im- pulsively to Mrs. Owen.) Mother, when / was born, 174 CIRCLES did father^ ? (Mrs. Owen is startled.) Never mind, don't answer. How foolish of me ! I might have known. We're wasting time talking — talking. How I hate words! {She turns towards the fire again, half ab- sorbed, ) Mrs. Owen Don't reproach your father, Ida; he — ^he was very good to me when I really didn't deserve it. Owen {Quietly) Elizabeth, that's not to the point. Mrs. Owen {With a certain strength) It is. Ida thinks because a thing is new that it is right; that you and I have foolish ideas on marriage and divorce. She doesn't know how we^ Owen {Stopping her) Elizabeth! Ida {Turning to them desperately) Mother, mother; what do you both want me to do? What are you both arguing with me this way for? Do you think it easy for me to acknowledge failure, to take up a new life, alone, when I'm not prepared for CIRCLES 175 it? Oh, why is it we three can't talk together with- out cutting ourselves with every word? I know it's difficult for you to have me submitted to all that must follow: the talk, the stripping of my private af- fairs before a court which has no right to know, the newspapers, the headlines, the story played up out of all proportion to its worth. I've thought of all that; but it seems so unimportant now. (Going to her.) Does it hurt you so much to have me leave Curtis, when you see he and I haven't a single thing in com- mon? Mrs. Owen You have Helen! Owen Yes: have you forgotten your daughter? Mrs. Owen ( Taking her hands) Oh, Ida, in spite of everything you say, I think divorce is terrible when there is a little child depend- ing on you both. Ida {She looks at the two and then slowly sits down as though stunned) Strange! That's why I thought it terrible to stay. You're shocked because I felt Curtis' episodes meant nothing; yet, in spite of your feeling about them, you still ask me to stay with him for Helen's sake! 176 CIRCLES Owen ( Uncomfortably) Yes, for the sake of your child. Ida Is that a man's point of view? Mrs. Owen It is mine, too, Ida. Ida You feel as strongly as that! Mrs. Owen ( Thinking Ida is weakening) What's to prevent your making another try together ? Owen Wait a while, anyway. Don't be hasty. Take the time to consider. Stay here with us a bit and Mrs. Owen {Pleading) Your father's right: we're older; we've lived; we know. Try to patch things up. Perhaps in time^ Ida {With pointed abruptness) Mother, have you asked yourself why Curtis went outside? Why I couldn't hold him? Why I did not want to hold him? CIRCLES 177 Mrs. Owen Ida! Ida It is because — because we both made a terrible mis- take — totally misread ourselves. I do not love Curtis. I see I never have loved him. Owen Never loved him? Then, why did you marry him? Ida {Enigmatically ) Some day I may tell you. I didn't understand then. I do now. Mrs. Owen Why, you wouldn't even listen to us when we tried to dissuade you against Ida That, too, I didn't understand at the time. {Slowly) I must be careful not to make another mis- take. Owen Mistake to keep a home for your child with her father? Mrs. Owen (Poignantly) You think that a mistake ? 178 CIRCLES Ida {With a certain desperation as they stand shocked and confused by her words) How can I give the child a home when Curtis and I do not love each other? Didn't you ever think of it in that way? I have. That's the real reason I'm leaving. I can't give her a real home with Curtis! I don't want the child to grow up in just a place. She deserves something more than that. She'd be stifled. She couldn't be free. She'd be pressed down by our unhappiness. She'd detect our restlessness. She'd not have the peace her childhood has the right to ask. Curtis and I would differ on everything about her as we'd differ on everything else. We have al- ready. That's what suddenly frightened me after desperately clinging for so many months. I felt the child was being hurt, that she was beginning to see our unhappiness. I couldn't stand that. Why, she asked me something to-night before she went to sleep that I had to lie about. That would have been the beginning. It came over me I must leave before it was too late. I can't see her joy frozen again by the looks Curtis and I gave each other — looks that made her ask the question. Somehow I felt her whole life might be shaped by those looks. I can't let my little child run that risk. I can't and I won't. Owen {Who has been trying to get a word in) And do you think you alone are capable of supply- ing what a father has to give? CIRCLES 179 Ida Fm thinking that one parent who loves her will be better for Helen than two in the same house who do not love each other! Mrs. Owen {Deeply moved) What is she saying? Owen {Same) She doesn't know. Mrs. Owen Oh! Ida And then afterwards when Helen grows up and Curtis and I are weary, and begin more and more to drop the mask before her, and she sees and understands fully and perhaps loves us both with all her heart! Have I the right to offer her that problem? To ask her love to stretch over our severed lives, to let her feel she tied us together? No, no! She'd end by si- lently reproaching us because we didn't respect her right for love in her home. And all the time, Curtis and I would be desperately trying to keep her near us — because we would be afraid of what would happen to each other when the link was broken. And then one day, maybe, something would snap v/ithin her, and she'd go — to what? Oh, how I'd tremble for her if I felt she married to escape her home! i8o CIRCLES Mrs. Owen {Poignantly) So that was why you married Curtis! Ida {Seeing what she has inadvertently let slip) No. No. It is — it is! No! Mrs. Owen Ida Mrs. Owen Oh! Ida {Realizing the situation) Well, then: yes, mother: that was why I married Curtis ! Owen Ida! {There is an ominous pause.) Ida I didn't know at the time but I see it now. I never meant to tell you. I didn't mean to hurt you. But now you know why I am leaving my husband. I — I couldn't stand the thought of having my life with him as — as yours has been here. CIRCLES i8i Mrs. Owen {Defensively) Our life? Ida Oh, I know now what it has been all these years. And I couldn't sit face to face alone with my husband, going on, as you and father have, through the mo- mentum of habit but without love. Owen How dare you say this! Ida Isn't it true? Didn't I live here? Didn't I see it all without understanding it ? Didn't I feel it ? ( They are silent.) Oh, I couldn't go on with Curtis — frozen — eyeing each other in the silences: he with the consciousness I had forgiven him, eating at his heart and not daring to leave: and I tricking myself with the magnanimity I had displayed in forgiving him and not wishing to lessen the beauty of my sacrifice. That sha'n't be my marriage. Helen sha'n't grow up there. No. No. {There is a silence. Owen has stared at her tense and silent. Mrs. Owen has been cut by each word and finally sobs, as her husband goes to her.) Mrs. Owen That my daughter could say this to us — after all we have done for her! 1 82 CIRCLES Owen Sh! {With a cold restraint throughout.) You'd better go to your room now, Ida. Ida {Diffidently) I had to let you see how I felt. You forced it out of me. Helen means everything to me. I am doing what I think is best. Owen {Restrained) That is all one can do. Good-night. Ida I have no place to go. You'll let me stay here for a little while — even after what I've said? Owen You are quite sure you will be comfortable here with your mother and me? Ida I sha'n't be in the way, shall I? Mrs. Owen No, no. You've cut me to the quick. But all we have is yours. Our whole life together has been for you. (Owen gazes into the fire with his back turned to them,) CIRCLES 183 Ida Mother, don't cry. {She kneels beside Mrs. Owen with a burst of feeling.) Oh, mother, mother. Mrs. Owen {Gathering her in her arms.) My child. Ida {After a long silence) Oh, mother, if we could only be close. Mrs. Owen How could we be when you think I've done you a great wrong ? Ida Oh, can't we try? We need each other more than ever now. Mrs. Owen I've always needed you. Ida We're both alone now. Mrs. Owen Don't hurt your father: it's not been easy for him to hear what you've just said. Ida Father, will you forgive me? 1 84 CmCLES Owen {Without turning) I suppose one must forgive even the truth at times. Ida Why must you and mother always be so far apart? Mrs. Owen Hush, child. Ida {Looking slowly from one to the other) If it had brought you two together, all the sacrifice for me might have been worth it. Mrs. Owen We did what we thought was best for you. We never expected you would reproach us. Ida {Bowing her head) Mother, I've said I was sorry that it slipped out. Can't you ever forgive me? Mrs. Owen ( Tenderly ) Oh, yes; because you may have to face the same thing yourself some day. Ida The same thing? CIRCLES 185 Mrs. Owen Yes: the reproaches of your child. Ida {Startled) Helen? Mrs. Owen Yes. Ida {As she sees OwEN turn and eye her) Oh, no! No!! Mrs. Owen ( Tenderly ) How do you know she will not reproach you for leaving her father as you have reproached me for staying ? Ida No, no: that couldn't be! Owen How do you know? Ida {She looks toward him a second and then at her mother) That would be terrible. Terrible!! Mrs. Owen Yes; terrible if she judges you as you have us. i86 CIRCLES Ida {Losing complete control of herself) Oh, mother, I'm miserable. Now I see what I have said to you. Now I know how I hurt you. For- give me^ — forgive me. {Sobbing.) I was so sure I was right ... so sure. ... If she should say such things to me I couldn't stand it. I love her so. Oh, now I shall always fear her reproaches when she grows up. Mrs. Owen {Comforting her and speaking with vision) A woman never can understand her mother till she has a child of her own. {There is a long pause.) Come, dear. You are worn out. You need sleep. Come. I'll go to your old room with you. {She urges Ida to rise.) Come. {She puts her arm about Ida and leads her toward the door.) Don't cry, child. You'll be sick. Hush, dear, for my sake. (Mrs. Owen and Ida go out in back so close in each other s thoughts that they seem to have forgotten OwEN who has stood almost imper- sonally watching them. As the door closes after them he smiles cynically.) Owen Huh! These women! {He stands there with his hands behind his hack J warming them before the fire.) [the curtain falls] THE UNBORN THE PEOPLE Wilton Burgess, a fashionable childrens photog- rapher. Rhy, his wife. The Woman. SCENE At the Burgess* one winter evening about nine o'clock. THE UNBORN* ^ SIMPLE cozy library, on the ground floor ^g of a small house, is disclosed. A door at the ^ "^ back opens on the hallway without. On one side large mahogany folding doors close off the other rooms. A grate with a dull fire is directly opposite. Before this, at right angles, is a large couch on which Burgess is reclining. Near it, Rhy, his wife, sits on a small, low rocker. A shaded lamp and some candles softly light the room, which is furnished in quiet taste: a few pictures with dark frames, rows of books, several tapestry chairs, a piece of statuary, and some ferns are to be observed. Wilton Burgess is in his early forties, rather good-looking, of no particularly distinguishing fea- tures, though his face is a kind one and he is not devoid of a certain sensitiveness in speech and in apperception. He is in a dressing-gown and slippers. His left arm is bandaged at the wrist and at times it seems to pain him. Rhy, though the picture of health, has obviously passed the first flush of young womanhood. She is at- tractive in a quiet way with her soft voice and gentle gestures. At present, however, she seems moody and pensive. She wears a simple negligee and her hair is loosely coiled for comfort. * Copyright, 1914, by George Middleton. All rights reserved. igo THE UNBORN Burgess is smoking while thoughtfully looking at Rhy, who has put down her magazine. A bell is heard. Burgess Was that the bell? Rhy No. Burgess Ella's out? Rhy Yes; motion pictures. Burgess The romance of the poor, eh? Rhy (Sententiously) Yes. Burgess {Sitting up) What are you thinking of? Rhy You and me. Burgess Something serious? Perhaps. Out with it. Shall I? THE UNBORN Rhy Burgess Rhy Burgess {Relighting his cigar) 191 Yes. Rhy {Slowly) I was realizing it has been a long while since you and I have really sat down quietly together. And I suppose if it hadn't been for the accident yesterday Burgess Nonsense. Rhy {Anxiously) Oh, you will be careful crossing the streets. Promise. Burgess {Feeling his bandaged wrist) Don't worry, dear. Lots of people escape auto- mobiles. It's becoming an American instinct. 192 THE UNBORN Rhy Don't jest about it. You jest so much at everything I say. I might almost suspect you're doing it to hide your feelings — if — {Impulsively) Oh, you do love me just the same, don't you? Burgess {Puzzled) What are you talking of, Rhy? Rhy Have you been disappointed in me? Burgess Disappointed ? Rhy / have been so happy with you all these ten years — selfishly happy. Burgess We've got along better than most married people, I suppose. Rhy But I'm afraid of prosperity, somehow. Burgess We've managed to get through the hard daySi That's the real test, isn't it? THE UNBORN 193 Rhy {Doubtfully) Vvn not sure. When we started in with our little picture gallery, we only had each other. But now that we have everything {She shakes her head slowly.) Burgess {Looking at her) Have we everything now? Rhy All we want, I mean. Burgess {Slowly) All you want. Rhy {With a quick glance, as she rises) I was speaking of what we own. Burgess {En igmatically ) So I thought. Rhy But you were thinking of the — the other thing. Burgess Isn't it a bit natural, sometimes? 194 THE UNBORN Rhy (Quietly) It*s generally the woman who^ Burgess Men don't say it. Rhy (Moved) I felt you blaming me these many months; maybe it's been years. Burgess ( Tenderly ) I've not blamed you, dear. I have only been wait- ing for you to speak. Rhy You have been disappointed. (He rises and throws the cigar in the fireplace.) But v/e were so poor at the start, Wilton. You agreed with me that if we were to have children we ought first to be able to give them everything. Burgess Yes; I fooled myself, too. Rhy (Quickly) Do you believe that I ? THE UNBORN 195 Burgess Maybe we both have been cowards! Rhy Wilton! Burgess Yes, afraid to assume the responsibility. (Seeing she is unhappy) But don't let's talk of it, dear. Rhy {With some difficulty) We must; it's always in your thoughts. Burgess {Coming to her and taking her hands) Isn't it ever in yours? Rhy {Lowering her eyes) That's unkind of you. Burgess Well, anyway, I mustn't hurt you like this. For- give me! Maybe the accident shook me up a bit. Rhy {Dully) You won't understand. 196 THE UNBORN Burgess Perhaps fear Is natural with some women. I don't blame them. Rhy (^Quickly) I'm not afraid of having a child. I'm' afraid of afterwards: when it faces life — ^with its innocence, its enthusiasm, its hopes. Burgess Is life so terrible? Rhy Yes; when one thinks of it. Burgess ( Tenderly ) Don't you ever feel like giving life, Rhy? Rhy {Slowly J as though trying to fathom her intimate feelings ) Sometimes: yes, sometimes; only — something holds me back. There's something locked : some barrier that needs sweeping away. {Half desperately) Oh, if I were only sure of life. Burgess {Turning away) One never is. THE UNBORN 197 Rhy There are moments when one knows everything. Burgess {Thoughtfully J after a long silence) It's been ten years. We're getting older, and soon you Rhy {Lowering her eyes) I know. Burgess There shouldn't be too many years between parents and their children. They both lose touch as they grow older. Rhy {Shyly) But I'm not ready yet. Unless — unless — ^you ? Burgess Insist ? Rhy {Half inaudihly) Some men do. Burgess {Soothing her) I never will, Rhy. I think it should be a mutual wish. 198 THE UNBORN Rhy {Close to him) You've been a dear. You've always considered me. I realize, when I hear other wives talk, what it means to have a husband like you. Burgess I have never forgotten that it is you who bear the child. Rhy (Slowly) And in your heart you think I've taken advantage of your — your consideration? Burgess I only know there are millions of mothers! Rhy (Gazing thoughtfully before her) I wonder how many would have been mothers if they'd known all they had to go through, or if they'd even had my experience bringing up children ? It was all left on my shoulders, you know, when mother died. Burgess (With an unconscious touch of bitterness) But I never like to believe it was the care you gave your two little sisters which was to wear out your feeling for children of your own. THE UNBORN 199 Rhy Don't say that. Burgess Well, then: robbed me of my right. Rhy Your right? Burgess I didn't mean to use that harsh word. Rhy It's as good as any other to describe your feeling. Burgess Rhy? {With consideration again.) What is a husband to do if he loves his wife and wants children and — ^and finds his house empty? Rhy Empty? Wilton, I'm here. I love you. Can't / be everything to you as you are to me? Burgess It isn't a question of that. Rhy It is with me. And maybe that's the reason I can't give myself completely to the other. 200 THE UNBORN Burgess What do you mean ? Rhy That sometimes a child takes a woman away from her husband. Burgess I see. I see. You don't trust yourself. Rhy It isn't that. {Inadvertently) Only, maybe, Fm not sure of you. Burgess When I want it so? Rhy {Defensively) Many men do before the child comes. But do you know what it means? Does any man really know be- forehand ? We've been so close in everything, Wilton ; I've shared your work. Every day I've gone to the office with you, just as when we were starting our little shop together; and even now when we have assistants and some one else could do my work. That would all have to be changed, dear. Burgess Maybe I — I would like it to be changed. {She withdraws her hands from his shoulders as though hurt.) I never could have been where I am without THE UNBORN 201 you. I realize that. But we have everything, as you say. I suppose it's a masculine instinct, yet I hate to see you work every day with those children, posing them, handling them, understanding them like a born mother. And then always the thought they're not ouf children. They belong to mothers who didn't want them, fathers who didn't want them. Oh, I simply can't see you there any longer, Rhy. Rhy {Sharply) You want to take my work from me ? Burgess No. But Rhy {With feeling) All the years I've shared it with you, built it up, helped you. Wasn't It my suggestion that you special- ize on children's pictures? Hasn't it all been my work as well as yours? Burgess {Testily) Yes, but for what have we worked? Just for our- selves? Is that all there is in life? {With a quick, intuitive glance) Rhy! Is that why you're afraid of motherhood ? Rhy No, no. 202 THE UNBORN Burgess Your work does mean more to you than that. Rhy {Defending herself) Would you give up your work to be a father? Burgess Don't be absurd. It's not the same with a man. Rhy It's a choice many women have to face these days. Burgess Some women have both. Rhy / should want to give everything to my child. I couldn't bear to have anybody else care for it. I know all the risks, all the dangers. I've been through it. I know the incompetence of nurses — nurses to whom we trust those little tender lives. Oh, I'd worry every moment, as I did with my sisters. It's the way I'm made. I'd have to do everything myself. {She sinks in the chair and he finally comes to her, very tenderly.) Burgess It's all right, Rhy. We mustn't let it come between us. That's all, girl, dear. THE UNBORN 203 Rhy {Murrnuringj as she kisses his hand) Just wait — ^wait. {They stare thoughtfully before them a long while. The bell rings and, as it is repeated, it gradually seems to bring them out of their mood.) Burgess I was sure I heard the bell • Rhy {Drying her eyes) Who could it be this time of night? Burgess Possibly a telegram. Rhy You'd better go. {He goes out and she seems puzzled.) What a curious feeling — ^who can it be? (Rhy goes back as though half-impelled in spite of herself, and listens to the conversation, outside.) The Woman Mr. Burgess? Burgess {Somewhat gruffly) Yes. 204 THE UNBORN The Woman Please may I see you a moment, inside? Burgess But The Woman {Poignantly) Please — please — only for a moment. Please. Rhy {As though moved) Let her come in, Wilton. (Burgess returns, followed timidly by The Woman, luho is middle-aged^ poorly dressed, with a thin, pale face and tired eyes. She carries a medium-sized package wrapped in a newspaper. She looks up and sees Rhy. There is an embarrassed pause.) Rhy {Kindly) Do you wish to see my husband, alone? The Woman Your husband ? Oh, please, don't go, Mrs. Burgess. Maybe having a lady here with me will help him to understand better. Burgess {Impatiently) But if you've any business, v^^hy didn't you come and see me at my office? THE UNBORN 205 The Woman (Simply) I go to work before your office is open. Burgess I'm always there till after five. The Woman I work till six. Rhy (Who has been somewhat mysteriously impressed) Sit down. You must be tired. The Woman {Sitting on the edge of the chair) Thanks. Rhy (After a pause) You're trembling. Are you cold? The Woman No: guess I'm shaky coming to a gentleman's house like this. Rhy But you must have had a good reason. The Woman (Quickly) Oh, I have. (Turning to Mr. Burgess) I've come to bring you something what's yours. 2o6 THE UNBORN Burgess (Surprised) Mine? The Woman (Indicating package) I left it at the door, like they do children they don't want. I rang the bell and went across the street to see if you'd get it. But you didn't go to the door. I was fraid it would get broken or stolen if I left it there all night. I couldn't leave it, so I thought you'd let me explain. (With some slight hesitation The Woman nervously unwraps the package. She hands a small framed photograph timidly to BuRGESS, who is greatly surprised on seeing it. Rhy watches, puzzled and interested.) Burgess (Rather sharply) Where did you get this? The Woman (Nervously) I can explain. A friend. She gave it to me to give you 'cause she wanted to be sure you'd get it back safe, and 'cause she was afraid if she brought it back her- self, you might arrest her. Rhy What is she saying, Wilton? THE UNBORN 207 Burgess Your friend was right. But I don't see how your coming is going to save her. The Woman {Poignantly) You wouldn't arrest her when she sent me back with it? Rhy What is it, Wilton? The Woman {Slowly) It's the picture what was stolen from your show- case. Burgess {Eyeing her) If your friend were afraid of arrest, why didn't she send it back by express or destroy it? The Woman Destroy that? Oh, she couldn't do it. She tried. {Quickly J as he eyes her suspiciously) She told me she tried. Rhy Let me see it, Wilton. (The Woman takes it from Burgess, gives it a quick glance^ and hands it to Rhy, return- ing to her seat.) 2o8 THE UNBORN Rhy Oh, yes; I remember. The Woman {Her face glowing) Ain't he beautiful? Rhy Yes, I suppose so. The Woman {She speaks as though it were all real, while they listen with increased interest) My friend told me the boy used to call for her to take him from the show-case every day, when she went to work, all the winter mornings, when the lights were still on, and every evening when she went home in the dark. She'd heard him calling when she was work- ing, when all the other noises in the shop were trying to drown his voice. And she couldn't just wait till she could stand alone before him. And he'd talk to her and want to be taken out of the cold to his toys and his little bed. And when she'd come again the next morning, he'd tell her he hated being shut up with nobody to pull the covers up or pat him in the night. My friend told me she had to do what he asked. Rhy {Impressed) This little boy? THE UNBORN 209 The Woman {Smiling) Yes, her little boy, as he seemed to be, always call- ing, day and night, for her to take him from the show- case. Rhy Strange ! The Woman She seemed to live only for him. She had a child of her own at last. Rhy She has no children? The Woman She ain't married. Burgess So she broke the glass and stole it, eh? The Woman Yes. Every night she'd come back, but people were always near. One night it was raining. She waited till the street was empty. In the dark, nobody heard her break the glass. Then the little boy and her were alone in the rain. She put him close to her so he wouldn't get wet. She ran home. He kept her warm. She could feel him loving at her breast — her dry breast. Oh — {There is a pause) Then she put him on a 2IO THE UNBORN chair beside her bed and she slept for the first time since she'd seen him. Rhy ( Tenderly ) Then why didn^t she keep him? The Woman Because her room was dirty and small and she was away all day working, and it wasn't no place to keep a child. Burgess Let me have the photograph, Rhy. {He takes it and The Woman eagerly watches him as he smiles at the picture,) Umph ! so she wanted you enough to steal you ? Well, my little lad, we'll not have you tempting people like that. {He lifts it high above him as though intending to break it,) The Woman {Startled) Don*t! Burgess {Putting it down slowly and speaking kindly) You stole it yourself. The Woman {Faltering) Yes. THE UNBORN 211 Burgess I thought so. Rhy Oh! The Woman {With emotion) Don't turn away from me, Mrs. Burgess. I ain't a real thief. I did it because I didn't have what other women had. Because I had so much to give the boy! ( There is a pause as The Woman lowers her eyes and quietly sobs. BuRGESS watches her as though trying to think what to do. Rhy gazes at her, then goes slowly to her, putting her hand on The Woman's shoulder. The Woman looks up, takes it impulsively, and then lets it go.) The Woman I beg pardon, I ain't used to having people kind to me. Rhy {With a certain awe) And you work in a shop ten hours a day. The Woman Yes. Ten hours. Rhy Oh, the waste, Wilton — the waste! 212 THE UNBORN Burgess Yes; when women have so much motherhood to give and can't or won't. (Rhy looks at her husband ^ understanding his implication. Then wiping her eyes, she gazes at The Woman, who sits with her head bowed in depression.) Rhy Do you love the little boy? The Woman Yes. Burgess You talk as though the photograph were something real. The Woman He wanted love. It's in his eyes. Burgess That's odd. Rhy Whose child is it, Wilton? Burgess The Burlingames'. He's gone to the dogs: you know what became of his wife. The Woman And they had a beautiful boy like that! THE UNBORN 213 Burgess (Smiling) Why, the boy's a young man now, able to take care of himself. This photograph was taken years ago. The Woman (Startled) He's grown up? Burgess Yes. The Woman (Poignantly) And his curls? Have they cut his curls? Burgess Why, of course. The Woman (As though she had lost everything) Oh, I never thought he'd grow up! (There seems nothing they can say: they look at each other^ deeply moved. Then they watch her as she rises and sighs like one who has had to accept all things in life.) I'll be going now if you'll let me. Burgess I'd really forgotten all about this. I didn't even report it to the police. So you've nothing to fear. 214 THE UNBORN The Woman There ain't much dlference in jail and my work ex- cept I can walk out at night. Rhy {Impulsively) Would you like the photograph? Burgess Yes: do take it. The Woman (Refusing it, with difficulty) No, no. I couldn't take him back where I live. He seemed to grow sadder there. Maybe he was like the other children. {They look at her in question.) They're all like that — the real ones; they like me a little at first, but I feel them: grow away from me. I thought he wouldn't because — because he was only make-believe. And he looked like Imn. Rhy Him? The Woman {Simply) Him I was promised to marry. That's what's so hard. He died and I've nothing of him only what's in my thoughts. I wanted a kid so and then he was took off sudden and I was alone. {Wistfully) Oh, it's awful not to have something that's your man's; some- THE UNBORN 215 thing you can see living about you — that keeps speakin' to you with his eyes or looks, after he's gone and a woman's left alone^ Burgess (Quietly) Would you like if, instead, we put the little boy back in the window ? The Woman (Eagerly) Oh, would you? Burgess The first thing in the morning. Yes. The Woman That will be something when I walk past. Burgess And will you come in and see me to-morrow after your work is finished? I'll wait for you. Maybe we can find something else for you to do, if you wish. The Woman Oh, thanks. Thanks. (Turning to Rhy, who has stood lost in thought.) Good-night, Mrs. Burgess. Rhy Good-night. 2i6 THE UNBORN The Woman (Smiling) I thought a mother would help a man to under- stand. Rhy A mother! The Woman I feel so much happier now. Good-night. (Rhy stares before her The others go out. She does not move. A curious glow comes into her face. A deep e?notion slowly floods a definite thought which has taken possession of her. She half swoons. The outer door closes and Burgess re-enters.) Rhy Wilton! Wilton!! (Goes to him, embracing him eagerly.) Oh, if anything should happen to you! Burgess {Not understanding) Rhy, what's come over you? Rhy It might have been yesterday! {Terrified at the thought) Oh, it would kill me if an accident or — ^ — Burgess {Trying to quiet her) She's upset you, Rhy. THE UNBORN 217 Rhy {Clutching him close) Oh, I never thought of it that way! Being left alone without having — oh! Burgess (Slowly understanding) Dearest ? Rhy ( Sobbing hysterically ) She's broken something in me. She's swept away things Burgess Don't cry — ^don't! Little wife. Rhy (Almost shyly) Dearest, you'll be good to me? If (He kisses her for an answer, and holds her tenderly in his arms.) [the curtain falls] " Mr. Middleton's plays stand out from the bulk of American drama through their literary quality and the serious purpose with which they are conceived, Flis is a voice crying in the wilderness of clap-trap makeshifts hugging the managerial fancy — keen sense of character and apparently instinctive feeling for the feminine point of view, together with his remarkable faculty for seiz- ing his people at a crisis in their lives and putting their whole history before us with a few deft touches." — Brooklyn Eagle. GEORGE MIDDLETON'S TRADITION and On Bail, Their Wife, Waiting, The Cheat of Pity and Mothers, $1.35 net; by mail $1.44 " All these little pieces are admirable in technique : they are soundly con- structed and written in natural and lucid dialogue. He reveals at every point the aptness of the practised playright — this tribute must be paid to an author who has dared to analyze in many moods the diverse and fluctuating personality of the woman of today — he has sounded to the depths the souls of those eccentric and extraordinary women whom he has chosen to depict." — Clayton Hamilton in the bookman. "He reveals a knowledge of the feminine heart and character and a sym- pathy with feminine ideals thai is unusual in one of the opposite sex. Mr. Middleton seems on intimate terms with them all and his gallery of contempo- rarj' portraits of women is complete. Women who want to understand them- selves should take a look at Tradition : what they see there will, on the whole, be flattering. In tact, the modern independence seeking, own think- ing woman has not found a more sympathetic and understanding friend than the author of Tradition. The workmanship of these plays is about as perfect as could be — which means they are most agreeable to read." — New York Globe. " In all of these plays the conversation is tense and suggestive. They are eminently actable and are well adapted for reading." — Boston Evening Transcript. " These little plays are concentrated drama, easy to read and visualize, thoughtful as to theme and powerful in suggestiveness." — Revievj of Reviews. "Mr. Middleton's plays furnish interesting reading. The author deserves praise for his skill and conscientious workmanship — succeeds admirably ss a chronicler of striking events and as an interpreter of exceptional people in exceptional circumstances." — New York Times. " The chief advantage of his method is its absolute sincerity and realism. The real drama of a life time is revealed. They are a real contribution to the stage of today." — Phila. Public Ledger. HENRY HOLT and COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK "The plays are admirable; the conversations have the true style of human speech, and show first-rate economy of words, every syllable advancing the plot. The little dramas are full of cerebration, and 1 shall recommend them in my public lectures." — Prof. William Ly^on 'Phelps, Yale University, GEORGE MIDDLETON'S EMBERS And The Failures, The Gargoyle, In His House, Madonna, and The Man Masterful. $t,35 net f by rmdU $t,44 °' All are clear concise dynamic, suggesting drama rather than revealing it, the language simple, the structure excellent, the characterization vivid." — Chicago Record Herald. EMBERS: "This is a tender and inspiring piece, somewhat akin to Gilbert's " Sweethearts " and Howard 's " Old Love Letters." — Nation. " By far the best , . . the interpretation of American middle age is certainly searching and realistic." — Living j^ge, THE FAILURES: "It is written with a tensity of submerged move- ment." — Springfield Republican. "Is somberly true, direct and vital." — Chicago Evening Post. " Full of genuine insight."^-^ Archibald Henderson in North Carolina Review. THE GARGOYLE: " The cleverest, certainly the subtlest . . .the scene between the two me»i is absorbing and the outcome unexpected." — St. Paul Pioneer Press. " A curious Conceit very ingeniously and and somewhat plausibly treated." — Nation. IN HIS HOUSE: "Is prodigious , . . with unexpected logical reaction." — Chicago Evening Post. "We have the elements of a stupendous tragedy, powerfully, tensely written." — Los Angeles Times. MADONNA : " Here a difficult subject is treated with exceeding deli- cacy and touches of simple patience." — Nation. " Will appeal to every sensitive spirit." — Richard ^urton in ^ellman. " Is the most exquisite brief study of delicate maidenly modesty on the brink of marriage that has come to my knowledge." — Los Jlngeles "Uimes. *' Madonna I especially liked for its creating an atmosphere and its lovely reticence." — Walter P. ^aton. " It was received with re- markable appreciation — -it belongs to the small class of those written by specialists in emotion for sensitive people. There is something ex- quisite about it." — ^^anchester Guardian, England. THE MAN MASTERFUL : " Is dramatic writing at once strong and subtle." — Chicago Evening 'Post. " Is the most effective play in the volume." — St. Louis Post Dispatch. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY 34 West 33d Street NEW YORK *'I have carefully studied the plays of George Middleton and admire not only his technical dexterity but also his sympathetic characterization. Tech- nically speaking, he can give cards and spades to many successful drama- tists. , . I can answer for their readable quality." — James Hunefier, Author of Egoists, Iconoclasts, etc. GEORGE MIDDLETON'S NOWADAYS A Three Act Comedy of American Life. $1.00 net. " Nowadays is notable not only as a sane and veracious study of con- temporary life, but for dramatic qualities which ought to make it valuable in ihe theatre. Dealing with the relations of the sexes, and making a strong and effective plea for a more equal partnership for woman in the opportun- ities and responsibilities of life, it shows a philosophic realization of the limitations imposed by nature and the hard facts of existence. The story, free from all sensationalism or extravagance, is strong in the naturalness of its situations and the vitality of its contrasted personages." — N. Y. Even- ing Post. "George Middleton's iVo«Jac/at/s, in which the very fibre of American character is woven into the substance of its theme, has done more than any- thing else to raise the art to the level of production which characterizes the dramatic literature in England and on the Continent." — Boston Transcript. *' The first strong impression made by Mr. Middleton's work is the elastic breadth of view. We have many men to-day writing on Feminism in some of its phases; few indeed who can understand and express so many. He shows a broad vision. His plays should interest thinking women every- where and should make men think." — Charlotte Perkins Gilman in The Forerunner. "A striking drama of the present moment and of real people." — The Independent. "The spirit of the twentieth century is in his plays; also a spirit of justice and generosity towards women." — Alice Stone Blackwell in Woman 's Journal. " Mr. Middleton's contribution to the growing body of American dramatic literature is distinguished by its earnest realism, its sanity and its high good humor." — Current Opinion. " The play appeals throughout. It is absolutely honest with its theme. Work so sincere and skillful should find many readers." — Prof. Richard Burton in The Bellman. "Mr. Middleton has tagged his play a comedy, but it remains a little tragedy for all that, to people who like to think." — Edna Kenton in Chicago Even- ing Post. ' ' NoJx>adays is the most significant contribution in drama to the interpretation of the woman's movement in America." — Percy Macl^aye. "Steadily interesting and entirely human." — The Nation. "The work well deserves publication." — Westminster Gazette. "A good comedy." — Detroit Free Press. "The play is well built, the dialogue natural and pointed." — Arthur Ruhl in N. Y. Tribune. "The comedy is a mirror reflecting in an admirably organized production a vitally significant phase of modern life." — Washington Star. "It you want a sane, attractive defin- ition of Feminism, read Nowadays." — N, Y. Qlohe. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK ARCHIBALD HENDERSON'S THE CHANGING DRAMA Its Contributions and Tendencies. By the Author of "George Bernard Shaw : His Life and Works," "European Drama- tists," etc. 12mo. $1.50 net. The pioneer book in English in its field. ^ While a number of good books, taking up important dramatists and discussing them one after another, are available, this is probably the first that describes the significant changes and movements in the drama of the last half century, illustrating them by the work of leading dramatists and by apt citations of and quotations from their plays. The author, publicist as well as dramatic critic, aims to show the expression of the larger realities of con- temporary life in the drama, the widening of social influence of the stage, the new technic, form, and content of the play, the substitution of the theme for the hero, the conflict of wills for that of arms, etc. In short, to give a brief but authorita- tive general survey with a more detailed appraisal of some of the chief creative contributions. The chapter headings indicate the content and scope of the work: Drama in the New Age; The New Criticism and New Ethics ; Science and the New Drama ; The New Forms — Realism and the Pulpit Stage; The New Forms — Naturalism and the Free Theatre ; The Battle with Illusions ; The Ancient Bondage and the New Freedom; The New Technic; The Play and the Reader; The New Content; The Newer Tendencies. The author, though an American, has also studied the drama in the theatres of Great Britain and the Continent, and has before this demonstrated that he is a dramatic scholar and a keen, clear-eyed, entertaining critic. His articles have appeared in La Societe Nouvelle, Mercure de France, Deutsche Revue, Illustreret Tidende, Finsk Tidskrift, T. P.'s Maga- zine, etc., etc. Maurice Maeterlinck said of his "Interpreters of Life" (now incorporated in his "European Dramatists") : "You have written one of the most sagacious, most acute, and most penetrating essays in the whole modern literary movement." "It is a really great work," said Professor William Lyon Phelps of "George Bernard Shaw: His Life and Works." Of his "European Dramatists," The Dial said: "The criti- cisms of their work are keen and lucid, and have the advan- tage of coming from one who has studied the plays exhaustively." HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS vii'14 NEW YORK CLARK'S CONTINENTAL DRAMA OF TO-DAY— OutUnes for Its Study By Barrett H. Clark^ Editor of and Translator of two of the plays in "Three Modern French Plays." 12mo. $1.35 net. Suggestions, questions, biographies, and bibliographies for use in connection with the study of some of the more import- ant plays of Ibsen, Bjornsen, Strindberg, Tolstoy, Gorky, TcHEKOFF, Andreyeff, Hauptmann, Sudermann, Wedekind, ScHNiTZLER, Von Hoffmansthal, Becque, Le Maitre, Lave- DAN, Donnay, Maeterlinck, Rostand, Brieux, Hervieu, GiAcosA, D'Annunzio, Echegaray, and Galdos. In half a dozen or less pages for each play, Mr. Clark tries to indicate, in a way suggestive to playwriters and students, how the skilled dramatists write their plays. It is intended that the volume shall be used in connection with the reading of the plays themselves, but it also has an inde- pendent interest in itself. Prof. William Lyon Phelps of Yale: ". . . One of the most useful works on the contemporary drama. . . . Extremely practical, full of valuable hints and suggestions. . . ." Providence Journal: "Of undoubted value. ... At the com- pletion of a study of the plays in connection with the 'Outline' one should have a definite knowledge of the essentials of dramatic tech- nique in general, and of the modern movement in particular." Sixth Edition, Enlarged and with Portraits HALE'S DRAMATIST'S OF TO-DAY By Prof. Edward Everett Hale, Jr., of Union College. Rostand, Hauptmann, Sudermann, PiNERO, Shaw, Phillips, Maeterlinck "A Note on Standards of Criticism," "Our Idea of Tragedy," and an appendix of all the plays of each author, with dates of their first performance or publication, complete the volume. $1.50 net. New York Evening Post: "It is not often nowadays that a theatrical book can be met with so free from gush and mere eulogy, or so weighted by common sense ... an excellent chronological appendix and full index . . . uncommonly useful for reference." Brooklyn Eagle: "A dramatic critic who is not just 'busting^ himself with Titanic intellectualities, but who is a readable dramatic critic. . . . . Mr. Hale is a modest and sensible, as well as an acute and sound critic. . . . Most people will be surprised and delighted with Mr. Hale's simplicity, perspicuity and ingenuousness." HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY publishers new YORK By Clayton Hamilton STUDIES IN STAGECRAFT Contents: The New Art of Making Plays, The Pictorial Stage, The Drama of Illusion, The Modern Art of Stage Direction, A Plea for a New Type of Play, The Undramatic Drama, The Value of Stage Conventions, The Supernatural Drama, The Irish National Theatre, The Personality of the Playwright, Where to Begin a Play, Continuity of Structure, Rhythm and Tempo, The Plays of Yesteryear, A New De- fense of Melodrama, The Art of the Moving-Picture Play, The One-Act PJay in America, Organizing an Audience, The Function of Dramatic Criticism, etc., etc. $1.50 net Nation: "Information, alertness, coolness, sanity and the command of a forceful and pointed English. ... A good book, in spite of all deductions." Prof. Archibald Henderson, in The Drama: "Uniformly excellent in quality. . . . Continuously interesting in presentation . . . uniform for high excellence and elevated standards. . . ." Athenaeum (London) : "His discussions, though Incomplete, are sufficiently provocative of thought to be well worth reading." THE THEORY OF THE THEATRE 'The Theory of the Theatre. — What is a Play? — The Psjxhology of Theatre Audiences. — The Actor and the Dra- matist. — Stage Conventions in Modern Times. — The Four Leading Types of Drama : Tragedy and Melodrama ; Comedy and Farce. — The Modern Social Drama, etc., etc. Other Principles of Dramatic Criticism. — The Public and the Dramatist. — Dramatic Art and the Theatre Business. — Dramatic Literature and Theatric Journalism. — The Inten- tion of Performance. — The Quality of New Endeavor. — Pleasant and Unpleasant Plays. — Themes in the Theatre. — The Function of Imagination, etc., etc. 4th printing. $1.50 net. Bookman: "Presents coherently a more substantial body of idea on the subject than perhaps elsewhere accessible." Boston Transcript: "At every moment of his discussion he has a firm grasp upon every phase of the subject." THE GERMAN DRAMA OF THE NINETEENTH CENTURY By Georg Witkowski. Translated by Prof. L. E. Horning. Kleist, Grillparzer, Hebbel, Ludwig, Wildenbruch, Sudermann, Haupt- mann and minor dramatists receive attention. 12mo. $1.00. New York Times Review: "The translation of this brief, clear and logical account^ was an extremely happy idea. Nothing at the same time so comprehensive and terse has appeared on the subject." HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK BOOKS ON AND OF SCHOOL PLAYS By Constance D'Arcy Mackay HOW TO PRODUCE CHILDREN'S PLAYS The author is a recognized authority on the production of plays and pageants in the public schools, and combines en- thusiastic sympathy with sound, practical instructions. She tells both how to inspire and care for the young actor, how to make costumes, properties, scenery, where to find de- signs for them, what music to use, etc., etc. She prefaces it all with an interesting historical sketch of the plays-for-chil- dren movement, includes elaborate detailed analyses of per- formances of Browning's Pied Piper and Rosetti's Pageant of the Months, and concludes with numerous valuable an- alytical lists of plays for various grades and occasions. 16mo, probable price $1.20 net (Feb., 1914). PATRIOTIC PLAYS AND PAGEANTS Pageant of Patriotism (Outdoor and Indoor Versions) : — *Princess Pocahontas, Pilgrim Interlude, Ferry Farm Epi- sode, *George Washington's Fortune, *Daniel Boone : Patriot, Benjamin Franklin Episode, Lincoln Episode, Final Tableau. Hawthorne Pageant (for Outdoor or Indoor Produc- tion) : — Chorus of Spirits of the Old Manse, Prologue by the Muse of Hawthorne, In Witchcraft Days, Dance Interlude, Merrymount, etc. The portions marked with a star (*) are one-act plays suitable for separate performance. There are full directions for simple costumes, scenes, and staging. 12mo. $1.35 net. THE HOUSE OF THE HEART Short plays in verse for children of fourteen or younger : — "The House of the Heart (Morality Play)— "The Enchanted Garden" (Flower Play)— "A Little Pilgrim's Progress" (Mor- ality Play) — "A Pageant of Hours" (To be given Out of Doors) — "On Christmas Eve." "The Princess and the Pix- ies." "The Christmas Guest" (Miracle Play.), etc. $1.10 net. "An addition to child drama which has been sorely needed." — Boston Transcript. THE SILVER THREAD And Other Folk Plays. "The Silver Thread" (Cornish) ; "The Forest Sprmg" (Italian) ; "The Foam Maiden" (Celtic) ; "Troll Magic" (Norwegian) ; "The Three Wishes" (French) ; "A Brewing of Brains" (English) ; "Siegfried" (German) ; "The Snow Witch" (Russian). $1.10 net. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK Uly A. Long's RADISSON : The Voyageur 12mo. $1.00 net. A highly picturesque play in four acts and in verse. The central figures are Radisson the redoubtable voyageur who explored the Upper Mississippi, his brother-in-law Groseil- liers, Owera the daughter of an Indian chief and various other Indians. The daring resource of the two white men in the fact of imminent peril, the pathetic love of Owera, and above all, the vivid pictures of Indian life, the women grind- ing corn, the council, dances, feasting and famine are notable features, and over it all is a somewhat unusual feeling for the moods of nature which closely follow those of the people involved. THREE MODERN PLAYS FROM THE FRENCH Lemaitre's The Pardon, and Lavedan's Prince D'Aurec, translated by Barrett H. Clark, with Donnay's The Other Danger, translated by Charlotte Tenney David, with an intro- duction to each author by Barrett H. Clark and a Preface by Clayton Hamilton. One volume. $1.50 net. "The Pardon" is a brilliant three-act love comedy, with but three characters. "Prince D'Aurec" is a drama with an impoverished Prince, his wife, and a Jew money-lender as protagonists. It is full of telling satire on a decadent nobility. "The Other Danger" is a tensely emotional play, centering around a situation similar to Paula Tanqueray's, but the out- come is different. Alice Johnstone Walker's LITTLE PLAYS FROM AMERICAN HISTORY FOR YOUNG FOLK $1.00 net. In Hiding the Regicides there are a number of brief and stirring episodes, concerning the pursuit of Colonels Whalley and Goff by the officers of Charles II at New Haven in old colony days. Mrs. Murray^s Dinner Party, in three acts, is a lively comedy about a Patriot hostess and British Officers in Revolutionary Days. In the four Scenes from Lincoln's Time, the martyred President does not himself appear. They cover Lincoln's helping a little girl with her trunk, women preparing lint for the wounded, a visit to the White House of an important delegation from New York, and of the mother of a soldier boy sentenced to death — and the coming of the army of liberation to the darkeys. Tho big events are touched upon, the mounting of all these little plays is simplicity itself, and they have stood the test of frequent school performance. HENRY HOLT AND COMPANY PUBLISHERS NEW YORK o *^- o-^ ^^ » I ^ " '■ v# ^ ^^ -^^^M^^. ^; - oV'' "^ A ,-^ V c^ . '''c -^" w« < * --SS^^, '/-- ' ,0 c ,o^ 9. ^^ ° / -^ ^^• '^^ %.^ ^ . .\V' r-. -?' '' ^ ^

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