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 T.S.DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers,154 W.Randolph St., Chicago 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW 
 
 A PARLOR COMEDY 
 
 IN TWO ACTS 
 
 BY 
 
 EDITH F. A. U. PAINTON 
 
 ■■ 
 
 AUTHOR OF 
 
 1 ' A Prairie Rose , " iK A Burns Rebellio?i , " " As A Woman Thinketh , ' ' 
 
 "The Class Skip," "The Graduate's Choice " "Hypnotizing 
 
 a Hypnotist, " ' * The Laughing Cure, " " Clubbing a 
 
 Husband, ' ' ' ' Wanted: a Cook, " ' ' 7#<? £bw- 
 
 mencement Manual" Etc. 
 
 CHICAGO 
 
 T. S. DENISON & COMPANY 
 
 Publishers 
 
*' PS353J 
 THE WINNING WIDOW 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 As originally produced by the graduating class of the 
 Brownsville, Pennsylvania, High School, June 11, 1914. 
 
 Reginald Wright, of the Philadelphia Wrights 
 
 Howard Raymond Patterson 
 
 Harry DeAne, of Boston, Cousin of Bess 
 
 Jesse Coldren 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Snowden, A Wealthy Widow 
 
 Ann Snowdon Jacobs 
 
 Margaret Snowden, her elder and dignified Daughter 
 
 Kathryn Elizabeth De I^aney 
 
 Kitty Snowden, her younger and mischievous Daughter 
 
 Hazel Emmeline Ross 
 
 Bess Warner, known as Bess Jones, the Maid 
 
 Helen Rebecca Meese 
 
 SYNOPSIS. 
 
 Act I. Morning. Mrs. Snowden's Drawing Room. The 
 Situation. 
 
 Act II. Evening. Same Room. The Culmination. 
 
 Time — The Present. 
 
 Place — Any Large City. 
 
 Time of Playing — About One and One-haliJHours 
 
 d One-half M( 
 
 .-■" 
 
 COPYRIGHT, 1916, BY EBEN H. NOR: 
 
 ©CIO 4 520 
 
 OCT 18 1916 
 
 »0 Jk fs I 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 STORY OF THE PLAY. 
 
 Mrs. Elizabeth Snowden, a fair widow, with two grown 
 daughters, living at ease upon a fortune recently restored 
 to her at the death of a defrauding relative, poses as a 
 man-hater, through an unhappy matrimonial experience, 
 and represents herself as having but one aim in life — that 
 of protecting her daughters against the fortune-hunting 
 male. At the opening of the play, each of the girls secretly 
 solicits the assistance of the maid, Bess — who has "seen 
 better days" — in arranging a clandestine meeting with, two 
 young men they have accidentally met the previous even- 
 ing, each very anxious to keep the affair from the knowledge 
 of the other, as well as of the mother. When the young 
 men call, according to arrangement, they are entertained 
 by the mother to the exclusion of both daughters, although 
 one of them is surprised to discover in Bess, the maid, his 
 long-sought cousin and former fiance. The young men's 
 notes to the widow are delivered through the maid's mistake 
 to the daughters, and the complications increase until a quar- 
 rel between the two men leads to a revelation of the rela- 
 tionship existing between the one and the maid. Through 
 this the maid is discovered to be the former heiress of the 
 property inherited by Mrs. Snowden, and legally entitled 
 to half of the estate. To the chagrin of the elder daughter, 
 the young man solicits the hand of Widow, and all agree 
 to "live happy ever after." 
 
 SYNOPSIS FOR PROGRAM. 
 
 Act I — Kitty and Margaret take turns at confidences. 
 Harry and Bess are mutually surprised. "I forbid you to 
 know one thing!" Mrs. Snowden knows the Cuthbert 
 Deanes and the Philadelphia Wrights, but Kitty and Mar- 
 garet are left in the cold, as daughters who "do not like 
 men." Bess receives a third confidence, but by her blunders 
 in the delivery of her notes precipitates considerable mis- 
 
4 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 understanding on the part of all concerned. "What can 
 she mean?" 
 
 Act II — Kitty prepares for a call, but is forestalled by 
 Margaret, who in turn gives place to the Widow, who 
 plays a lone hand. Elizabeth is shocked and worried over 
 unexpected developments in the conduct of her man-hating 
 daughters, but is relieved, in spite of her chagrin, to learn 
 that she herself was really the guilty one. Bess determines 
 to make no more mistakes, but the girls are surprised by 
 the coolness of their suitors. "Don't let Mamma see you!' , 
 Harry and Reginald have an encounter, but Bess prevents 
 too violent a climax and brings about a disclosure. "He 
 is my cousin." "Have I not also found my wife?" Regi- 
 nald follows suit by stating his claim and making a high 
 bid for favor. "Mamma does not like men." The girls 
 propose terms of surrender, and finally give their consent 
 and blessing. "Come, my dear!" 
 
 COSTUMES. 
 
 Act I. Ladies wear elegant house dresses. Gentlemen, 
 up-to-date business suits. 
 
 Act II. Evening dress with the exception of Bess, who 
 wears cap and apron throughout. 
 
 PROPERTIES. 
 
 Act I — Piano, stool, music, etc., for Kitty. Duster for 
 Bess. Card for Harry. Card, books, watch, etc., for Regi- 
 nald. Fan for Elizabeth. Letter for Margaret. Two notes 
 for Bess. 
 
 Act II — Rouge, eyebrow pencil, etc., for Kitty. Chate- 
 laine vanity box, mirror, paper, pen, ink, etc., for Margaret. 
 Watch for Elizabeth. Handkerchief, etc., for Harry. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 SCENE PLOT. 
 
 Archwayi 
 
 i — z^ 1 with I ^zz — \ 
 
 /^O P'ano Curtains Desk | 1 \ 
 
 JL^O Stool Chair a A__ 
 
 Door to Door to 
 
 ining Room ^ Adjoining F 
 
 /chairD Q D Chair Couch C^^ \ 
 
 STAGE DIRECTIONS. 
 
 R. means right of stage; C, center; R. C, right center; 
 L., left; R.D., right door; L.D., left door, etc.; upstage, 
 away from footlights ; downstage, near footlights. The actor 
 is supposed to be facing the audience. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW 
 
 Act I. 
 
 Scene: Drawing room at Mrs. Snowden's home. Prac- 
 tical doors at R. and L. Lady's writing desk and chair at 
 back, left of C. Small table with books, lamp, etc., R. C. 
 downstage. Chairs either side of table. Couch L. C. down- 
 stage. Other arrangements to suit taste. An air of ele- 
 gance pervades everything. 
 
 At rise Kitty is discovered, practicing at piano. 
 
 Kitty. One — two — three — four ; one — two — three — 
 four; one — two — three — four. The idea of beginning to 
 learn music at my age — especially when you haven't a bit 
 of it in you. One — two — three — four. 
 
 Enter Bess R. Walks up behind her. 
 
 Bess . Did you want me to — 
 
 Kitty (jumping up, screaming). O-o-o-h! Goodness! 
 How you startled me, Bess. What do you want? 
 
 Bess (timidly). Why — why — nothing. I just wanted to 
 dust the parlor, if you wanted — 
 
 Kitty. Excellent, Bess; excellent. Til be delighted to 
 have you dust. (Closes piano with a bang.) I was only 
 trying to please mamma by learning how to pound the 
 piano. She does love music so, you know. (Walks toward 
 R. looking toward Bess hesitatingly, as though wanting to 
 speak, but uncertain how to proceed.) 
 
 Bess (looking over shoulder). Was that music, Miss 
 Kitty? 
 
 Kitty. Oh, no, no, no! Never a note of it. That was 
 just downright noise, pure and unadulterated. But mamma 
 fondly hopes it may grow into music some day. And so 
 it's one — two — three — four ; one — two — three — four, for me. 
 
 Bess. You seem to hurry the tempo — 
 
 6 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 7 
 
 Kitty. Hurry the what ? (Eyes Bess curiously.) What 
 do you know about — 
 
 Bess (in confusion). Not a thing in the world, Miss 
 Kitty. I just — just — seemed to remember hearing some- 
 body somewhere say something like — 
 
 Kitty (unsuspiciously) . I see. (Sits.) Bess, it's a ter- 
 rible thing when people suddenly become rich. 
 
 Bess (busily dusting). But, oh, Miss Kitty, it's a much 
 more terrible thing when people suddenly become poor! 
 
 Kitty. I don't know anything about that, of course. I 
 was poor all my life, you see, and didn't know anything else. 
 
 Bess. And I was rich all my life and didn't know any- 
 thing else. 
 
 Kitty (with faint interest). Were you, really? Poor 
 you. But, Bess, I'd change places with you if I could. 
 You ask why? 
 
 Bess (pausing and looking at Kitty innocently). No, I 
 didn't, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. Oh, but you must ask why. Otherwise I 
 shouldn't have the least sign of an excuse for telling you. 
 And I must tell somebody. 
 
 Bess. Tell away, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty (eagerly). You do ask why, then. 
 
 Bess (indifferently). I'm just crazy to know. 
 
 Kitty. There! Now you're getting almost human, and 
 I like you. 
 
 Bess (turning and bowing). Thank you, Miss Kitty. 
 (Returns to work.) 
 
 Kitty. But listen. 
 
 Bess (over shoulder). I am listening. 
 
 Kitty. But sit down. I can't talk to you decently when 
 you act that way. 
 
 Bess (turning in amazement) . Sit down? Me? Here? 
 
 Kitty. Sit down! You! There! (Points to chair. Bess 
 sits, slowly and reluctantly.) That's more sociable. Now 
 listen. Mamma is so fond of music she keeps me drum- 
 ming, drumming, drumming all day — trying to learn what 
 I know I never can learn in the wide, wide world. 
 
8 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Bess (with interest). Yes. (Looks nervously at doors.) 
 
 Kitty. But that's not the worst of it. Ever since 
 mamma's been a widow, she's bound that Margaret and I 
 shall be just the same — 
 
 Bess. Be widows? 
 
 Kitty. Oh, no, no, no! What am I saying? Be single 
 old maids — bachelor ladies — spinsterettes, you know. She 
 — she — well, you see, she wasn't very happy as a married 
 woman, so she — she — (Rises, goes CD., looks out cau- 
 tiously). she — well, she fairly hates men of every size and 
 shape, and has made up her mind that we, too, shall hate 
 them — hate them so much that we shall have nothing what- 
 ever to do with, any of them — "so long as we both shall live." 
 (Walks back.) Do you see? (Sits.) 
 
 Bess. Hate men, Miss Kitty? And do you? 
 
 Kitty. Not me ! That's the it of it. Why should I ? 
 
 Bess. And Miss Margaret? 
 
 Kitty. Margaret? Humph! She's a girl after mamma's 
 own heart. She hates every mother's son of them as one 
 hates fuzzy-wuzzy worms — ugh — and poison things, and — 
 er — things like that. (Rises again, walks L. entrance, look- 
 ing out and listening cautiously.) But now, Bess, listen! 
 
 Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty (walking back to Bess). I'm afraid I — I — I rather 
 like men myself. 
 
 Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. Don't you ? 
 
 Bess. Why — er — er — yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. Especially — especially — (walks R. entrance and 
 looks off, then walks back, speaking loud whisper) . Bess ! 
 
 Bess (looks up startled). Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. I — I — I — I want to tell you — something. 
 
 Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. I — I — I — you won't tell anybody? 
 
 Bess. Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. What ? Oh, but you mustn't ! 
 
 Bess. I — I — mean no, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Enter Margaret R. She looks around anxiously. Girls 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 9 
 
 jump up, Bess pretending to dust and Kitty looking over 
 music on piano eagerly, then speaking over shoulder. 
 
 Kitty. Did you want something, Margaret? 
 
 Margaret {looking at Bess with troubled eye). No, I 
 guess not. {Exits R., slowly , still looking from one to the 
 other as if worried. Kitty follows her to entrance and 
 watches her out.) 
 
 Kitty {returning to chair). Bess, come here. 
 
 Bess {returning to place). Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. Sit down again. 
 
 Bess {nervously, looking all around). Had I better? 
 (Kitty motions to her imperatively and she sits obedi- 
 ently.) Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. I have to tell you all this, you see, because — 
 because — I want you to help me. 
 
 Bess {rising in astonishment). Me? (Kitty nods.) 
 Help you? (Kitty nods.) Help you what? Like the men? 
 
 Kitty (walks L.). Oh, no, no! I don't need any help 
 that way, Bess. This is a much more serious matter. I — 
 I- — come here. (Bess follows.) Sit down. {They sit sofa 
 L.) I want to tell you something. 
 
 Bess. So you said, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. Listen. 
 
 Bess. So I do, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Enter Margaret, C, looking around as before. Kitty 
 runs to music, Bess to dusting. Margaret looks from one 
 to the other, puzzled. 
 
 Margaret. What are you doing here, Kitty? 
 
 Kitty. Just trying to find a sheet of music. Why ? 
 
 Margaret {in confusion). Oh, nothing. I just — 
 
 Kitty. Did you want me? 
 
 Margaret. Why, of course not. {Looks at Bess.) 
 How long before you will be through here, Bess,? 
 
 Bess. Me? Oh, not long, Miss Margaret. {Looks at 
 Kitty, who shakes head at her warningly.) I — I — I — don't 
 just know how long, Miss Margaret. (Kitty nods approval 
 
10 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 at her behind Margaret's back.) Why? Did you want 
 me? 
 
 Margaret. I — I — I guess not. (Exits R., slowly. 
 Kitty watches her off, follows to entrance, then returns to 
 sofa.) 
 
 Kitty. We'll try it again, Bess. 
 
 Bess (coming to her). Yes, Miss Kitty. 
 
 Kitty. Now sit down and listen. Listen fast. 
 
 Bess (sits). I am, Miss Kitty. Fast as a racing-horse. 
 
 Kitty. Well, last night when I went to take my music 
 lesson, you know — (Bess nods) oh, it's just too romantic! 
 I met a man — a young mari — oh, he was too handsome ! 
 
 Bess. Did you, Miss Kitty — and was he? 
 
 Kitty. I did, and he was ! I liked him so much. ! And I 
 just think he liked me, too. 
 
 Bess. Did he, Miss Kitty? 
 
 Kitty. Anyway, he said he did. 
 
 Bess. Then, of course, he did. 
 
 Kitty. Just what I thought, Bess. And he — he— he 
 wanted to call. 
 
 Bess (rises in surprise). To call? Not here? 
 
 Kitty. Yes, here! Wasn't it too beautifully brave and 
 bold and daring of him? Do sit down, Bess. 
 
 Bess (sitting). Yes, Miss Kitty. (Looks worried.) 
 
 Kitty. Of course I told him just how mamma felt, and 
 what she wanted us to do, and — and — oh, we thought of 
 just the loveliest plan. He's coming to see mamma. 
 
 Bess (jumping up again). Your mother? 
 
 Kitty. Yes, mamma herself. Isn't it too delicious ? Sit 
 down, Bess. 
 
 Bess (sitting, troubled). But, Miss Kitty — 
 
 Kitty. Oh, we've thought of all the "buts" and it's 
 going to be just too perfectly darling and romantic! He's 
 coming as a — a — piano tuner. 
 
 Bess (jumping up). A piano tuner? 
 
 Kitty. Yes, — mamma's too suspicious of music teachers, 
 you know, so that wouldn't work. But isn't it lovely? Sit 
 down, Bess. (Bess sits, sighs.) He thought of it all him- 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 11 
 
 self, too. Mamma likes music so (rising to pantomime) 
 she'll surely let. him come right in, and you must open the 
 door for him (illustrates) and send for me, you see (points 
 to self), and — (bows low, hands outspread) — thus we meet. 
 Isn't it a perfectly beautiful plan? (Dances to R.) 
 
 Bess (troubled). I — guess — so. (Bess rises uncer- 
 tainly.) 
 
 Kitty. Why, of course it is — just heavenly! (Walks 
 back to Bess.) But, remember, Bess. Not one word to 
 Margaret, nor to — to — anybody. You mustn't even think 
 it to yourself. You mustn't know a thing. 
 
 Bess. I won't. I never do. 
 
 Kitty. Margaret's just as bad as mamma, you know, 
 if not worse, and if she should find out — (sighs) — it would 
 be all up with little Kitty. 
 
 Enter Margaret, L. 
 
 Margaret. Kitty! (Kitty and Bess separate as before. 
 Kitty sits stool.) 
 
 Kitty (whirling around on stool). Goodness, Margaret, 
 how you startle one. 
 
 Margaret (haughtily). Evidently. (Walks R.) Mamma 
 wants you. 
 
 Kitty. Did she say so? 
 
 Margaret. What a question ! Certainly. 
 
 Kitty. What for? 
 
 Margaret. How should I know? Something about your 
 music, I suppose. The best way I know of finding out 
 is to — 
 
 Kitty (rising). Yes? 
 
 Margaret (turning from her to watch Bess, nervously). 
 Go and see. 
 
 Kitty (mockingly). How brilliant of you, Margaret, 
 to have figured all that out for yourself ! I will go and see 
 at once. (Exits R. At entrance looks back and shakes 
 head at Bess, with finger on lip. Bess shakes head reas- 
 suringly.) 
 
 Margaret (turning from table, where she has been fin- 
 gering magazines idly). I thought she was going to hang 
 
12 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 around here all day. (Walks up behind Bess, speaks mys- 
 teriously.) I wanted to talk to you, Bess. 
 
 Bess (turning in surprise). To talk to me, Miss Mar- 
 garet ? 
 
 Margaret. Yes. I — I — I have something very impor- 
 tant to say to you. 
 
 Bess. Yes, Miss Margaret. 
 
 Margaret (cautiously) . You know — I am sure you must 
 have heard — how badly mamma hates men? (They walk 
 down front.) 
 
 Bess. Yes, I believe I have heard something about it, 
 Miss Margaret. 
 
 Margaret. And how she won't permit either of us girls 
 to even speak to one of them, if — if — if — she knows it? 
 
 Bess. Why, I — I — I've heard something like that, Miss 
 Margaret. 
 
 Margaret. Now as for Kitty — my sister, you know — 
 somehow she's just as bad, and I wouldn't have her know 
 about this for the world. (Walks L.D., looking out cau- 
 tiously, then back.) But I — I — well, I don't feel just exactly 
 the way they do, and I can't make myself do it. You see, I 
 just somehow feel that these dreadful men may be a — a — a 
 sort of necessary evil, don't you know, which can't be cured, 
 and so must be endured. You understand ? 
 
 Bess. I — I think so, Miss Margaret. You like them? 
 
 Margaret (hastily). Oh, I wouldn't go so far as to say 
 that, Bess. I — just try to tolerate them, you know, for 
 humanitarian ends. 
 
 Bess. I see. 
 
 Margaret. Good. Now, to come to the point. When 
 I was at the library last evening, I met a young man who 
 seemed very attractive, and intelligent, and really a most 
 agreeable sort of a person. I must admit that I was quite 
 — er — er — attracted by him. You understand? 
 
 Bess. I — I — think so, Miss Margaret. You were smit- 
 ten by him. Struck ! Mashed ! 
 
 Margaret. Oh, no, no ! Not so far as that, Bess. But 
 — he wanted to call. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 13 
 
 Bess {shocked). He did? Here? Why, the audacious — 
 
 Margaret {walks uneasily R. D., looks out cautiously, 
 then walks back to Bess) . Oh, not at all, Bess. Not at all. 
 I thought it was very kind of him. He was so intellectual, 
 so cultured, such a student — recently from Boston, you 
 know — and you've seen how anxious mamma is for me to 
 improve my mind and learn to write poetry? 
 
 Bess. Why, er — yes, Miss Margaret. 
 
 Margaret. Well, just you listen. This young man is a 
 poet — a real poet — there is no question about that. When 
 I told him how mamma and Kitty felt — about men, you 
 know — and how they both wanted me to feel, he proposed 
 the most romantic plan. 
 
 Bess. Romantic? 
 
 Margaret. Yes, indeed. No one but a real, true poet 
 could have thought of it. {Walks uneasily C, peering out 
 between curtains, then back, speaking mysteriously.) He is 
 going to come to call on mamma. 
 
 Bess. On your mother? (Margaret nods.) Mrs. 
 Snowden ? 
 
 Margaret. Why not? And what do you think? (Looks 
 all around cautiously, then speaks, again, mysteriously.) 
 He's coming as a book agent. 
 
 Bess. A book agent ? 
 
 Margaret (warningly). 'Sh! Not so loud. Yes, you 
 know how mamma likes books of all kinds — especially po- 
 etry. (Bess nods.) And he's coming to sell her some of 
 the latest editions of the poets. Won't it be glorious? 
 
 Bess. I — I — guess so. 
 
 Margaret. Guess so ? Why, it's as plain as the nose on 
 your face. (Bess feels of nose. Wears puzzled expression.) 
 In that way he'll get in without any trouble, and yoii must 
 take his card and come right for me. Do you see ? 
 
 Bess. Yes, Miss Margaret. When he comes to tune the 
 piano — 
 
 Margaret. No, no ! I didn't say a word about the piano ! 
 I said — ■ 
 
 Bess (in embarrassment, recovering herself). Oh, yes — 
 
14 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 to sell books — poetry — I am to get you, instead of your 
 mother. 
 
 Margaret. That's it. Me — not mamma. And for your 
 life, Bess, don't let Kitty know. 
 
 Bess. Why, but she — (catching herself) — no, no! I'll 
 not let her know. 
 
 Margaret. I must run up now and fix my hair again. 
 I don't know just when he may come, but I don't think he 
 will be very late in getting around. Be careful, Bess, and 
 remember not to say a single word to anyone. I'm going 
 to give you something elegant for standing by me "in this. 
 
 Bess. Thank you, Miss Margaret. (Exit Margaret, 
 C.) My! Even the haughty Margaret can bend a little, 
 can she — when she has an ax to grind. And to poor, insig- 
 nificant Bess, too — the serving maid! If she only knew 
 h.ow short a time ago I was as wealthy and as popular 
 and as attractive as she herself is now — that I, too, was 
 sought after by men of position and attainment — that I, 
 too, liked the men — a little — and felt that some of them, 
 at least, liked me, she might — but what's the use? It takes 
 a mere turn of fortune's wheel to pull even the highest 
 down from his lofty position. Only a bit of lawyer-trust- 
 ing, and here I am, serving for my daily bread. And who 
 is enjoying the benefit of my loss, I do not even know. I 
 thought father's wealth was secure and my future assured ; 
 but when he died I — saw it all swept away in the mere 
 scratching of a pen, the old home sold, the family treasures 
 scattered to the four winds of wealthdom, and found my- 
 self — reduced to — this ! A widow whose husband had, they 
 claimed, been defrauded by my father, is now enjoying the 
 recompense. I am glad I kept the papers. They may be of 
 use to me some time, in some way. I suppose it's all just, 
 but — (bell rings) — hello! One of the impatient suitors, I 
 suppose. (Exits L.) , 
 
 Re-enter Bess, immediately, followed by Harry. It must 
 be evident that Bess recognizes Harry, but doesn't wish 
 him- to recognize her. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 15 
 
 Bess. Right this way, sir. I'll take your card to Mrs. 
 Snowden. 
 
 Harry (detaining her). No, no! To Miss Snowden — 
 Miss Kitty Snowden. 
 
 Bess (keeping face averted, speaking in low tone). Why 
 — I — understood — 
 
 Harry (confidentially and significantly) . I came to tune 
 the piano, and — 
 
 Bess (turning face a little off guard). Yes, but Miss 
 Kitty said — 
 
 Harry (in amazement) . Bess, is this you? 
 
 Bess. I begin to doubt it, Harry. (They shake hands 
 silently.) 
 
 Harry. Why have you hidden yourself away like this? 
 I have looked for you for months. Indeed, the whole 
 family — 
 
 Bess (drawing away from him). The family? Humph! 
 What's the good of a family when one's money is all gone? 
 (Turns back on him, walks L.) 
 
 Harry (following, laying hand on her shoulder). But, 
 Bess — 
 
 Bess. Every one turned from me. 
 
 Harry. It was you who turned from us. 
 
 Bess. Humph ! 
 
 Harry. Am I not your cousin? 
 
 Bess. The law says so. 
 
 Harry. Am I not your friend? 
 
 Bess. I thought so — once. 
 
 Harry. Then think so again, for I assure you, Bess, on 
 my honor as a man, and a Deane, that I've never changed 
 in the smallest particular. Let me tell your uncle — 
 
 Bess (emphatically stamping foot). No! 
 
 Harry (dodging as though struck). But — 
 
 Bess. You will tell no one, Harry Deane ! 
 
 Harry. But listen, Bess. I must — 
 
 Bess. No one, I say ! I am Bess Jones, the maid. No one 
 but Bess Jones, the maid ! I never have been anybody else ; 
 I never will be anybody else ! Do you understand ? 
 
16 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Harry. Y-e-s. 
 
 Bess (stamping foot again). I forbid you to know one 
 thing ! 
 
 Harry (trembling and dodging in mock alarm). Y-e-s. 
 
 Bess. You came to see Mrs. Snowden. I — Bess Jones, 
 the maid — will go and get Mrs. Snowden. (Starts L.) 
 
 Harry. I say, Bess, it was Miss Kitty — 
 
 Bess. -Very well, I'll call Kitty. (Over shoulder.) Bet- 
 ter sit down. (Exits L. At door meets Elizabeth, who is 
 entering. Hands Harry's card to Elizabeth, turns and 
 bows to him.) Mrs. Snowden, sir. 
 
 Harry (aside). Can this really be her mother? 
 
 Elizabeth. Bess, what does this mean? 
 
 Bess (embarrassed). It means — it means — 
 
 Harry (aside, admiringly). By George! What a beauty 
 she is! 
 
 Elizabeth (sternly). Who is this man? 
 
 Bess. It's — it's — (looks at him helplessly). 
 
 Harry (coming forward, speaks very obsequiously) . My 
 name is Deane. (Elizabeth looks at card in hand and 
 nods.) I came, if you please, madam, to see about tuning 
 your piano. 
 
 Elizabeth (relieved). I see. (Walks toward piano, 
 then speaks over shoulder.) You may go, Bess. (Exit 
 Bess, R.) It doesn't seem in very good condition. 
 
 Harry (following). It's a Steinway, isn't it? 
 
 Elizabeth (aside). What a handsome fellow he is. If 
 all men were so attractive — (aloud). Yes, it's a Steinway. 
 
 Harry. You play, of course. 
 
 Elizabeth. No. None of us except my daughter and 
 she has only begun to learn. Hitherto a very busy life 
 along other lines has — 
 
 Enter Kitty, R., hastily, with worried air. 
 
 Kitty. Did you call me, mamma? 
 
 Elizabeth (displeased). Did I call you, child? Cer- 
 tainly not. What do you mean ? Go upstairs to your duties. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 17 
 
 Kitty (looking at Harry with troubled eye. He avoids 
 her look). But, mamma, I — 
 
 Elizabeth. Go at once, I tell you. (She looks fixedly 
 at Kitty, who at first lingers, but is finally compelled to 
 leave.) That was my little girl, Mr. — Mr. — Deane, did 
 you say? 
 
 Harry. Yes, Mrs. — (hesitates, inquiringly). 
 
 Elizabeth. Snowden. 
 
 Harry. Snowden. Thank you. Deane is my name. 
 Harry Deane. 
 
 Elizabeth (very sweetly). Won't you sit down? (They 
 sit, she on sofa, he on chair by table.) I used to know some 
 Deanes near Boston — the Cuthbert Deanes. Are you re- 
 lated to the family? 
 
 Harry. Distantly. 
 
 Elizabeth. They are very cultured people, I am sure. 
 You resemble them slightly, I think, about the nose and 
 eyes — perhaps the chin, also, a little, and the lips. (Coquet- 
 tishly.) Cuthbert Deane was a very handsome man. 
 
 Harry (visibly flattered). So I have heard, Mrs. Snow- 
 den. You flatter me. 
 
 Elizabeth. Oh, not at all ; not at all. I only try to give 
 credit where I see that credit is due. 
 
 Enter Kitty, C. 
 
 Kitty. Mamma, don't you think I'd better — (Eliza- 
 beth rises commandingly) . 
 
 Harry (aside). I do wonder where Bess is. This sort 
 of thing is all right, once in awhile, but it gets too much of 
 a good thing — 
 
 Elizabeth (after vainly trying to overawe Kitty with 
 her gaze). Kitty, can't you see that I'm engaged? 
 
 Kitty (looking from one to the other, questioningly) . 
 Engaged ? 
 
 Harry (aside). Gee! I wish she was. (Uneasily.) Why 
 doesn't Bess come back? 
 
 Elizabeth. Busy, I mean. 
 
 Kitty (relieved). Oh, I — I — I didn't notice. 
 
18 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Elizabeth. Why, where are your eyes, child? And 
 your manners ? 
 
 Kitty (trying in vain to catch Harry's eye). I — I — 
 don't know. But you see, mamma, I thought, as it was my 
 practice hour, and you never let 'me neglect it — 
 
 Elizabeth. I will call you when the room is free. Till 
 then I must insist that you leave us alone. 
 
 Kitty. Very well, mamma. But if I don't have my 
 lesson — 
 
 Elizabeth (sternly). Katherine! 
 
 Kitty. Yes, mamma. (Kitty goes to C. D. and Eliza- 
 beth returns to chair. Kitty tries to catch Harry's eye in 
 vain. Clears throat, coughs, etc., but he is too busy admir- 
 ing Elizabeth. She sighs, shakes head and exits C.) 
 
 Elizabeth (sits). As I was saying, the Deanes near 
 Boston were always very close friends of our family, and 
 Cuthbert Deane, especially, was rather intimate with my 
 poor, dear husband as long as he lived. Since he left me — 
 ( weeps ) — I — I — I — haven't — 
 
 Harry (rising and walking to her). Oh, come now, Mrs. 
 Snowden. You mustn't take on in this way, you really 
 mustn't, you know. I can't bear to see a woman cry; I 
 really can't. It — it — it — why, it just breaks me all up in 
 business, it really does. I — I — (aside) — hang it all, what 
 in the world shall I say? (Sits by her.) I — I know, Mrs. 
 Snowden, that a widow's grief must naturally be very 
 great, but still it cannot be altogether inconsolable. There 
 is always a ray of hope somewhere, surely — a faint gleam 
 of promise in the heavens— 
 
 Elizabeth (sobbing). I can't — see — any. 
 
 Harry. Why, look at me. Am I not here? And am I 
 not a Deane ? As a Deane, then, can I not be your — your — 
 your friend? And as a friend may I not have some right 
 to — to — to — comfort you in your affliction, and — and — 
 how does it go? — visit your fatherless children in their 
 loneliness? 
 
 Elizabeth. My girls do not — do not — like men. 
 
 Harry. But you, Mrs. Snowden? Surely you, so young 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 19 
 
 I 
 and charming, and yet so lonely — surely you do not banish 
 
 us poor fellows from the sunshine of your approval? 
 
 (Aside.) By Jove! What a mess I'm getting myself into, 
 
 just for a chance to get another word with Bess. (Aloud.) 
 
 Surely you — 
 
 Elizabeth. I? Oh, no! I realize that a woman needs 
 the stronger arm of a masculine friend to lean on, but — 
 well, as I said, my girls are very bitter against the whole 
 sex. If I had a friend who was at the same time a man, 
 I should never dare to let them know. 
 
 Harry. Surely not. Why should they know? That 
 would be just between you and — and me. (Takes her hand. 
 Bell rings off L. She rises and backs away. He picks up 
 hat as about to go.) 
 
 Enter Bess, L., followed by Reginald. She is evidently 
 at a loss what to do. 
 
 Bess. Come right in this way, sir. 
 
 Harry (aside). Can't I manage a word with Bess? 
 (Aloud.) I must go, then, Mrs. Snowden. But may I call 
 again — when ? 
 
 Elizabeth (extending hand, speaks aside). Tonight. 
 
 Harry (bowing low over her hand, aside). At eight. 
 (Crosses to L. D. Elizabeth follows as far as Reginald, 
 then pauses, turns and looks at Bess, inquiringly.) 
 
 Bess (uneasily). A gentleman to see you, Mrs. Snow- 
 den. 
 
 Elizabeth (coldly). Yes? I hope you told him — 
 
 Bess. I — I — (watches Harry over shoulder, who has 
 been trying to catch her eye. He signs to her behind Eliz- 
 abeth's back, but she shakes her head emphatically. He 
 sighs and exits.) 
 
 Reginald. Pardon me, madam — Mrs. Snowden, I un- 
 derstand. (She bows.) I can hardly believe my ears, 
 madam, for I thought you too young to think of being 
 "Mrs." yet — but (sighs impressively) I have been informed 
 that you are a lady of exceptional literary taste, and I have 
 therefore ventured to bring for your inspection our latest 
 
20 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 edition de luxe of the Cambridge classics. Your fame as a 
 critic has been so extended that I — 
 
 Elizabeth {stopping him by wave of hand and turning 
 to Bess). You may go, Bess. 
 
 Bess. Yes, Mrs. Snowden. {Crosses to R. At R. looks 
 back, troubled, and speaks aside.) I hope the young ladies 
 haven't been getting themselves into any trouble. And 
 Harry, too. Surely he's had time to get away by now. 
 {Exits R.) 
 
 Elizabeth. Won't you sit down, sir? 
 
 Reginald {sits chair). Delighted, I'm sure. (Takes card 
 from pocket.) My name, as you see, is Wright— Reginald 
 Wright — and I am proud to make your acquaintance. From 
 what I have heard of your culture, taste and mature judg- 
 ment, I was expecting to find a lady of advanced years. 
 You will pardon me, I am sure, for saying that it has quite 
 taken my breath away to find you so young and lovely. I 
 hope — er — er — I mean to say — is your husband at home? 
 
 Elizabeth {weeping). My husband — poor, dear man — 
 is in heaven! 
 
 Reginald. Heaven — without you? Impossible! Forgive 
 me for stirring up these delicate emotions, my dear lady. 
 Forgive me, if you can, and do not, I beg of you, think of 
 me as being utterly devoid of sympathy — and understanding. 
 Perhaps I may have sometime heard you spoken of as a 
 widow, but if so, seeing you so youthful and charming, I 
 naturally forgot all about it. Widowhood is a sad afflic- 
 tion — a most grievous affliction. 
 
 Elizabeth {sobbing). Oh, it is, it is! 
 
 Reginald. But permit me to say that it has its allevi- 
 ations. 
 
 Elizabeth . Alleviations ? 
 
 Reginald. Certainly. 
 
 Elizabeth. Oh, tell me — tell me truly — where could a 
 poor lone widow find them? 
 
 Reginald. Why, in her own beauty and grace and 
 charm. Surely no woman could mourn forever over a cold, 
 unresponsive grave — 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 21 
 
 Elizabeth. Grave? (Remembering.) Oh, yes. 
 
 Reginald. When her garments become her so perfectly 
 as this elegant black does you. 
 
 Elizabeth (over fan). Oh, sir, I fear you are a flat- 
 terer! 
 
 Reginald. Flatterer? Never! I'm a poet. 
 
 Elizabeth. Poet? Ah! Are you? I adore poets. 
 
 Reginald. You do ? Happy fellows ! Then may I not — 
 Enter Margaret, R. 
 
 Margaret. Mamma, did you want me? 
 
 Elizabeth. Want you? Why, no; certainly not. Why 
 should I? 
 
 Margaret. But Bess said — (looks at Reginald with 
 longing eyes, but he avoids her gaze). I understood — 
 
 Elizabeth (coldly). Bess must have been mistaken, 
 Margaret. I had not even thought of you. 
 
 Margaret. But, mamma — 
 
 Elizabeth. That will do, Margaret. Can't you see that 
 I am busy? 
 
 Margaret. Yes, but — 
 
 Elizabeth (rises). Margaret! (Watches until Marga- 
 ret exits at R. Margaret looks back over shoulder, but 
 meeting her mother s eye, exits with a dignified sweep.) I 
 cannot see what is the matter with that child. (Returns to 
 chair.) 
 
 Reginald (pretending amazement). Surely, Mrs. Snow- 
 den, you do not mean that you have a daughter as old as 
 that young lady. 
 
 Elizabeth. Why, certainly. 
 
 Reginald. A step-daughter, then, surely. 
 
 Elizabeth. Nothing of the sort. My own daughter, I 
 assure you. 
 
 Reginald (gazing admiringly at her). I cannot believe it. 
 
 Elizabeth (play f idly) . Why will you flatter an old, old 
 woman ? 
 
 Reginald (jumping up, looking all around). Where is 
 she? 
 
 Elizabeth . Who ? 
 
♦22 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Reginald; Why, the "old, old woman" you spoke of. 
 
 Elizabeth (slapping him with fan). Be good. 
 
 Reginald (humbly). Til try. 
 
 Elizabeth. But you were speaking of a book. 
 
 Reginald. Indeed, yes. Do let me show it to you. 
 (They sit sofa, looking at book.) See, here we have the 
 Brownings — wasn't theirs an ideal love? — and Burns, and 
 Byron — such lovers ! — and Tennyson, and Shelley, all poets 
 of the tender passion — 
 
 Elizabeth (archly). They say all poets make good 
 lovers. 
 
 Margaret comes to C. D., looks in, very worried ex- 
 pression. 
 
 Reginald. I would certainly like the opportunity of 
 proving it to you. 
 
 Margaret (anxiously). Mamma! 
 
 Elizabeth (springing up). Margaret! (Margaret 
 withdraws slowly.) My daughters, Mr. Wright, do not like 
 men. They have a very strong and unaccountable aversion 
 to all the masculine creation. 
 
 Reginald (catching her hand). But you — you — surely 
 do not share it? 
 
 Elizabeth. I? Oh, no, indeed ! But I dare not let them 
 know. Why, they — they would disinherit me! 
 
 Reginald. Unkind daughters. But you would find 
 plenty of friends to — to — mherit you again, quickly enough. 
 (Looks watch.) I must go. I really must. I did not realize 
 how long I had been away from the office. You have 
 tempted me, beautiful lady, with glimpses of Paradise. 
 And — you will let me come again? (She nods.) Tonight? 
 
 Elizabeth (extending hand). Yes, at eight. 
 
 Reginald (bowing low over her hand). You are too 
 good to me. I cannot thank you sufficiently. I — I — I will 
 come tonight. (Exits L., bowing elaborately.) 
 
 Elizabeth. Tonight — at 'eight. And I — why, I told 
 Mr. — Mr. — Mr. — (looks card). Oh, yes, Mr. Deane, to 
 come at the very same hour. How very thoughtless of me ! 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 23 
 
 But, to save my soul, I cannot tell which I prefer. They are 
 both so very fascinating— far more endurable than the aver- 
 age male creature. But, oh, dear ! I must never, never let the 
 girls know. What would they say? What would they do? 
 I, who have been such a confirmed man-hater, to become 
 so attracted to two different ones in the same day. It is 
 inconceivable' Why, I can't even believe it of myself. 
 
 Enter Bess, R. 
 
 Bess (looking all around room). Are you — a — a — alone, 
 Mrs. Snowden? 
 
 Elizabeth {impatiently). Can't you see? 
 
 Bess (mystified). But — (hesitates, mysteriously). 
 
 Elizabeth. Well? 
 
 Bess. Miss Margaret and Miss Kitty — (hesitates). 
 
 Elizabeth (quickly). What about them? 
 
 Bess. Why, they — they — nothing! 
 
 Elizabeth. Certainly, "much ado about nothing." (Sus- 
 piciously). * What have they been saying about me? 
 
 Bess (surprised) . Not a thing. 
 
 Elizabeth (relieved). Of course not. I knew they 
 hadn't. What should they say? What could they say? 
 How ridiculous! (Bess starts R., Elizabeth L. Then 
 Elizabeth turns.) Oh, Bess! (Bess turns.) You are a 
 good girl, Bess. 
 
 Bess (bows). Thank you, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth. Yes, you are a very good girl. I — I — I 
 would like to tell you something. 
 
 Bess. You, too, Mrs. Snowden? % 
 
 Elizabeth. Why two? I am only one. 
 
 Bess. I — I — I meant — you — really you — Mrs. Snowden. 
 
 Elizabeth. Yes. (goes nervously to R. D. y looks out.) 
 Sit down, Bess. 
 
 Bess (sits sofa, wonderingly). Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth (returning). I — I — I — don't want the girls 
 to know anything about this — 
 
 Bess. No, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth (sits sofa). Bess, I — I — I expect some young 
 men to call on me this evening — on business, you under- 
 
24 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 stand — (Bess nods) — strictly on business. I— I — I think 
 it is much better that the girls should not know anything 
 about it. I — I — (rises) — I think I hear one of them com- 
 ing. (Bess rises. Elizabeth takes her by the arm.) I 
 am trusting you, Bess. Come with me to my own room and 
 I'll tell you more about it. (Leads her R., then turns around 
 and goes L.) No, I am sure I hear somebody coming. 
 We'll go up the hall stair. (They exeunt L., confidentially.) 
 
 Margaret enters R., with letter. 
 
 Margaret (calls softly and cautiously). Bess! Bess! 
 Dear me! Isn't she here? I'll just send this note to Regi- 
 nald right away. I must explain why I didn't manage to 
 meet him before mamma got hold of him. Dear me! What 
 if Kitty had known anything about it, or even mistrusted? 
 Bess! Bess! Where can she be? (Exits R., calling off R.) 
 Bess! Bess! 
 
 Enter Kitty, L. 
 
 Kitty (cautiously). Oh, Bess! I wish you — (looks all 
 around.) Why, where has she gone? (Calls softly.) Bess! 
 Bess! Oh, goodness! Where is that girl, anyway? I just 
 must have her. I want to get this note to Harry right 
 straight off, so he will know why I had to let him go without 
 seeing him. Poor, dear boy. I do hope he wasn't hurt. 
 (Exits C, calling softly.) Bess! Bess! Where are you, 
 Bess? 
 
 After pause, enter Bess, L. } with two notes. 
 
 Bess. Now, where can the young ladies be? Those 
 young fellows have each sent a note — and both addressed 
 to Mrs. Snowden. Of course they meant Miss Snowden, 
 and I'll have to be careful that I get the right note to the 
 right Miss — the piano tuner to Miss Kitty — the book agent 
 to Miss Margaret. (Sighs.) Not much chance for a mis- 
 take, though. I'd know Harry's handwriting anywhere, and 
 he's supposed to be the piano tuner. Dear Harry. Once 
 I thought he cared for me. I really did. What fools girls 
 are! And I'd have surely married him, too, if I hadn't so 
 suddenly lost all the money I thought I had. But, losing 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 25 
 
 the money, of course, I lost Harry, too. It wasn't his fault. 
 He said he had been looking for me, and — well, maybe he 
 had. It's nice to think it might have been. But — it's Miss 
 Kitty he's looking for now ; there's no dodging that. I'll — 
 I'll— 
 
 Enter Kitty, R. 
 
 Bess. Here, Miss Kitty, is a note that came for you. 
 
 Kitty (eagerly). A note? For me? Oh, do let me have 
 it, quick! (Takes it excitedly, zvhile Bess holds the other 
 one behind her back.) Why, it says Mrs. Snowden, Bess. 
 
 Bess (at R.). I suppose he wrote it in a hurry, Miss 
 Kitty. (Exits R.) 
 
 Enter Elizabeth, L. } stands just inside entrance. 
 
 Kitty (tears open note, reading eagerly, facing R.). 
 "Fair lady, I must see you again tonight." Oh, the dear 
 boy! "I did not know before how much my little call this 
 morning was going to mean to me." Oh, how sweet ! "It's 
 a life and death matter now — you little know how serious." 
 Can he mean all that? Sounds rather strong, seems to me. 
 "I cannot write it. It would take too long, and I haven't 
 words to express it." How romantic! "I must see you. 
 Don't deny me." 
 
 Elizabeth (advancing). Kitty, what does this mean? 
 
 Kitty (hiding note behind her in alarm). It means I — 
 I — why, it doesn't mean anything at all. 
 
 Elizabeth (sternly). From whom was that letter? 
 
 Kitty. Why, from — from — nobody at all. 
 
 Elizabeth. Kitty ! 
 
 Kitty. I mean, from — from — a friend. 
 
 Elizabeth (sarcastically). Sounded like it. Let me 
 see it. 
 
 Kitty (backing away). Why, I — I — it isn't mine. 
 
 Elizabeth (insisting). Let me see it % ! 
 
 Kitty (exasperated, tears note into small pieces).' Yes, 
 — I'll — let— you — see — it, — since — you — compel — me, — but 
 just — the — smallest — smallest — bits! (Puts the scraps in 
 Elizabeth's hand, defiantly.) 
 
26 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Elizabeth. Kitty, I must insist upon an explanation — 
 (Kitty hangs head sullenly) — at once. Come with me and 
 tell me just all there is to know about this miserable letter. 
 ( Takes Kitty by arm and leads her forcibly out L., Kitty 
 hanging back stubbornly.) 
 
 Enter Margaret, R. 
 
 Margaret {with note). This note says Mrs. Snowden, 
 but Bess says she knows it's meant for me. Reginald left 
 it, she says, with his own dear hands. (Reads.) "Adorable 
 creature, heaven has opened its pearly gates to me, since I 
 gazed into your celestial orbs !" How poetic \ "You have; 
 as it were, in the twinkling of an hour, become the glory 
 and splendor of my existence." 
 
 Enter Elizabeth, L. 
 
 Elizabeth. Margaret, what is that? 
 
 Margaret. A — a — a poem. 
 
 Elizabeth. Where did you get it? 
 
 Margaret. I — I — I copied it out of a magazine. 
 
 Elizabeth (holding out hand). Let me see — 
 
 Margaret. Why, it — isn't all here, mamma. 
 
 Elizabeth (sternly). Let me see! 
 
 Margaret (nervously crumpling up letter in hand). It 
 really doesn't amount to anything. Not worth reading, 
 mamma. Don't bother about the thing. I'll put it in the 
 fire. (Exits R., hastily.) 
 
 Elizabeth. What does all this mean? Have both my 
 girls a lover unknown to me? Surely, that could not be! 
 (Paces floor.) It must not be! It shall not be! I, who 
 have suffered so much through the matrimonial experience 
 I have had, only knowing such a few brief years of free- 
 dom, shunning all things masculine, until — until — today — 
 cannot see my precious girls headed for the same disastrous 
 pathway — cannot stand by and watch — 
 
 Enter Kitty, L., weeping. Enter Margaret, R., weeping. 
 
 Elizabeth. Girls, come here. (Elizabeth holds out 
 arms. Girls both run to her. She throws an arm around 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 27 
 
 each and they sob on her shoulders.) Oh, my dear, darling 
 daughters! What is this that has come to you both, when 
 I have tried for so long to guard and protect you from the 
 fate I have had to endure? {Girls instantly straighten up 
 and face each other in amazemeent. Elizabeth backs 
 to C.) 
 
 Kitty {at L., shaking finger at Margaret). You? 
 
 Margaret {at R., shaking head emphatically). No! 
 {Shakes finger at Kitty.) You? 
 
 Kitty {shaking head emphatically). No! 
 
 Margaret and Kitty {together). What can she mean? 
 {Both turn and look inquiringly at Elizabeth, who holds 
 out a hand to each, appealingly, they looking at her in mute 
 inquiry, and then, puzzled, at each other. Hold poses for — ) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 Act II. 
 
 Scene : Same as Act L Stage not fully lighted. 
 
 Kitty discovered alone, pacing floor. 
 
 Kitty. Dear me! Dear me! And dear Harry! {Looks 
 around slily, as though afraid of being overheard.) What- 
 ever shall I do ? I told him I'd see him when he called, and 
 I certainly thought I'd see him. Goodness knows I wanted to 
 see him badly enough. But {shakes head and sighs) it sim- 
 ply didn't happen that way. It wasn't to be, somehow, so* it 
 just didn't be — and that's all there is to it. He saw mamma 
 first, and there's never any danger of her letting me see a 
 man — a dreadful, horrid man — either in this world or the 
 next. What pains she took to drive me out of the room. 
 The Widow "assisted" all right, and held the trump card — 
 as usual. {Giggles.) It isn't funny, but the other fellow 
 might get a laugh out of it. He said in his note that he'd 
 call tonight, and I just must manage to see him some way. 
 It must be time for him now. Wonder how I look. Mamma 
 used to keep a mirror and powder puff somewhere in this 
 desk — for emergencies like this. {Searches desk.) Where 
 
28 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 are they? Here's her eyebrow pencil and the rouge pot, but 
 I don't find any. mirror. How'll I get it on? Oh goodness! 
 I hear somebody coming. I'll bet he's here now. (Daubs 
 rouge on eyebrows and rubs lips black with pencil, closes 
 desk and turns quickly to L.) 
 
 Enter Margaret, L. Kitty shrinks back. 
 
 Kitty. Margaret! You? 
 
 Margaret. For goodness sake ! Kitty Snowden ! What- 
 ever is the matter with you? And what have )^ou been do- 
 ing to yourself? 
 
 Kitty (innocently). Why — er — er— nothing. Why? 
 • Margaret. You look like a wild Indian! 
 
 Kitty (horrified). Like a — what? (Aside.) I wonder 
 if she mistrusts something about Harry? 
 
 Margaret. Any sort of a barbarian. What have you 
 been into? / 
 
 Kitty (mystified) . Why, I thought I looked rather nice. 
 
 Margaret. Nice! Horrors! Queer taste for beauty. 
 Look at that, (Opens chatelaine vanity box and holds it 
 before Kitty's face. Kitty shrieks and covers face with 
 hands.) Better go and wash your face, I think, before 
 mamma begins to ask questions. (Walks desk.) 
 
 Kitty (frightened). Yes, yes! I will. (Goes R. D., 
 speaks over shoulder, worried voice.) Are you going to 
 be in the room long? 
 
 Margaret (turning from desk in surprise). Why, I 
 don't know. Why? 
 
 Kitty (nervously) . Oh — oh — nothing. (Exits R.) 
 
 Margaret. How peculiar everybody acts today. I won- 
 der if they suspect anything. They just watch me, and 
 watch me, and watch me! Wonder if they notice anything 
 — er — out — of — the — usual about me. If that Bess should 
 dare reveal what she knows — heavens ! What would mamma 
 and Kitty do to me? Maybe what wouldn't they do would 
 be more to the point. (Sits desk.) I must write another 
 note and get it off to Reginald before time for him to call. 
 (Searches for paper, pen, ink, etc.) I don't know what 
 to say to him, but I must say something. Let me see. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 29 
 
 (Writes.) "My poor, dear Reginald" — sounds a trifle too 
 familiar, perhaps, when I never met him until last evening, 
 but — what's time, anyway? I'm sure I've lived centuries 
 since then, and have known him through a hundred lives — 
 every thought of his mind, every hope of his h.eart. I'll 
 let it stand and — just a line under the "poor" and two lines 
 •under the "dear" — that will be more expressive of what I 
 really feel. Now, what next? "I was so sorry — " 
 
 Enter Elizabeth, R. 
 
 Elizabeth (looking at watch). It's almost time — why, 
 Margaret ! (Margaret springs up, tearing paper into bits.) 
 What were you doing at my desk? 
 
 Margaret. Writing ! 
 
 Elizabeth. Writing what? 
 
 Margaret. Why — er — why, you see, mamma — 
 
 Elizabeth . Well ? 
 
 Margaret. You see — 
 
 Elizabeth. No, I do not see. Show me. 
 
 Margaret. I was 'just making out the list for my new 
 spring clothes. 
 
 Elizabeth. Clothes? (Margaret no ds.) A little early 
 in the season, perhaps? (Margaret hangs head). Are you 
 sure that you were doing that? (Looks at Margaret 
 fixedly.) 
 
 Margaret (hesitating). Well — maybe — not real sure. 
 
 Elizabeth. You were answering that mysterious cor- 
 respondent who sent that note — that poem, I believe you 
 called it — this morning, were you not? (No reply. Mar- 
 garet hangs head.) Answer me! 
 
 Margaret (meekly). Yes, mamma. 
 
 Elizabeth. And Kitty? 
 
 Margaret (quickly). Kitty? What does she know about 
 it? 
 
 Elizabeth. Nothing of your affairs, perhaps, but a great 
 deal more than she owns up of her own. I certainly would 
 like to know what you girls have been planning and carrying 
 out here under my very nose, while pretending to know 
 nothing at all of men. Who is this man? 
 
30 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Margaret. I — I — don't know. 
 
 Elizabeth (horrified). Don't know? (Margaret shakes 
 head.) This is worse than I feared. (Paces floor.) What 
 is his name? 
 
 Margaret. I — I — don't know. Just — just Reginald, he 
 said. 
 
 Elizabfth (in horror). Don't know his name? 
 
 Margaret (shaking head guiltily). But, mamma, really, 
 you mustn't blame Kitty, for she doesn't know a single thing 
 about it. It is all me. (Drops head humbly.) 
 
 Elizabeth (coldly). Kitty must speak for herself. 
 
 Margaret. Oh, mamma, don't let her know ! Please 
 don't tell her. She is so bitter against the men. She has 
 taken your teaching better than I. Don't turn her against 
 me by letting her know of this. 
 
 Elizabeth (with dignity). I will use my own judgment 
 as to what I shall say or shall not say. Send Kitty to me. 
 
 Margaret (meekly). Yes, mamma. (Exits R.) 
 
 Elizabeth (pacing floor). 
 
 "Oh, what a tangled web we weave 
 
 When first we practice to deceive !" 
 That poet knew his world and its people and their lives, 
 if ever anybody did. What would either of the girls say 
 if they knew that I — their mother — was expecting callers — 
 and men callers, too — this very evening! They would never 
 forgive me. (Sits.) Oh, I sometimes wish I had never 
 come into all this money, and did not have to live such a 
 secluded life in order to keep myself and my daughters out 
 of the clutches of fortune hunters. If that man's daughter 
 had not so mysteriously disappeared, I would certainly have 
 insisted upon her keeping half of the fortune, even if it did 
 legally belong to me. It was not right that she, in her youth 
 and innocence, should be left to pay all the penalty of her 
 father's guilt — or mistakes. But it's ours — we have it — and 
 we must — keep away from the men. 
 
 Enter Kitty, R. 
 
 Kitty. Margaret says you want me, mamma. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. , 31 
 
 Elizabeth. I do. I want an explanation of that note 
 you were reading this morning. 
 
 Kitty (feigning innocence). What note? 
 
 Elizabeth (sternly). Kitty! 
 
 Kitty. Why, mamma, couldn't you tell it was just a 
 joke? 
 
 Elizabeth. I haven't seen the joke yet. Tell me whom 
 it was from. 
 
 Kitty. I — I — I don't know, mamma. 
 
 Elizabeth (springs up in dismay). Don't know. You, 
 too? What was his name? 
 
 Kitty. Why — why — I forget. 
 
 Elizabeth . Forget ? 
 
 Kitty. Just Harry, he said. 
 
 Elizabeth. Kitty, I am ashamed of you. 
 
 Kitty (meekly). Yes, mamma. 
 
 Elizabeth. And Margaret, too. 
 
 Kitty (in alarm). Oh, mamma! You mustn't let Mar- 
 garet know. Please say you won't. I just couldn't stand 
 that. She hates the men so, and she would think it so hor- 
 rible. Please say you won't tell her. 
 
 Elizabeth (aside). I declare. I cannot understand this 
 case at all. 
 
 Enter Bess, R., to turn on lights. Starts to go out. 
 
 Elizabeth. One moment, Bess. (Bess turns.) What 
 do you know about this affair? 
 
 Bess. What affair? 
 
 Elizabeth. You may go, Kitty. (Kitty starts out R. 
 At entrance looks back and shakes head at Bess, holding up 
 finger wamingly. Bess looks troubled.) This morning two 
 notes were delivered to my daughters, written by two differ- 
 ent young men. Did you hand them in? 
 
 Bess. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth. Where did they come from? 
 
 Bess. From — from — why, from two different young 
 men. 
 
 Elizabeth. Yes, but — 
 
32 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Bess. All I know is, they were both addressed to Mrs. 
 Snowden. 
 
 Elizabeth (astonished). To Mrs. Snowden? 
 
 Bess. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth. Why, that means to me! 
 
 Bess. Yes, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth. Then why — 
 
 Bess. They said to give them to the young lady, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth (embarrassed). But they meant — oh, I see 
 it all now! (Aside.) It is I who am the guilty one, and my 
 girls have both been perfectly innocent. No wonder they 
 did not even know the men's names. Poor girls! (Aloud, 
 turning to Bess again. ) I am sorry you made such a blun- 
 der, Bess, after my telling you so explicitly this morning 
 just what and whom I was expecting. You have committed 
 a very serious mistake, but I will try to straighten it out if 
 I can. (Exits L.) 
 
 Bess. I have "committed a serious mistake," have I? 
 Well, maybe I have. Maybe I have. Somebody surely has. 
 "Blunder" is right. I must be very careful at any rate that 
 I don't make any more. (Bell rings L.) There's somebody 
 now. (Exits L.) 
 
 Immediately re-enter Bess, L., followed by Reginald. 
 
 Bess. Right in this way, please. Excuse me, sir, but if 
 you please (looks all around, cautiously, then speaks in loud 
 whisper), are you the book agent? 
 
 Reginald. Guilty. 
 
 Bess. I won't make any mistake, then. I'll get your lady. 
 (Exits R., repeating in monotone:) Piano tuner, Kitty; 
 book agent, Margaret ; piano tuner, Kitty ; book agent, Mar- 
 garet. 
 
 Reginald (rubbing hands together in ecstatic anticipa- 
 tion). To think, in just a few moments, I shall see that 
 wonderful woman again! I have counted the very seconds 
 since I went away from her this morning. How strange 
 that she could possibly be the mother of that girl I met at 
 the library. Deuced glad I didn't get in too deep with the 
 silly little fool. If a fellow could only take a peep at the 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 33 
 
 Widow every time before he bid, he'd be able to play his 
 hand so as to take in the whole ten tricks. Blessed if he 
 wouldn't. What strange methods old Fate does employ to 
 work mischief with a fellow's heart. (Listens.) Ah, here 
 she comes. 
 
 Enter Margaret, R. He rashes to meet her, then steps 
 back in disappointment. 
 
 Reginald. You ? 
 
 Margaret. Yes — at last! (Holds out hands to him, but 
 he backs away. She drops them in confusion.) Mamma 
 didn't see you this time, did she? (He shakes head discon- 
 solately.) I was so disappointed this morning. 
 
 Reginald (inquiringly, wondering how to escape.) Yes? 
 
 Margaret. Yes, indeed. I didn't know what you would 
 think of me. You weren't angry with me, were you? 
 Please say no. 
 
 Reginald. Why, of course not. Why should I be? On 
 the contrary, I was — 
 
 Margaret (uneasily, interrupting). But listen! I must 
 explain before somebody comes in. I did my best to keep 
 my word, really I did ; but you see, it's just as I told you. 
 Mamma 'does hate men so that she just won't let them in 
 the house, and forbids our even speaking to them when we 
 meet them — 
 
 Reginald (perplexed). Strange! 
 
 Margaret. Isn't it? It's doubly hard on me, too, be- 
 cause my sister Kitty is just as bad as mamma, and would 
 be just as severe with me if she found out about — about — 
 you. (Looks around cautiously.) I got your note. 
 
 Reginald (surprised). You — got — my — note? {She 
 nods, finger on lip.) Why, I — I — didn't — 
 
 Margaret (listening off R.). 'Sh.! I'm afraid I hear 
 somebody coming. You — you — 
 
 Reginald. I'll go. I'll — I'll — I'll call some other time. 
 
 Margaret (excitedly). Do! I must hurry out. Don't 
 let mamma see you. (Exits R.) 
 
 Reginald. "Don't let mamma see me," eh? Little she 
 guesses that that is just the one and only thing I'm here for. 
 
34 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 And I'm not going to leave until I manage it, either. (Bell 
 rings L.) I'll hide out here and watch for "some more con- 
 venient season/' (Slips out C.) 
 
 Enter Bess, L. } followed by Harry. 
 
 Bess (coldly). I'll not make any mistake this time. Let 
 me see, now. You are supposed to be the piano tuner, 
 aren't you, Harry? 
 
 Harry. I don't know what I'm supposed to be, Bess. I'll 
 be anybody or anything that will let me inside the door if 
 you'll just give me a chance for a word or two with you. 
 What will you — 
 
 Bess (severely). Harry Deane, did you, or did you not, 
 come here as a piano tuner? 
 
 Harry. Why, Bess, of course — you know I did. But 
 wait a moment — I want to talk — (catches her arm). 
 
 Bess. Talk all you like, but not to me. Let me go — at 
 once ! What can you possibly have to say to Bess — Jones — 
 the maid.* (He releases her and turns head away, bitterly.) 
 If you are sure you are impersonating the piano tuner, 
 that's all I want to know. I don't want any more blunders 
 laid at my door. (Starts R. At entrance speaks over shoul- 
 der.) Be seated a minute, sir! (With cutting emphasis 
 on the "sir" Exit.) 
 
 Harry. "Sir!" Humph! I hope it won't be more than 
 a minute, for I am just dying for a sight of my matronly 
 charmer again. To think of her being that foolish little 
 girl's man-hating mamma! It's some joke, all right. Any- 
 way, I'm going to work a stand-in with her and keep her 
 jollied up till Bess thaws out a little and I get a chance to 
 really have it out with her. Dear old Bess! She used to 
 care a little about me, I'm sure she did, and just what hap- 
 pened to — 
 
 Enter Kitty, R. He goes to meet her eagerly, recoils in 
 disappointment. 
 
 Harry. You ? 
 
 Kitty. Yes, really and truly — my own very self. I did 
 try every way I could think of to see you this morning, 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 35 
 
 but — (shakes head and sighs). I told you how mamma was. 
 She simply can't endure men. 
 
 Harry (twisting hat uneasily). I see. 
 
 Kitty. Didn't you notice she wouldn't even introduce 
 me? And I've a sister Margaret who's just as bad as she. 
 I can tell you it'.s a hard life I live between the two of them. 
 
 Harry (looking around for escape). It must be. 
 
 Kitty (confidentially). But your note came safely. 
 
 Harry (startled). My note! To you? 
 
 Kitty. Certainly. So I was expecting you, you see. 
 
 Harry (mystified). Yes? 
 
 Kitty. It was a perfectly darling note. 
 
 Harry. Was it? (Aside.) Now what in the dickens did 
 I say in that nqte? 
 
 Kitty (coquettishly) . As if you didn't remember what 
 a dear little message it was. 
 
 Harry. So, it went to — you ! 
 
 Kitty. Straight as a die. Our maid's simply an* angel. 
 
 Harry. "Angel" is right ! Where did you find her ? 
 
 Kitty. Why, she — just came to us. Answered an ad., 
 I guess. Why? 
 
 Harry. Oh, nothing! Nothing at all! I just imagined 
 she looked a little bit familiar ; that's all. 
 
 Kitty. Oh, no. She never gets familiar. She knows 
 her place all right, and I assure you she can be trusted — 
 
 Harry. I am convinced of that. (Aside, looking around 
 uneasily.) Plague take the girl! She's a regular leech. 
 How in the dickens can I tear loose? 
 
 Margaret (off R., calls). Kitty! 
 
 Kitty (startled). Heavens and earth! That's my sister. 
 I must hurry away at once. Slip out as quietly as you can, 
 so mamma won't see you. She'd never forgive me if she 
 did. (Shakes finger at him.) Be careful. (At entrance 
 turns and waves hand in farewell, exits R.) 
 
 Harry (wipes forehead with handkerchief). Whew! 
 Now, how to get a chance to "let mamma see me." That's 
 the question. If Bess would only — 
 
 Enter Reginald, C. 
 
36 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Harry. Beg pardon, sir, but who are you ? 
 
 Reginald. And what's that to, you ? 
 
 Harry. Oh, nothing in particular. Only, as I happen 
 to be an especial friend of Mrs. Snowden's — 
 
 Reginald {looking him over scornfully from head to 
 foot). You? 
 
 Harry {boastfully, straightening up for inspection). I! 
 
 Reginald {haughtily). You surprise me. I have never 
 once heard the lady in question even mention having such 
 a person as you upon her list of acquaintances. 
 
 Harry. You cannot be very intimately acquainted with 
 her, then. 
 
 Reginald. Pardon me, sir, but I am — very intimately. 
 I have — - # 
 
 Harry {interrupting) . I cannot believe — 
 
 Reginald {interrupting) . You dare to doubt — 
 
 Harry {interrupting). I won't — 
 
 Reginald {interrupting) . You shall never — 
 
 Margaret {off R., speaks. At sound of her voice both 
 young men start and listen, still facing each other belliger- 
 ently, like angry dogs). The long and the short of the 
 whole matter, Kitty, is that I am ashamed of you and I 
 shall certainly feel it my duty to inform mamma at the very 
 first opportunity of your disobedient conduct. 
 
 Enter Kitty, R., followed by Margaret. 
 
 Kitty. And what good do you think that will do you? 
 If I should tell — why, Harry! {Crosses to him, R. C.) 
 
 Margaret. Reginald! {Crosses to him, L. C.) What 
 does this mean? 
 
 Reginald {sullenly). Nothing. 
 
 Kitty. Harry, speak! 
 
 Harry {sulkily). I have nothing at a}l to say. 
 
 Margaret. Kitty, who is that man? 
 
 Kitty. Margaret, who is that man? 
 
 Margaret. He is of age. Ask him. 
 
 Kitty. Good plan. Suppose you try it. 
 
 Margaret {to Harry). Sir, I think an explanation is in 
 order. 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 37 
 
 Kitty (to Reginald). Sir, I also think an explanation is 
 in order. 
 
 Enter Elizabeth, C, holds up hands in horror. 
 
 Elizabeth. What does this mean? (Consternation. 
 Girls hang heads. Men start toward her eagerly.) 
 
 Reginald and Harry (together). Mrs. Snowden! (She 
 holds out hand to each.) 
 
 Margaret and Kitty (together, in horror.) Mamma! 
 
 Elizabeth. Girls, you had better go to your rooms. I 
 must come to an understanding with these two gentlemen. 
 
 Margaret. But, mamma, I — 
 
 Kitty. And, mamma, you — 
 
 Elizabeth. Did you hear what I said, girls? 
 
 Kitty. Yes, mamma, but — 
 
 Harry (to Reginald). Sir, I would advise you, also, to 
 leave the house. I can make every necessary explanation 
 to my friend, Mrs. Snowden. 
 
 Reginald. Young fellow, it is you who should consider 
 yourself in the light of an intruder. I am — 
 
 Harry (advancing on him, angrily). Do you wish me 
 
 to — ■ 
 
 Enter Bess, C. Steps between them. 
 
 Bess. Oh, Harry, don't! (All stare at her.) 
 
 Elizabeth (astonished). "Harry !" (Goes to Bess and 
 lays hand on shoulder). Did I hear you call this young 
 gentleman "Harry?" 
 
 Bess. I — I — I am afraid so, ma'am. 
 
 Elizabeth. What does it mean? 
 
 Bess (hesitating) . He is my cousin. 
 
 All. Cousin ! 
 
 Harry (stepping forward). Yes, Mrs. Snowden — young 
 ladies — and — and — (glaring at Reginald) — intruding male 
 person! I am her cousin. I came here to — to — to — (Kitty 
 coughs warningly) — to tune this piano, and I was surprised 
 to be admitted into the house by the girl I have been search- 
 ing for for months. (Bess tries to escape. He holds her. 
 She hangs head.) When her father, John Clifford Warner, 
 died — 
 
38 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 • 
 Elizabeth (aghast). John Clifford Warner! 
 
 Harry. Yes, Mrs. Snowden, that was his name. It was 
 found that he had defrauded those whose funds he had 
 been handling of considerable wealth. Not altogether of 
 intention, you understand, but through injudicious invest- 
 ment and too rash methods of speculation. One widow, es- 
 pecially, became entitled to a large fortune out of which he 
 had kept her husband for several years. In settling this 
 estate, my little cousin was left penniless, and being of a 
 quite too independent nature, set out to make her own way 
 in the world. So completely did she disappear from our 
 sight that we have searched for her in vain for many 
 months. This morning I found her, but she forbade my 
 making her identity known to you, and in no* uncertain 
 terms prohibited my revealing her whereabouts and what- 
 abouts to a family which is anxious to provide for her in 
 every possible way. (Bess again attempts to escape, but 
 Elizabeth catches her.) 
 
 Elizabeth. I, too, have something to say to you before 
 you go. I, too, have been searching for you for many months, 
 never dreaming you were in my own home all the time. John 
 Clifford Warner was my husband's cousin, and I was the 
 widow to whom the fortune by legal right reverted. But I 
 have in my possession papers that were never recorded and 
 letters — private, of course, but unmistakable in tenor — en- 
 titling this lost daughter of Mr. Warner's to a full half of 
 all the property in my keeping; and I hail with joy this 
 opportunity of making full and free restitution. I am glad, 
 indeed, that our long-sought-for little cousin has come to 
 light in our own household. (Kisses Bess on brow.) Girls, 
 your cousin. (Leads her to Margaret, who likewise kisses 
 her, then to Kitty, who embraces tier enthusiastically.) 
 
 Kitty. You darling thing! (Bess again attempts to es- 
 cape. Harry detains her.) % 
 
 Harry. Not yet, Bess. I have something more to say. 
 Before your father died, he had promised you to me for 
 my wife. When you ran away you nearly broke my heart. 
 I lost a cousin and a wife at once. Now I shall claim every 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 39 
 
 one of my rights. I have found my cousin. Have I not 
 also found my wife? 
 
 Bess {bashfully). If— if — 
 
 Harry. If what? 
 
 Bess {mischievously) . If Miss Kitty doesn't object. 
 
 Harry {surprised). Miss Kitty? But why? (Harry 
 looks from one to the other. Kitty looks at him a moment 
 in surprise, then goes to Elizabeth and rests her head on 
 her shoulder. Elizabeth soothes her.) 
 
 Bess. And if — if — 
 
 Harry. Spring it! 
 
 Bess. And if you're sure it's still just me you want. 
 {Looks at Kitty with puzzled air.) 
 
 Harry. Oh, I'm perfectly sure of that. {Looks inno- 
 cently around group.) Why, did you ever know me to 
 even look at anybody else? 
 
 Bess {uncertainly). Maybe not; maybe not. (Reginald 
 snorts.) 
 
 Harry. Humph! Should say not! 
 
 Reginald {stepping forward after having been covertly 
 admiring Elizabeth throughout previous conversation, fol- 
 lowing her every move and listening eagerly to every word) . 
 This seems to be — er — a nice little family arrangement, but 
 before we break up this — er — delightful little gathering, I 
 would like to put in a little word for myself. May I? 
 (Margaret drops head, embarrassed.) 
 
 Elizabeth. I — I — guess so. (Kitty goes and stands 
 by Margaret. Harry and Bess talk together in whispers.) 
 
 Reginald. I am a comparative stranger to you all, but I 
 am one of the Philadelphia Wrights, you know, and as 
 such, Mrs. Snowden, I feel that my family pedigree is quite 
 beyond all question. 
 
 Elizabeth {bowing). It is, indeed. 
 
 Margaret {smiling hopefully). Of course. 
 
 Reginald. Personally, as you already know, I am a poet 
 — a man of lofty inspiration and the highest ideals. 
 
 Elizabeth {bowing). I believe it. 
 
 Margaret {more emphatically still). Certainly. 
 
40 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Reginald. As for my personal appearance {primping 
 vainly) I don't want to appear unduly self -appreciative, but 
 — I guess my manly beauty will speak for itself. 
 
 Harry. Ahem ! 
 
 Elizabeth. Unapproachable. 
 
 Margaret. Perfectly charming. 
 
 Kitty. Quite too perfectly lovely. 
 
 Bess. Humph! (Clasps Harry's arm, looking up at him 
 appreciatively.) 
 
 Reginald (bowing thanks to Elizabeth). Deeply grate- 
 ful, I assure you. I understand that you have a serious 
 dislike for men, Mrs. Snowden ; but it shall be my greatest 
 delight, if you will permit me, to wipe from your mind 
 every previous unfavorable impression. 
 
 Elizabeth (bowing). That is commendable in you. 
 
 Margaret {nodding approvingly). Very. 
 
 Reginald (bowing to girls). I will also try to overcome 
 the prejudices of both your charming daughters. 
 
 Elizabeth. How kind. 
 
 Kitty. So nice of him. 
 
 Margaret (dubiously). Y-e-s. But why both? 
 
 Reginald. All that I ask is that you will no longer re- 
 member that I am so nearly a stranger, but that you will 
 permit me to lay my heart, my hand, my honored name, and 
 all my worldly goods at your fair feet. (Kneels on one 
 knee at Elizabeth's feet.) 
 
 Kitty (astonished). What? 
 
 Margaret (screaming in dismay). Mamma's? 
 
 Elizabeth. I don't know what to say. 
 
 Reginald (rising, grasping her hand). Surely, you won't 
 have the heart to say "No!" 
 
 Elizabeth. I — I — I — don't want to. But my girls — 
 (looks at them hesitatingly) . 
 
 Reginald (with hand on heart). You are younger and 
 fairer than either. 
 
 Elizabeth (coyly). Can you mean it? 
 
 Reginald. I do ! I swear ! 
 
 Kitty (horrified). Swear? 
 
THE WINNING WIDOW. 41 
 
 Margaret (with hands over ears, protestingly). O don't! 
 
 Reginald (tarns to girls). Girls, won't you give your 
 mother to me? I'll be a good father to you. 
 
 Margaret and Kitty (together, as if by rote.) Mamma 
 doesn't like men. 
 
 Reginald. And I don't want her to, either. Just the 
 one man — me! 
 
 Kitty. Will you let me have men friends? 
 
 Margaret (in feigned horror). Why, Kitty Snowden! 
 
 Reginald. Certainly. 
 
 Elizabeth (hesitatingly). If they won't come too early, 
 nor stay too late, smoke, chew, drink or swear. 
 
 Kitty. No sports need apply. 
 
 Margaret (humbly). And may I, too? 
 
 Kitty (mischievously). Why, Margaret Snowden! 
 
 Reginald. As many as you like. 
 
 Elizabeth (hastily). On the same conditions, of course. 
 
 Margaret. Only angels eligible. 
 
 Kitty. Exactly. 
 
 Margaret (holding out both hands to Reginald). Then 
 take her, my friend, and be as happy as you can. 
 
 Kitty (raising hands as in benediction). And God bless 
 you, my parents. 
 
 Elizabeth (shocked). Girls! Girls! 
 
 Margaret (shaking head gravely). It never could hap- 
 pen again. 
 
 Kitty. We'll be good. We'll be good. 
 
 Harry (to Bess). As usual, the winning suit was in the 
 Widow's hand. 
 
 Reginald (giving arm to Elizabeth). Come, my dear. 
 
 Harry (giving arm to Bess). And come, my dear. 
 (Both couples march out R.) 
 
 Margaret (watching them). So that is the end of it all! 
 
 Kitty (giggling). More like a beginning, Margaret, 
 don't you think? Orange blossoms, Lohengrin, oodles of sil- 
 ver spoons, rice, old shoes, you know, and all that sort of 
 thing. 
 
42 THE WINNING WIDOW. 
 
 Margaret {thoughtfully). I always did think Reginald 
 was too poky and stiff and conceited. 
 
 Kitty. And I always did think Harry was altogether 
 too fresh. 
 
 Margaret. Then well "live happy ever after/' eh? 
 
 Kitty {giving arm to Margaret with low bow, imitating 
 the men). So — come, my dear. (Margaret accepts with 
 low bow and they start R. in time for — ) 
 
 Curtain. 
 
The Deacon Entangled 
 
 By HARRY OSBORNE. 
 
 Price, 25 Cents 
 Comedy in 3 acts; 6 males, 4 females. Time, 2 hours. Scene: 
 1 interior. Characters: Deacon Penrose, a member in good stand- 
 ing. Calvin, his nephew. Rev. Sopher, a supporter of foreign mis- 
 sions Harry Baxter, a sporting writer. Rafferty, a policeman. 
 A Plain Clothes Man. Mrs. Penrose. Ruth, her daughter. 
 Georgie, Rev. Sopher's daughter. Katy, a maid. 
 
 SYNOPSIS. 
 
 Act I. — In which the Deacon finds himself in a tight corner. 
 Dr. Sopher, who can coax money out of a wooden Indian. A thou- 
 sand dollars for the new pipe organ. Cal arrives. A clean-up- 
 clouter instead of a ministerial prospect. "Did I forget my necktie 
 and button my collar in the . back?" The Deacon spends a night 
 out. "We won't go home until morning." 
 
 Act II. — The raid on the gambling joint. "Why didn't you 
 jump when I told you." On bail. "A thousand dollars to the Doc 
 or you lose your job as Deacon; a thousand to the judge or six 
 months." A sporting chance. Ready for the game. A donation 
 to Foreign Missions and a double barreled courtship. The elope- 
 ment. The arrest. "Come on Cal, I'll see you through." 
 
 Act III. — The big game. Tied in the Tenth. Cal goes to the 
 box. A Pinch Hitter. "Over the scoreboard." On the Deacon's 
 trail — the Horse pistol — pay the fine or go to jail. A hair line 
 finish. "Hold on, Copper." "Here's your thousand and here's 
 your girl. Look happy and have your picture taken." A new 
 son-in-law. "Bother Boarding School." The Deacon smiles. 
 
 A Trial of Hearts 
 
 By LINDSEY BARBEE. 
 
 Price, 25 Cents 
 
 College comedy in 4 acts; 6 males, 18 females. Time, 2% hours. 
 Scenes: 3 interiors, 1 exterior. Characters: Dudley Van Antwerp, 
 -a wealthy college man. Philip, his best friend. Roger, Teddy, 
 Jack and Jerry, fraternity men. Mrs. Van Antwerp, of great im- 
 portance. Honor, Dudley's wife. Fourteen lively sorority girls. A 
 chaperone and a maid. 
 
 SYNOPSIS. 
 
 Act I. — Gretchen and Jerry play Romeo and Juliet. Ted pleads 
 the cause of Kappa Psi. Jack argues for Delta Chi. Dudley intro- 
 duces Honor to his mother. Virginia learns of Dudley's marriage. 
 "I want to go home — oh, I want to go home!" 
 
 Act II.— The football enthusiasts bring news of Barbara. 
 Gretchen and Jerry studv Latin and argue fraternity. Honor finds 
 it all a little strange. Dudley tells Virginia his love story. "Oh, 
 Dudley, you hurt me!" "There's nothing left for me but to go away!" 
 
 Act III.— "I wonder if people ever get too busy to care!" 
 Mrs. Van Antwerp opens fire and Honor stands her ground. "I 
 mean to stay!" "I wish I had no heart— it aches so!" "Dear 
 little girl, it is good-bye." Honor hears Dudley declare his love 
 for Virginia. "Oh, Dad -Dad— your little girl is coming home!" 
 
 Act IV.— Gretchen and Jerry "grow up." The Seniors toast 
 the past, the present and the future. Mrs. Van Antwerp reproaches 
 herself. "Here comes the bride." The Kappa Psis and the Delta 
 Chi holds reunions. "Honor, is it really you?" "If you want me, 
 I am here. 1 ' p 
 
 T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 
 
 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 
 
The Thread of Destiny 
 
 By L1NDSEY BARBEE. 
 Price, 25 Cents 
 
 Comedy-drama of the Civil War in 3 acts; 9 males, 16 females. 
 Time, 2V 2 hours. Scenes: 1 interior, 2 exteriors. Characters: 
 Peyton Bailey, of the U. S. army. Beverly Montgomery, a con- 
 federate scout. Colonel Montgomery, a gentleman of the old school. 
 Tom Randolph, a Southern gallant. John Morton, of the North. 
 Ralph, who did not go to war. George and Uncle Billy, slaves. 
 A Union Scout. Virginia, the toast of the country. Betty, the 
 "Little Colonel." Edith, a northern cousin. Louise, a spy.. Eight 
 charming southern girls. Mrs. Montgomery. Miss Melissy, of in- 
 quisitive nature. Fanny and Mammy, slaves. 
 
 SYNOPSIS. 
 
 Act I. — Betty breaks a looking glass. Edith calms her fears 
 and tells her "the signs of the times." "Virginia has seceded." 
 Beverly enlists. "A Virginia woman does not even recognize an 
 acquaintance among the enemies of Virginia." 
 
 Act II. — "I don' wan' no tarnished silber linin' to my cloud." 
 "There are some things more precious than money, than jewels." 
 "Death cannot conquer love — nor eternity." "Some day there will 
 be no North, no South, but the Union." The Union scout falls a 
 prey to Edith's fascinations and her cleverness wins the coveted 
 dispatch. Virginia opens the door — to Peyton. Beverly is dis- 
 covered. Friendship proves stronger than duty. 
 
 Act III. — Three years work a great change. Peyton pleads in 
 vain. George and Fanny "take de road to de Ian' of happiness." 
 "In our little circle the stars and bars are floating high." Virginia 
 gives Peyton another rose and together they trace against the 
 background of blue and gray "the golden thread of destiny." 
 
 Shadows 
 
 By MARY MONCURE PARKER. 
 
 Price, 15 Cents 
 
 Play of the South today and a dream of the past in 1 act; 
 an interior scene; 3 males, 4 females. Time, 35 minutes. Charac- 
 ters: Prologue and the Awakening: Robert Ashton, Virginia's 
 sweetheart. Aunt Geranium, an old colored mammy. Virginia Lee, 
 a southern maid. The Dream: Gordon Sanford, a soldier in love 
 with Alice. Harold Hale, the successful rival. Mrs. Horace 
 Fairfax, a stern mother of long ago. Alice Fairfax, her dutiful 
 daughter. STORY OF THE PLAY. 
 
 Virginia Lee's mother insists upon her marriage with a rich 
 suitor, who has agreed to restore their impoverished estate. Vir- 
 ginia has a sweetheart of her childhood days and hesitates in 
 making a choice, but finally decides upon wealth instead of love. 
 An old colored mammy, who has spent her life in the Lee house- 
 hold, understands the situation and tells Virginia of a similar 
 episode in the life of Virginia's grandmother. Virginia in ponder- 
 ing over the incident and grieving over her own troubles, falls 
 asleep. She dreams of the story just told and the dream folks 
 appear and play their parts. Virginia awakens, the shadows flee 
 and she comes to her senses and her lover. 
 
 The old colored mammy says: "Dis heah ole wtfrl's jes' full 
 of shadders. Fokes comes an' dey goes, ripens and drops like the 
 fruit on de tree. Ole Mars is gone, old Mistis gone. De substance 
 melts and fades away. Ain't nothing left but shadders." 
 
 T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers 
 
 154 W. Randolph Street, CHICAGO 
 
DENISON'S ACTING PLAYS 
 
 Price 15 Cents Each, Postpaid, Unless Different Price Is Given 
 
 m. r. 
 Winning Widow, 2 acts, \y 2 hrs. 
 
 (25c) 2 4 
 
 Women Who Did, 1 hr...(25c) 17 
 Yankee Detective, 3 acts, 2 hrs. 8 3 
 
 FARCES, COMEDIETAS, Etc 
 
 All on a Summer's Day, 40 min. 4 6 
 
 April Fools, 30 min 3 
 
 Assessor, The, 10 min 3 2 
 
 Baby Show at Pineville, 20 min. 19 
 
 Billy's Chorus Girl, 25 min... 2 3 
 
 Billy's Mishap, 20 min 2 3 
 
 Borrowed Luncheon, 20 min.. 5 
 
 Borrowing Trouble, 20 min.... 3 5 
 Case Against Casey, 40 min... 23 
 
 Country Justice, 15 min 8 
 
 Cow that Kicked Chicago, 20 m. 3 2 
 
 Divided Attentions, 35 min 1 4 
 
 Dude in a Cyclone, 20 min 4 2 
 
 Family Strike, 20 min 3 3 
 
 First-Class Hotel, 20 min.... 4 
 
 For Love and Honor, 20 min.. 2 1 
 
 Fudge and a Burglar, 15 min.. 5 
 
 Fun in Photo Gallery, 30 min.. 6 10 
 Great Medical Dispensary, 30 m. 6 
 Great Pumpkin Case, 30 min.. 12 
 
 Hans Von Smash, 30 min.... 4 3 
 
 I'm Not Mesilf at All, 25 min. 3 2 
 Initiating a Granger, 25 min.. 8 
 
 Irish Linen Peddler, 40 min... 3 3 
 
 Is the Editor In? 20 min... 4 2 
 
 Kansas Immigrants, 20 min... 5 1 
 
 Men Not Wanted, .30 min.... 8 
 
 Mike Donovan's Courtship, 15 m. 1 3 
 
 Mother Goose's Goslings, 30 m. 7 9 
 
 Mrs. Jenkins' Brilliant Idea, 35m. 8 
 
 Mrs. Stubbins' Book Agent, 30 m. 3 2 
 
 My Wife's Relations, 1 hr. . . . 4 6 
 
 Not a Man in the House, 40 m. 5 
 
 Pair of Lunatics, 20 min 1 1 
 
 Patsy O'Wang, 35 min 4 3 
 
 Pat, the Apothecary, 35 min.. 6 2 
 
 Persecuted Dutchman, 30 min. 6 3 
 
 Regular Fix, 35 min 6 4 
 
 Second Childhood, 15 min 2 2 
 
 Shadows, 35 min 2 2 
 
 Sing a Song of Seniors, 30 min. 7 
 
 Taking Father's Place, 30 min. 5 3 
 
 Taming a Tiger, 30 min 3 
 
 That Rascal Pat, 30 min 3 2 
 
 Those Red Envelopes, 25 min. 4 4 
 Too Much of a Good Thing, 45 
 
 min 3 6 
 
 Turn Him Out, 35 min .. 3 2 
 
 Two Aunts and a Photo, 20 m. 4 
 Two Gentlemen in a Fix, 15 m. 2 
 
 Two Ghosts in White, 20 min . . 8 
 
 Two of a Kind, 40 min 2 3 
 
 Uncle Dick's Mistake, 20 min ..32 
 
 Wanted a Correspondent, 45 m. 4 4 
 
 Wanted a Hero, 20 min 1 1 
 
 M. F. 
 
 Wide Enough for Two, 45 min. 5 2 
 
 Wrong Baby, 25 min 8 
 
 Yankee Peddler, 1 hr 7 3 
 
 VAUDEVILLE SKETCHES, MON- 
 OLOGUES, ETHIOPIAN PLAYS. 
 
 Ax'in' Her Father, 25 min 2 3 
 
 Booster Club of Blackville, 25 m.10 
 Breakfast Food for Two, 20 m. 1 1 
 
 Cold Finish, 15 min 2 1 
 
 Colored Honeymoon, 25 min... 2 2 
 Coon Creek Courtship, 15 min. 1 1 
 Coming Champion, 20 min.... 2 
 Coontown Thirteen Club, 25 m.14 
 
 Counterfeit Bills, 20 min 1 1 
 
 Darktown Fire Brigade, 25 min. 10 
 Doings of a Dude, 20 min.... 2 1 
 
 Dutch Cocktail, 20 min 2 
 
 For Reform, 20 min 4 
 
 Fresh Timothy Hay, 20 min ..21 
 Glickman, the Glazier, 25 min. 1 1 
 Good Mornin' Judge, 35 min.. 9 2 
 
 Her Hero, 20 min 1 1 
 
 Hey, Rube! 15 min 1 
 
 Home Run, 15 min 1 1 
 
 Jumbo Jum, 30 min 4 3 
 
 Little Red School House, 20 m. 4 
 
 Love and Lather, 35 min 3 2 
 
 Marriage and After, 10 min.. 1 
 
 Memphis Mose, 25 min 5 1 
 
 Mischievous Nigger, 25 min.. 4 2 
 
 Mistaken Miss, 20 min 1 
 
 Mr. and Mrs. Fido, 20 min 1 1 
 
 Oh, Doctor! 30 min 6 2 
 
 One Sweetheart for Two, 20 m. 2 
 Oshkosh Next Week, 20 min . . 4 
 
 Oyster Stew, 10 min 2 
 
 Pete Yansen's Gurl's Moder, 10m. 1 
 
 Pickles for Two, 15 min 2 
 
 Pooh Bah of Peacetown, 35 min. 2 2 
 Prof. Black's Funnygraph, 15 m. 6 
 
 Sham Doctor, 10 min 4 2 
 
 Si and I, 15 min 1 
 
 Special Sale, 15 min 2 
 
 Stage Struck Darky, 10 min.. 2 1 
 Sunny Son of Italy, 15 min.. 1 
 
 Time Table, 20 min 1 1 
 
 Tramp and the Actress, 20 min. 1 1 
 Troubled by Ghosts, 10 min... 4 
 Troubles of Rozinski, 15 min.. 1 
 Two Jay Detectives, 15 min.. 3 
 
 Umbrella Mender, 15 min 2 
 
 Uncle Jeff, 25 min S 2 
 
 What Happened to Hannah, 15m. 1 1 
 
 A great number of 
 Standard and Amateur Plays 
 not found here are listed in 
 
 Denlson's Catalogue 
 
 T. S. DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers, 154 W. Randolph St. , Chicago 
 
POPULAR ENTERTAir 
 
 Price, Illustrated Paper Cove 
 
 ■SEL5 C0N G«ESS 
 
 IN this Series 
 are found 
 books touching 
 every feature 
 in the enter- 
 tainment field. 
 Finely made, 
 good p a p e r, 
 clear print and 
 each book has 
 an attrac t i v e 
 individual cov- 
 er design. 
 A Partial List 
 
 DIALOGUES 
 
 All Sorts of Dialogues. 
 
 Selected, fine for older pupils. 
 Catchy Comic Dialogues. 
 
 Very clever; for young people. 
 Children's Comic Dialogues. 
 
 From six to eleven years of age. 
 Country School Dialogues. 
 
 Brand new, original- 
 Dialogues for District Schools. 
 
 For country schools. 
 Dialogues from Dickens. 
 
 Thirteen selections. 
 The Friday Afternoon Dialogues. 
 
 Over 50,000 copies sold. 
 From Tots to Teens. 
 
 Dialogues and recitations. 
 Humorous Homespun Pialogues. 
 
 For older ones. 
 Little People's Plays. 
 
 From 7 to 13 years of age. 
 Lively Dialogues. 
 
 For all ages; mostly humorous. 
 Merry Little Dialogues. 
 
 Thirty-eight original selections. 
 When the Lessons are Over. 
 
 Dialogues, drills, plays. 
 Wide Awake Dialogues. 
 
 Original successful. 
 
 SPEAKERS, MONOLOGUES 
 
 Choice Pieces for Little People. 
 
 A child's speaker. 
 The Comic Entertainer. 
 
 Recitations, monologues, dialogues. 
 Dialect Readings. 
 
 Irish, Dutch, Negro, Scotch, etc. 
 The Favorite Speaker. 
 
 Choice prose and poetry. 
 The Frjday Afternoon Speaker. 
 
 For pupils of all ages. 
 Humorous Monologues. 
 
 Particularly for ladies. 
 Monologues for Young. Folks. 
 
 Clever, humorous, original. 
 
 Mon 
 
 Scrap -^^18 348 647 01 
 
 Choice collections, pamT..' « 
 
 morous, descriptive, prose, 
 poetry. 15 Nos., per No. 25c 
 
 DRILLS 
 
 The Best Drill Book. 
 
 Very popular drills and marches. 
 The Favorite Book of Drills. 
 
 Drills that sparkle with originality. 
 Little Plays With Drills. 
 
 For children from 6 to 11 years. 
 The Surprise Drill Book. 
 
 Fresh, novel, drills and marches. 
 
 SPECIALTIES 
 
 The Boys' Entertainer. 
 
 Monologues, dialogues, drills. 
 Children's Party Book. 
 
 Invitations, decorations, games. 
 The Days We Celebrate. 
 
 Entertainments for all the holidays. 
 Good Things for Christmas. 
 
 Recitations, dialogues, drills. 
 Good Things for Sunday Schools. 
 
 Dialogues, exercises, recitations. 
 Good Things for Thanksgiving. 
 
 A gem of a book. * 
 
 Good Things for Washington. 
 
 and Lincoln Birthdays. 
 Little Folks' Budget. 
 
 Easy pieces to speak, songs. 
 One Hundred Entertainments. 
 
 New parlor diversions, socials. 
 Patriotic Celebrations. 
 
 Great variety of material. 
 Pictured Readings and Tableaux. 
 
 Entirely original features. 
 Pranks and Pastimes. 
 
 Parlor games for children. 
 Private Theatricals. 
 
 How to put on plays. 
 Shadow Pictures, Pantomimes, 
 
 Charades, and how to prepare. 
 Tableaux and Scenic Readings. 
 
 New and novel; for all ages. 
 Twinkling Fingers and Sway- 
 ing Figures. For little tots. 
 Yuletide Entertainments. 
 
 A choice Christmas collection. 
 
 MINSTRELS, JOKES 
 
 Black American Joker. 
 
 Minstrels* and end men's gags. 
 A Bundle of Burnt Cork Comedy. 
 
 Monologues, stump speeches, etc. 
 Laughland, via the Ha-Ha Route. 
 
 A merry trip for fun tourists. 
 Negro Minstrels. 
 
 All about the business. 
 The New Jolly Jester.^ 
 
 Funny stories, jokes, gags, etc. 
 
 Large Illustrated Catalogue Free 
 
 T.S.DENISON & COMPANY, Publishers ,154 W. Randolph St, .Chicago