IVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA 
 AT LOS ANGELES
 
 POLITE FARCES 
 
 5 4 4 1 ; ^
 
 By the same Author. 
 
 A MAX FROM THE NORTH : A Novel. 
 JOURNALISM FOR WOMEN.
 
 POLITE fARCES 
 
 for the Drawina*=room 
 
 BY 
 
 E. A. BENNETT 
 
 LONDON 
 
 LAMLEY AND CO. 
 
 1900

 
 
 v1 
 
 r 
 
 4 
 
 v 
 
 ^ 
 
 f^ TO 
 
 A'^ F. C. B. 
 
 MY BROTHER AND COLLEAGUE. 

 
 NOTE 
 
 The three farces comprising the present book 
 have been written for drawing-room per- 
 formance. Dumas pere, the father of modern 
 drama, once said that all he needed was " four 
 trestles, four boards, two actors, and a passion." 
 For myself, I have dispensed with the trestles, 
 the boards, and the passion, since none of these 
 things is suitable for a drawing-room. The 
 only apparatus necessary to the presentation 
 of the pieces is ordinary costume, ordinary 
 furniture, and a single door for entrance and 
 
 exit. 
 
 E. A. B.
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE STEPMOTHER {Farce in One Act) . ii 
 
 A GOOD WOMAN {Farce in One Act) . 51 
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX {Farce in One Act) . 87
 
 The Stepmother 
 
 FARCE IN ONE ACT
 
 }4 
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 Cora Prout (a popular novelist and a widow, 30). 
 
 Adrian Prout {her stepson, 20). 
 
 Thomas Gardner (a doctor, 35). 
 
 Christine Feversham (Mrs. Front's secretary, 20).
 
 Scene. — Mrs. ProiiCs study : luxuriously fur- 
 nished ; large table in centre, upon which are a 
 new novel, press-cuttings, and the nsual apparatus 
 of literary composition. 
 
 [Christine is seated at the large table, ready for 
 work, and awaiting the adveut of Mrs. Prout. To 
 pass the time she picks up the novel, the leaves of 
 which are not cut, and glances at a page here and 
 there. Enter Mrs. Prout, hurried and preoccupied ; 
 the famous novelist is attired in a plain morning 
 gown, which in the perfection of its cut displays the 
 beauty of her figure. She nods absently to Chris- 
 tine, and sits down in an armchair away from 
 the table.^ 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Good morning, Mrs. Prout. I'm afraid 
 you are still sleeping badly. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Do I look it, girl ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 You don't specially look it, Mrs. Prout. 
 
 But I observe. You are my third novelist, 
 
 and they have all taught me to observe. 
 
 "^Before I took up novelists I was with a 
 
 13
 
 14 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 Member of Parliament, and he never ob- 
 served anything except five- line whips. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Really ! Five-line whips ! Oblige me by 
 putting that down in Notebook No. 2. There 
 will be an M.P. in that wretched thirty- 
 thousand word thing I've promised for the 
 Christmas number of the 'Nevi York Siirpriser 
 and it might be useful. I might even make 
 an epigram out of it. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Front [ivrites']. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 And what are your observations about me ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Iwhile ivriting] Well, this is twice in three 
 weeks that you've been here five minutes late 
 in the morning. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Is that all? You don't think my stuff's 
 falhng off? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Oh no, Mrs. Prout ! I know it's not falling 
 off. I was just going to tell you. The butler's 
 been in, and wished me to inform you that he 
 begged to give notice [looking up']. It seems 
 that last night you ordered him to cut the 
 leaves of our new novel [patting book mater- 
 nally']. He said he just looked into it, and 
 he thinks it's disgraceful to ask a respectable
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 15 
 
 butler to cut the leaves of such a book. So 
 he begs to give warning. Oh no, Mrs. Prout, 
 your stuff isn't falling off. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Sj,rimly\ What did you say to hiin, girl ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 First I looked at him, and then I said, 
 " Brown, you will probably be able to get a 
 place on the reviewing staff of The Methodist 
 Recorder. ^^ 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Christine, one day, I really believe, you will 
 come to employ a secretary of your own. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I hope so, Mrs. Prout. But I intend to 
 keep off the morbid introspection line. You 
 do that so awfully well. I think I shall go 
 in for smart dialogue, with marquises and 
 country houses, and a touch of old-fashioned 
 human nature at the bottom. It appears to 
 me that's what's coming along very shortly. 
 . . . Shall we begin, Mrs. Prout ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [disinclined'] Yes, I suppose so [clearing 
 her throat]. By the way, anything special in 
 the press-cuttings ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Nothing very special [fingering the pile oj 
 press-cuttings] . The Morning Call says, "genius 
 in every line."
 
 1 6 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 \h\asc\ Hum ! 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 The Daily Reporter: "Cora Prout maybe 
 talented — we should hesitate to deny it — but 
 she is one of several of our leading novelists 
 who should send themselves to a Board School 
 in order to learn grammar." 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Grammar again ! They must keep a gram- 
 mar in the office ! Personally I think it's 
 frightfully bad form to talk about grammar to 
 a lady. But they never had any taste at the 
 Reporter. Don't read me any more. Let us 
 commence work. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Which will you do, Mrs. Prout ? {^consuUing 
 a diary of engagements.'] There's the short 
 story for the Illustrated Monthly, six thousand, 
 promised for next Saturday. There's the 
 article on " Women's Diversions " for the 
 British Review — they wrote for that yester- 
 day. There's the serial that begins in the 
 Sunday Daily Sentinel in September — you've 
 only done half the first instalment of that. 
 And of course there's Heart Ache. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 I think ril go on with Heart Ache. I feel 
 it coming. Pll do the short story for the 
 Ulnstrated to-morrow. Where had I got to ?
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 17 
 
 ^ CHRISTINE ^ 
 
 "^ [choosing the correct notebook, reads'l " The 
 inanimate form of the patient hxy hke marble 
 on the marble slab of the operating-table. 
 * The sponge, Nurse/ said the doctor, ' where 
 is it ? '" That's where you'd got to, 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Yes. I remember. New line. " Isabel 
 gazed at him imperturbably." New line. 
 Quote-marks. "'I fear, Doctor,' she re- 
 marked, ' that in a moment of forgetfulness 
 you have sewn it up in our poor patient.' " 
 New line. Quote-marks. " 'Damn !' said the 
 doctor, " so I have,' " Rather good, that, 
 Christine, eh ? [Christine writes in short- 
 hand.'] 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Oh, Mrs. Prout, I think it's beautiful. So 
 staccato and crisp. By the way, I forgot to 
 tell you that there's a leader in the Daily 
 Snail on that frightful anonymous attack in 
 the Forum against your medical accuracy 
 [looking at Mrs. Prout, who is silent, but 
 shows signs of agitation']. You remember — 
 "Medicine in Fiction." The Snail backs 
 up the Forum for all it's worth, , , . Mrs. 
 Prout, you are ill. I was sure you were. 
 What can I get for you ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [weakly wiping her eyes] Nonsense, Chris- 
 2
 
 1 8 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 tine. I am a little unstrung, that is all. I 
 want nothing. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Your imagination is too much for you. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [meekly'] Perhaps so. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Ifiniily'] But it isn't all due to an abnormal 
 imagination. You've never been quite cheer- 
 ful since you turned Mr. Adrian out. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 You forget yourself, Christine. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I forget nothing, Mrs. Prout, myself least 
 of all. Mr. Adrian is your dead husband's 
 son, and you turned him out of your house, 
 and now you're sorry. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Christine, you know perfectly well that I 
 — er — requested him to go because he would 
 insist on making love to you, which inter- 
 fered with our work. Besides, it was not 
 quite nice for a man to make love to the 
 secretary of his stepmother. I wonder you 
 are indelicate enough to refer to the matter. 
 You should never have permitted his 
 advances. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I didn't permit them. I wasn't asked to. 
 I tolerated them. I hadn't been secretary to
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 19 
 
 a lady-novelist with a stepson before, and I 
 wasn't quite sure what was included in the 
 duties. I always like to give satisfaction. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 You do give satisfaction. Let that end the 
 , discussion. 
 
 y CHRISTINE 
 
 \_pouiing; turning to her notebook; reads] y, 
 " ' Damn ! ' said the doctor, ' so I have ' " 
 [jpause']. "'Damn!' said the doctor, 'so I 
 have ' " \_pause']. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Christine, did you find out who was the 
 author of that article on " Medicine in 
 Fiction " ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Is that what's bothering you, Mrs. Prout ? 
 Of course it was a nasty attack, but it is very 
 unlike you to trouble about critics. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 It has hurt me more than I can say. That 
 was why I asked you to make a few discreet 
 inquiries. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I did ask at my club. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 And what did they think there ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 They laughed at me, and said every one 
 knew you had written it yourself just to keep
 
 20 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 the silly season alive, July being a sickly 
 month for reputations. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 What did you say to that ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I should prefer not to repeat it. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Christine, I insist. Your modesty is be- 
 coming a disease. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I said they were fools 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 A httle abrupt, perhaps, but effective. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 — Not to see that the grammar was dif- 
 ferent from ours. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Oh ! that was what you said, was it ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 It was, and it settled them. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [assuming a confidential air] Christine, I 
 beheve I know who wrote that article. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Who? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Dr. Gardner [hursts into tears']. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [soothing her] But he hves on the floor 
 below, in the very flat underneath this.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 21 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [choking back her sobs'] Yes. It is too 
 dreadful. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 But he comes here nearly every evening. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [sharply] Who told you that ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Now, Mrs. Prout, let me implore you to be 
 calm. The butler told me. I didn't ask 
 him, and as I cannot be expected to foretell 
 what my employer's butler will say before he 
 opens his mouth, I am not to blame [com- 
 presses her lips]. Shall we continue ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Christine, do you think it was Dr. Gardner ? 
 I would give worlds to know. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [coldly analytic] Do you mean that you 
 would give worlds to know that it was Dr. 
 Gardner, or that it wasn't Dr. Gardner ? Or 
 would give worlds merely to know the 
 author's name — no matter who he might 
 be? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [sighing] You are dreadfully unsympathetic 
 this morning. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I am placid, nothing else. Please recollect 
 that when you engaged me you asked if you
 
 22 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 might rely on me to be placid, as your pre- 
 vious secretary, when you dictated the 
 pathetic chapters, had wept so freely into 
 her notebook that she couldn't transcribe her 
 stuff, besides permanently injuring her eye- 
 sight. Since you ask my opinion as to Dr. 
 Gardner being the author of this attack on 
 you, I say that he isn't. Apart from the facts 
 that he lives on the floor below, and that he 
 is, so the butler says, a constant visitor in the 
 evenings, there is the additional fact — a fact 
 which I have several times observed for my- 
 self without the assistance of the butler — 
 that he likes you. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 You have noticed that. It is true. But 
 the question is : Does he like me sufficiently 
 not to attack my work in the public press ? 
 That is the point. The writer of that cruel 
 article begins by saying that he has no per- 
 sonal animus, and that he is actuated solely 
 by an enthusiasm for the cause of medicine 
 and the m.edical profession. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 You mean to infer, Mrs. Prout, that the 
 author of the article might, as a man, hke 
 you, while as a doctor he despised you ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [_whiinpering again^ That is my sus- 
 picion.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 23 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 But Dr. Gardner does more than like you. 
 He adores you. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 He adores my talent, my genius, my fame, 
 my wealth ; but does he adore mc f I am 
 not an ordinary woman, and it is no use pre- 
 tending that I am. I must think of these 
 things. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Neither is Dr. Gardner an ordinary doctor. 
 His researches into toxicology 
 
 MRS. PROUT . 
 
 His researches are nothing to me. I wish 
 he wasn't a doctor at all. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Even doctors have their place in the world, 
 Mrs. Prout. 
 
 MRS. PROUT . 
 
 They should not meddle with hction, 
 poking their noses ■ 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 But if fiction meddles with them f . . .you 
 know fiction is really very meddlesome. It 
 pokes its nose with great industry. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 ipulling herself together'] Christine, you 
 have never understood me. Let us continue. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 {with an offended air, turning once more to
 
 24 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 her notebook'] " ' Damn ! ' said the doctor, 
 ' so I have.' " 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [coughing] New Hne. "A smile flashed 
 across the Hps of Isabel as she took up a 
 
 glittering knife " [gives a great sob]. Oh, 
 
 Christine ! I'm sure Dr. Gardner wrote it. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Very well, madam. He wrote it. We have 
 at last settled something. [Airs. Front buries her 
 face in her hands. Christine looks np, and after 
 an instaufs pause springs towards her] You 
 poor dear ! You are perfectly hysterical this 
 morning. You must go and lie down for a 
 little. A horizontal posture is what you 
 need. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Perhaps you are right. I will leave you 
 for an hour [totters to her feet]. Take down 
 this note for Dr. Gardner. He may call this 
 morning. In fact, I rather think he will. 
 " The answer to the question is ' No ' ^' — 
 capital A^ 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Shall I sign it ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Yes ; sign it " C. P." And if he comes, 
 give it him yourself, and say that I can see 
 no one. And, Christine, would you mind 
 [crying gently again] seeing the b-b-butler,
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 25 
 
 and try to reason him into a sensible attitude 
 towards my n-n-novels. In my present 
 state of health I couldn't stand any change. 
 And he is so admirable at table. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Shall I offer some compromise in our next 
 novel ? I might inquire what is the irre- 
 ducible minimum of his demands. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [faintly^ Anything, anything, if he will 
 stay. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [following Mrs. Front to the door, and touch- 
 ing her shoulder caressingly'] Try to sleep. 
 
 \_Exil Mrs. Prout. 
 
 [Christine whistles in a low tone as she returns 
 meditatively to her seat.] 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [looking at notebook] " Isabel took up a 
 ghttering knife," did she ? " The answer to 
 the question is ' No,' " with a capital iV. 
 " C. P." sounds like Carter Paterson. Now, 
 as I have nothing to do, I think I will devote 
 the morning to an article on " Hysteria in 
 Lady Novelists." Um ! Ah ! " The answer 
 to the question is * No' "—capital N. What 
 question ? Can it be that the lily-white hand 
 of the author of Heart- Ache has . . . [knock'] 
 Come in.
 
 26 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 Enter Dr. Gardner. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Oh, good morning, Miss Feversham. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Good morning. Dr. Gardner. You seem 
 surprised to see me here. Yet I am to be 
 found in this chair daily at this hour. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Not at all, not at all. I assure you I fully 
 expected to find both you and the chair. I 
 also expected to find Mrs. Prout. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Are you capable of interrupting our literary 
 labours ? We do not receive callers so 
 early. Dr. Gardner. Which reminds that I. 
 have several times remarked that this study 
 ought not to have a door opening into the 
 corridor. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 As for that, may I venture to offer the 
 excuse that I had an appointment with Mrs. 
 Prout ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 At what hour ? She never makes appoint- 
 ments before noon. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I believe she did say twelve o'clock. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [looking at her watcK] And it is now twenty- 
 iive minutes to ten. Punctuality is a virtue.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 27 
 
 You may be said to have raised it to the 
 dignity of a fine art. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I will wait [s/7s i]oxmi\. I trust I do not 
 interrupt ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes, Doctor, I regret to say that you do. 
 I was about to commence the composition of 
 an article. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Upon what ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Upon " Hysteria in Lady Novelists." It is 
 my speciality. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Surely lady novelists are not hysterical ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 The increase of hysteria among that class of 
 persons is one of the saddest features of the age. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Dear me ! \cnt]msiastically\ But I can tell 
 you the name of one lady novelist who isn't 
 hysterical— and that, perhaps, the greatest 
 name of all — Mrs. Prout. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Of course not, of course not, Doctor. Never- 
 theless, Mrs. Prout is somewhat indisposed 
 this morning. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Cora— ill ! What is it ? Nothing serious ?
 
 2 8 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Rest assured. The merest slight indisposi- 
 tion. Just sufficient to delay us an hour or 
 two with our work. Nothing more. Nerves, 
 you know. The imagination of a great artist, 
 Dr. Gardner, is often toa active, too stressful, 
 for the frail physical organism. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Ah ! You regard Mrs. Prout as a great 
 artist ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Doctor — even to ask such a question . . . ! 
 Do not you ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I ? To me she is unique. I say, Miss 
 Feversham, were you ever in love ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 In love ? I have had preferences. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Among men ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 No ; among boys. Recollect I am only 
 twenty, though singularly precocious in 
 shrewdness and calm judgment. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Twenty ? You amaze me, Miss Fever- 
 sham. I have often been struck by your 
 common sense and knowledge of the world. 
 They would do credit to a woman of 
 fifty.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 29 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I am glad to notice that you do not stoop to 
 offer me vulgar compliments about my face. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I am incapable of such conduct. I esteem 
 your mental qualities too highly. And so 
 you have had your preferences among boys ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes, I like to catch them from eighteen to 
 twenty. They are so sweet and fresh then, 
 like new milk. The employe of the Express- 
 Dairy Company who leaves me my half-pint 
 at my lodgings each morning is a perfectly 
 lovely dear. I adore him. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 He is one of your preferences, then ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 A preference among milkmen, of whom, as 
 I change my lodgings frequently, I have 
 known many. Then there is the postman — 
 not a day more than eighteen, I am sure, 
 though that is contrary to the regulations at 
 St. Martin's-le-Grand. Dr. Gardner, you 
 should see my postman. When he brings 
 them I can receive even rejected articles with 
 equanimity. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I should be charmed to see him. But tell 
 me, Miss Feversham, have you had no serious 
 preferences ?
 
 30 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 You seem interested in this question of 
 preferences. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I am. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Doctor, I will open my heart to you. It is 
 conceivable you may be of use to me. You 
 are on friendly terms with Adrian, and doubt- 
 less you know the history of his exit from this 
 house. [Gardner nods^ with a smile.'\ Doctor, 
 he and I are passionately attached to each 
 other. Our ages are precisely alike. It is a 
 beautiful idyll, or rather it would be. if dear 
 Mrs. Prout did not try to transform it into a 
 tragedy. She has not only turned the darhng 
 boy out, but she has absolutely forbidden him 
 the house. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Doubtless she had her reasons. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Oh, I'm sure she had. Only, you see, her 
 reasons aren't ours. Of course we could 
 marry at once if we chose. I could easily 
 keep Adrian. I do not, however, wish to in- 
 convenience dear Mrs. Prout. It is a mistake 
 to quarrel with the rich relations of one's 
 future husband. But I was thinking that 
 perhaps you. Doctor, might persuade dear 
 Mrs. Prout that my marriage to Adrian need
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 31 
 
 not necessarily interfere with the performance 
 of my duties as her secretary. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Anything that I can do, Miss Feversham, 
 you may rely on me doing. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 You are a dear. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 But why should you imagine that I have 
 any influence with Mrs. Prout ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I do not imagine ; I know. It is my un- 
 erring insight over again, my faultless obser- 
 vation. Doctor, you did not begin to question 
 me about love because you were interested 
 in my love affairs, but because you were 
 interested in your own, and couldn't keep off 
 the subject. I read you like a book. You 
 love Mrs. Prout, my dear Doctor. Therefore 
 you have influence over her. No woman is 
 uninfluenced by the man who loves her. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 \laughing between self-satisfaction and self- 
 consciousness'] You have noticed that I admire 
 Mrs. Prout ? It appears that nothing escapes 
 you. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 That is a trifle. The butler has noticed it. 
 
 ARDNER 
 
 The butler !
 
 32 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 The butler. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 \wiih abandon] Let him. Let the whole 
 world notice. Miss Feversham, be it known 
 that I love Mrs. Prout with passionate adora- 
 tion. Before the day is out I shall either be 
 her affianced bridegroom — or I shall be a 
 dead man. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [leaning forward ; in a low, tense voice] You 
 proposed to her last night ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I did. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 And you were to come for the answer this 
 morning ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Yes. Can you not guess that I am eager — 
 excited ? Can you not pardon me for think- 
 ing it is noon at twenty-five minutes to ten ? 
 Ah, Miss Feversham, if Adrian adores you 
 with one-tenth of the fire with which I adore 
 Mrs. Prout 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Stop, Doctor. I do not wish to be a burnt 
 sacrifice. Now let me ask you a question. 
 You have seen that attack on Mrs._ Prout, 
 entitled " Medicine in Fiction," in this month's 
 Forum. Do you know the author of it ?
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 33 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I don't. Has it disturbed Mrs. Proiit ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 It has. Did she not mention it to you ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Not a word. If I did know the author of 
 it, if I ever do know the author of it, I will 
 tear him \_ fiercely^ limb from limb. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I trust you will chloroform him first. It 
 will be horrid of you if you don't. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I absolutely decline to chloroform him first. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 You must. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I won't. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Never mind. Perhaps you will be dead. 
 Remember that you have promised to kill 
 yourself to-day on a certain contingency. 
 Should you really do it ? Should you really 
 put an end to your life if Mrs. Front gave you 
 a refusal ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I swear it. Existence would be valueless 
 to me. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 By the way, Mrs. Front told me that if you 
 called I was to say that she could see no one. 
 
 3
 
 34 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 See no one ! But she promised . . . 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 However, she left a note. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Istartiiigup'] Give it me instantly. Why 
 didn't you give it me before ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I had no opportunity. Besides, I haven't 
 transcribed it yet It was dictated. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Dictated f Are you sure ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [senouslyl Oh yes, she dictates everything. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Well, well, read it to me, read it to me. 
 Quick, I say. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [turning over leaves rapidly'] Here it is. 
 Are you listening ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Great Heaven ! 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [reads from her shorthand note] "The 
 answer to your question is " 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Go on. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [drawing her breath first] " Yes.— C. P." 
 There ! I've saved your life for you.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 35 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 You have indeed, my dear girl. But I 
 must see her. I must see my beloved Cora. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [taking his hand] Accept my advice, Doctor 
 — the advice of a simple, artless girl. Do not 
 attempt to see her to-day. There are seasons 
 of emotion when a woman \_slops]. . . . Go 
 downstairs and write to her, and then give 
 the letter to me. \_Pals him on the back.] 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I will, by Jove. Miss Feversham, you're a 
 good sort. And as you've told me something, 
 I'll tell you something. Adrian is going to 
 storm the castle to-day. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Adrian ! <[A knock.] 
 .i Enter Adrian. / 
 
 ADRIAN / 
 
 Since you command it, I enter. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Let me pass, bold youth. 
 
 \_Exit Dr. Gardner hurriedly. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 \_overcome by Gardner's haste] Why this 
 avalanche ? Has something happened sud- 
 denly ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Several things have happened suddenly,
 
 36 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 Adrian, and several more will probably 
 . happen when your mamma discovers that 
 you are defying her orders in this audacious 
 manner. Why are you here ? \Kisics him.'] 
 You perfect duck ! 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Igravely'] I am not here, Miss Fever- 
 sham 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 " Miss Feversham "—and my kiss still 
 warm on his lips ! 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 I repeat, Miss Feversham, that I am not 
 here. This [pointing to himself] is not I. It 
 is merely a rather smart member of the staff 
 of the Daily Snail, come to interview Cora 
 Prout, the celebrated novelist. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 And I have kissed a Snail reporter. Ugh ! 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Impetuosity has ruined many women. 
 
 CHRISTINE . 
 
 It is a morning of calamities lassimnng the 
 secretarial pose]. Your card, please. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 \Jianding card] With pleasure. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 \iaking card by the extreme corner, perusing it 
 with disdain, and then dropping it on the floor] 
 We never see interviewers in the mornmg.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 37 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Then I will call this afternoon. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 You must write for an appointment. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Oh ! I'll take my chances, thanks. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 We never give them : it is our rule. We 
 have to be very particular. The fact is, we 
 hate being interviewed, and we only submit 
 to the process out of a respectful regard for 
 the great and enlightened public. Any sort 
 of notoriety, any suggestion of self-advertise- 
 ijient, is distasteful to us. What do you wish 
 to interview us about ? If it's the new novel, 
 we are absolutely mum. Accept that from me. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 It isn't the new novel. The Snail wishes 
 to know whether Mrs. Prout feels inchned to 
 make any statement in reply to that article, 
 " Medicine in Fiction," in the Forum. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Oh, Adrian, do you know anything about 
 that article ? 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Rather ! I know all about it. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 You treasure ! You invaluable darling ! I 
 will marry you to-morrow morning by special 
 licence 
 
 201703
 
 38 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Recollect, it is a S,nail reporter whom you 
 are addressing. Suppose I were to print 
 that ! 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Just so. You are prudence itself, while I, 
 for the moment, happen to be a little — a little 
 abnormal. I saved a man's life this morning, 
 and it is apt to upset one's nerves. It is a 
 dreadful thing to do — to save a man's life. 
 And the consequences will be simply frightful 
 for me \_buries her face in her hands], 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Christine [taking her hands], what are you 
 raving about ? You are not yourself. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I wish I wasn't [looking up with forced calm], 
 Adrian, there is a possibiUty of your being 
 able to save me from the results of my 
 horrible act, if only you will tell me the 
 name of the author of that article in the 
 Forum. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 [tenderly] Christine, you httle know what 
 you ask. But for you I will do any- 
 thing. ... Kiss me, my white lily. [She 
 kisses him] 
 CHRISTINE '■ 
 
 [whispers] Tell me. [Refolds her up in 
 his arms]
 
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 39 
 
 Enter Mrs. Front excitedly. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [as she enters'] Christine, that appalhng 
 butler has actually left the house . . . [ob- 
 serving group] Heavens ! 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 s [quielly disengaging herself] You seem a 
 H^tle better, Mrs. Prout. A person to inter- 
 view you from the Daily Snail [pointing to 
 Adrian], 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Adrian 1 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Yes, mamma. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [opening her lips to speak and then closing 
 them] Sit down. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Certainly, mamma [sits]. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 How dare you come here ? 
 ADRIAN u.;.^ 
 
 I don't know how, mamma [picks up his 
 card from the floor and hands it to her ; then 
 resumes his seat]^ 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [glancing at card] Pah ! 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 That's just what I told the person, Mrs. Prout. 
 [Mrs. Prout burns her up with a glance.]
 
 40 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 You have, then, abandoned your medical 
 studies, for which I had paid all the fees ? 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Yes, mamma. You see, I was obliged to 
 earn something at once. So I took to 
 journaHsm. I am getting on quite nicely. 
 The editor of the Snail says that I may review 
 your next book. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Unnatural stepson, to review in cold blood 
 the novel of your own stepmother ! But 
 this morning I am getting used to misfortunes. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 It cuts me to the heart to hear you refer to 
 any action of mine as a misfortune for you. 
 Perhaps you would prefer that I should at 
 once relieve you of my presence ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Decidedly yes — that is, if Christine thinks 
 she can do without the fifth act of that caress 
 which I interrupted. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 The curtain was already falling, madam. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Very well. \To Adrian] Good-day. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 As a stepson I retire. As the " special" of 
 the Daily Snail I must insist on remaining. A 
 '* special " of the Daily Snail is incapable of
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 41 
 
 being snubbed. He knows wheat he wants, 
 and he gets it, or he ceases to be a " special" 
 of the Daily Snail. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 I esteem the press, and though I should 
 prefer an existence of absohite privacy, I 
 never refuse its demands. I sacrifice m^'self 
 to my pubhc, freely acknowledging that a 
 great artist has no exclusive right to the 
 details of his own daily life. A great artist 
 belongs to the world. What is it you want, 
 Mr. Snail ? 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 I want to know whether you care to say 
 anything in reply to that article on " Medicine 
 in Fiction " in the Forum. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [sinking back in despair'] That article again ! 
 [sitting up] Tell me— do you know the 
 author ? 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 I do. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 His name ! 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 He is a friend of mine. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 His name ! 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 I am informed that in writing it he was
 
 42 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 actuated by the highest motives. His desire 
 was not only to make a httle money, but to 
 revenge himself against a person who had 
 deeply injured him. He didn't know much 
 about medicine, being only a student, and 
 probably the larger part of his arguments 
 could not be sustained, but he knew enough 
 to make a show, and he made it. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 His name ! I insist. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Adrian Spout or Prout — I have a poor 
 memory. . . . 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Is it possible ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Monster ! 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Need I defend myself, mamma ? Con- 
 sider what you had done to me. You had 
 devastated my young heart, which was just 
 unfolding to its first passion. You had 
 blighted the springtime of the exquisite 
 creature [^looking at Christine, who is moved 
 by the feeling in his tones'] — the exquisite 
 creature who was dearer to me than all the 
 world. In place of the luxury of my late 
 father's house you offered me — the street. . . . 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes . . . and Gower Street.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 43 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 You, who should have gently fostered and 
 encouraged the frail buds of my energy and 
 intelligence — you cast me forth . . . 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 _ Cast ihem forth. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 ,Cast them forth, untimely plucked, to 
 wither, and perhaps'die, in the deserts of a 
 great city. And for what ? For what ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Merely lest she should be deprived of my 
 poor services. Ah ! Mrs. Prout, can you 
 wonder that Mr. Adrian should actively 
 resent such conduct — you with your marvel- 
 lous knowledge of human nature ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Adrian, did you really write it ? 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Why, of course. You seem rather pleased 
 than otherwise, mamma. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 \_afUr cogitating'] Ah ! You didn't write 
 it, really. You are just boasting. It is a plot, 
 a plot ! 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 I can prove that I wrote it, since you 
 impugn my veracity. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 How can you prove it ?
 
 44 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 By producing the cheque which I received 
 from the Forum this very morning. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Produce it, and I will forgive all. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 \piih a sign to Christine that he entirely fails 
 to comprehend the situation'] I fly. It is in 
 my humble attic, round the corner. Back in 
 two minutes. \_Exit Adrian. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Christine, did he really write it ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Can you doubt his word ? Was it for 
 lying that you ejected the poor youth from 
 this residence ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Ah ! If he did ! [^smiles'] Of course Dr. 
 Gardner has not called ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes, he was in about twenty minutes ago. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [agonised'] Did you give him my note ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 No. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Thank Heaven ! 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I had not copied it out, so I read it to 
 him.
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 45 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 You read it to him ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes ; that seemed the obvious thing to 
 do. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 \in black despair'] All is over [sinks back]. 
 • Enter Dr. Gardner hastily. 
 
 CHRISTINE ^' 
 — Again ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 [excited] I was looking out of the window 
 of my flat when I saw Adrian tear along the 
 street. I said to myself, " A man, even a 
 reporter, only runs like that when a doctor is 
 required, and urgently required. Some one 
 is ill, perhaps my darling Cora." So I flew 
 upstairs. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [with a shriek] Dr. Gardner ! 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 You are indeed ill, my beloved [approaching 
 her]. What is the matter ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [waving him off] It is nothing, Doctor. 
 Could you get me some salts ? I have mislaid 
 mine [sighs]. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Salts ! In an instant. [Exit Dr. Gardner.
 
 46 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Christine, you said you read my note to 
 Dr. Gardner. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Prout. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 His behaviour is singular in the extreme. 
 He seems positively overjoyed, while the 
 
 freedom of his endearing epithets What 
 
 were the precise terms I used ? Read me 
 the note. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Yes, Mrs. Prout. \reads demurely^ " The 
 answer to your question is * Yes,' " — with a 
 capital A^. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 "Yes" with a capital A^ .^ 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [calmly'] I mean with a capital Y. 
 
 s [Christine and Mrs. Prout look steadily at each 
 other. Then they both smile'] 
 
 Enter Dr. Gardner. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 [handing the salts] You are sure you are 
 not ill ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [smiling at him radiantly] I am convinced 
 of it. Christine, will you kindly reach me 
 down the dictionary from that shelf ?
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 47 
 
 N [M^/w/^ Christine's back is turned Dr. Gardner 
 gives, and Mrs. Prout returns, a passionate kiss^ 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 [handing dictionary'] Here it is, Mrs. Prout. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 [after consulting il] I thought I could not 
 be mistaken. Christine, you have rendered 
 me a service [regarding her affectionately'] — a 
 service for which I shall not forget to express 
 my gratitude ; but I am obliged to dismiss 
 y you instantly from my service. 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Dismiss me, madam ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Cora, can you be so cruel ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Alas, yes ! She has sinned the secretarial 
 sin which is beyond forgiveness. She has 
 misspelt. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Impossible ! 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 It is too true. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Tell me the sad details. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 She has been guilty of spelling " No " with 
 a"Y." 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Dear me ! And a word of one syllable, too !
 
 48 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 Miss Feversham, I should not have thought 
 it of you. 
 
 Enter Adrian. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 [rts he hands a cheque for Mrs. P rout's 
 ■inspection'] Here again, Doctor ? 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Yes, and to stay. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Adrian, the Doctor and I are engaged to be 
 married. And talking of marriage, you ob- 
 serve that girl there in the corner. Take her 
 and marry her at the earhest convenient 
 moment. She is no longer my secretary. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 What ! You consent ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 I consent. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 And you pardon my article ? 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 No, my dear Adrian, I ignore it. Here, 
 take your ill-gotten gains [returning cheque]. 
 They virill bring you no good. And since they 
 vjWX bring you no good, I have decided to 
 allow you the sum of five hundred pounds a 
 year. You must have something. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Stepmother !
 
 THE STEPMOTHER 49 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 ladvancing to take Mrs. Pronfs hand'] 
 Stepniother-in-la\v ! 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Cora, you are an angel. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 Merely an artist, my dear Tom, merely an 
 artist. I have the dramatic sense — that is all. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 Your sense is more than dramatic, it is 
 common ; it is even horse. What about the 
 Snail "special," mummy ? 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 My attitude is one of strict silence. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 But I must go away with something. 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 strict silence. The attack is beneath my 
 notice. 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 But what can I say ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Say that Mrs. Front's late secretary, Miss 
 Feversham, having retired from her post, has 
 already entered upon a career of original 
 literary composition. That will be a nice 
 newsy item, won't it ? 
 
 ADRIAN 
 
 \_taking out notebook'] Rather ! What is 
 she at work on ? 
 
 4
 
 50 THE STEPMOTHER 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Oh, well, I scarcely- 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 I know — " Hysteria in Lady Novelists." 
 
 MRS. PROUT 
 
 What 1 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 \to Christine^ Didn't you tell me so ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 Of course I didn't, Doctor. What a shock- 
 ing memory you have ! It is worse than my 
 spelling. 
 
 GARDNER 
 
 Then what did you say ? 
 
 CHRISTINE 
 
 I said, " Generosity in Lady Novelists." 
 Curtain.
 
 A Good Woman 
 
 FARCE IN ONE ACT
 
 CHARACTERS 
 
 James Brett (a clerk in the War Office, 33). 
 
 Gerald O'Mara (a civil engineer, 24). 
 
 Rosamund Fife (a spinster and a lecturer on cookery, 
 28).
 
 Scene. — RosamwuVs Flat ; the drawing-room. 
 The apartment is plainly furnished. There is a 
 screen in the corner of the room furthest from the 
 door. 
 
 \It is 9 a.m. Rosamund is seated alone at a 
 table. She wears a neat travelling-dress, with a 
 plain straw hat. Her gloves lie on a chair. A 
 small portable desk full of papers is open before 
 her. She gases straight in front of her, smiling 
 vaguely. With a start she recovers from her day- 
 dreams, and rushing to the looking-glass, inspects 
 her features therein. Then she looks at her 
 watcli] 
 
 ^-'ROSAMUND 
 
 Three hours yet ! I'm a fool [with decision^ . 
 
 '[She sits down again, and idly picks up a paper 
 out of the desk . The door opens, unceremoniously 
 but quietly, and James enters. The tivo stare at 
 each other, James wearing a conciliatory smile'] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 You appalling creature ! 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I couldn't help it, I simply couldn't help it. 
 
 53
 
 54 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Do you know this is the very height and 
 summit of indehcacy ? 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I was obhged to come. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 If I had any relations 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Which you haven't, 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 I say ij I had any relations 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I say which you haven't. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Never inind, it is a safe rule for unattached 
 women always to behave as if they had 
 relations, especially female relations, whether 
 they have any or not. My remark is, that if 
 I had any relations they would be absolutely 
 scandalised by this atrocious conduct of 
 yours. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 What have I done ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Can you ask ? Here are you, and here am 
 I. We are to be married to-day at twelve 
 o'clock. The ceremony has not taken place, 
 and yet you are found on my premises. You 
 must surely be aware that on the day of 
 the wedding the parties— yes, the " parties,"
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 55 
 
 that is the word— should on no account see 
 each other till they see each other in church. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 But since we are to be married at a registry 
 office, does the rule apply ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Undoubtedly. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Then I must apologise. My excuse is that 
 I am not up in these minute details ®£ cir- 
 cumspection ; you see I have been married 
 so seldom. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Evidently. \_A pause, during which James at 
 last ventures to approach the middle of the room^ 
 Now you must go back home, and we'll 
 pretend we haven't seen each other. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 "Never, Rosamund ! That wodd be acting / 
 a he:^ And I couldn't dream of getting married" 
 with a lie on my lips. It would be so unusual. 
 No ; we have sinned, or rather I have sinned, 
 on this occasion. I will continue to sin- 
 openly, brazenly. Come here, my dove. A 
 bird in the hand is worth two under a 
 bushel. 
 
 \_He assumes an attitude of entreaty, and, 
 leaving her chair, Rosamund goes towards him. 
 They exchange an ardent kiss']
 
 56 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 {^quietly submissive'] I'm awfully busy, you 
 know, Jim. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I will assist you in your little duties, dearest, 
 and then I will accompany you to the sacred 
 
 > ed to the registry office. Now, what 
 
 were you doing ? 
 
 [She sits down, and he puts a chair for himself 
 close beside her] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 You are singularly unlike yourself this 
 morning, dearest. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Nervous tension, my angel. I should have 
 deemed it impossible that an employe of the 
 War Office could experience the marvellous 
 and exquisite sensations now agitating my 
 heart. But tell me, what are you doing with 
 these papers ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Well, I was just going to look through 
 them and see if they contained anything 
 of a remarkable or valuable nature. You 
 see, I hadn't anything to occupy myself 
 with. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Was 'oo bored, waiting for the timey- 
 pimey to come ?
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 57 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Ihands caressing] 'Iss, little pet was bored, 
 she was. Was Mr. Pet lonely this morning ? 
 Couldn't he keep away from his little cooky- 
 lecturer ? He should see his little cooky- 
 lecturer. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 And that reminds me, hadn't we better 
 lunch in the train instead of at Willis's ? 
 That will give us more time? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Horrid greedy piggy wiggy ! Perhaps he 
 will be satisfied if Mrs. Pet agrees to lunch 
 both at Willis's and in the train ? 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Yes. Only piggywiggy doesn't want to 
 trespass on Mrs. Pet's good nature. Let 
 piggywiggy look at the papers [lie takes up 
 a paper from the desk] . 
 ROSAMUND ^ 
 
 [>. little seriously'] No, Jimmy. I don t 
 thinkNve'U go through them. Perhaps it 
 wouldn't be wise. Just let's destroy them 
 [takes paper from his hand and drops it in 
 desk]. I 
 
 JAMES 
 
 [sternly] When you have been the wife of 
 a War Office clerk for a week you will know 
 that papers ought never to be destroyed. 
 Now 1 come to think, it is not only my right
 
 58 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 but my duty to examine this secret dossier. 
 
 Who knows [takes up at random another 
 
 document, which proves to be a postcard. 
 Reads'] " Shall come to-morrow night. 
 Thine, Gerald." 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [after a stariled shriek of consternation'] 
 There ! There ! You've done it, first time ! 
 [She begins to think, with knitted brows] 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Does this highly suspicious postcard point 
 to some — some episode in your past of which 
 you have deemed it advisable to keep me in 
 ignorance ? If so, I seek not to inquire. I for- 
 give you — I take you, Rosamund, as you are ! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [reflective, not heeding his remark] I had 
 absolutely forgotten the whole affair, abso- 
 lutely [smiles a little], [aside] Suppose he 
 should come ! [to James] Jim, I think I 
 had better tell you all about Gerald. It will 
 interest you. Besides, there is no knowing 
 what may happen. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 As I have said, I seek not to inquire. 
 [stiffly] Nor do I imagine that this matter, 
 probably some childish entanglement, would 
 interest me. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Oh, wouldn't it ! Jim, don't be absurd.
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 59 
 
 You know perfectly well you are dying to 
 hear. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Very well, save my life, then, at the least 
 expense of words. To begin with, who is 
 this Gerald—" thine," thine own Gerald ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Don't you remember Gerald O'Mara ? You 
 met him at the Stokes's, I feel sure. You 
 know — the young engineer. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Oh ! That ass ! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 He isn't an ass. He's a very nice boy. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 For the sake of argument and dispatch, 
 agreed ! Went out to Cyprus or somewhere, 
 didn't he, to build a bridge, or make a dock, 
 or dig a well, or something of that kind ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 ^nodding] Now listen, I'll tell you all 
 about it. {seltles herself for a long narration'] 
 Four years ago poor, dear Gerald was madly 
 in love with me. He was twenty and I was 
 twenty-four. Keep calm— I felt like his aunt. 
 Don't forget 1 was av.fully pretty in those 
 days. Well, he was so tremendously in love 
 that in order to keep him from destroying 
 himself— of course, I knew he was going out 
 to Cyprus— I sort of pretended to be sympa-
 
 6o A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 thetic. I simply had to ; Irishmen are so 
 passionate. And he was very nice. And I 
 barely knew you then. Well, the time ap- 
 proached for him to leave for Cyprus, and 
 two days before the ship sailed he sent me 
 that very postcard that by pure chance you 
 picked up. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 He should have written a letter. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Ah ! I expect he couldn't wait. He was 
 so impulsive. Well, on the night before he 
 left England he came here and proposed to 
 me. I remember I was awfully tired and 
 queer. I had been giving a lecture in the 
 afternoon on " How to Pickle Pork," and the 
 practical demonstration had been rather 
 smelly. However, the proposal braced me 
 up. It was the first I had had — that year. 
 Well, I was so sorry for him that I couldn't 
 say " No " outright. It would have been too 
 brutal. He might have killed himself on the 
 spot, and spoilt this carpet, which, by the 
 way, was new then. So I said, " Look here, 
 Gerald " 
 
 JAMES 
 
 You called him " Gerald " ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Rather ! " Look here, Gerald," I said ; 
 " you are going to Cyprus for four years. If
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 6^ 
 
 vour feeling towards me is what you think it 
 is come back to me at the end of those four 
 vears, and I will then give you an answen 
 Of course I felt absolutely sure that m the 
 intervening period he would fall in and out 
 of love half a dozen times at least. 
 
 JAMES . , , i. 
 
 Of course, half a dozen times at least ; 
 probably seven. What did he say in reply? 
 
 ROSAMUND . -41^ 
 
 He agreed with all the seriousness m the 
 world " On this day four years hence," he 
 said, standing just there ipointing]/' I will 
 return for your answer. And in the mean- 
 time I will live only for you." That was 
 what he said— his very words. 
 
 And a most touching speech,too! And then .-' 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 We shook hands, and he tore himself away, 
 stifling a sob. Don't forget, he was a boy. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Have the four years expired ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 1 -, T + 
 
 What is the date of that postcard? Let 
 me see it \snatches it, and smiles at the hand- 
 writing pensively-] July 4th— four years ago. 
 
 JAMES . 
 
 Then it's over. He's not coming. 1 o-day 
 is July 5th.
 
 62 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 But yesterday was Sunday. He wouldn't 
 come on Sunday. He was always very 
 particular and nice. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Do you mean to imply that you think he 
 will come to-day and demand from you an 
 affirmative ? A moment ago you gave me to 
 understand that in your opinion he would 
 have — er — other affairs to attend to. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Yes. I did think so at the time. But now 
 — now I have a kind of idea that he may 
 come, that after all he may have remained 
 faithful. You know I was maddeningly pretty 
 then, and he had my photograph. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Tell me, have you corresponded ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 No, I expressly forbade it. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Ah! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 But still, I have a premonition he may 
 come. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 \_assuniing a pugnacious pose] If he does, I 
 will attend to him. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Gerald was a terrible fighter.
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 63 
 
 [A resounding knock is heard at the door. Both 
 start violently, and look at each other in silence. 
 Rosamund goes to the door and opens if] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [with an unsteady laugh of relief ] Only the 
 postman with a letter [she returns to her seat] 
 No, I don't expect he will come, really 
 [j)uts letter idly on table]. 
 
 [Another knock still louder. Renewed start] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Now that is he, I'm positive. He always 
 knocked like that. Just fancy. After four 
 years ! Jim, just take the chair behind that 
 screen for a bit. I must hide you. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 No, thanks ! The screen dodge is a trifle 
 too frayed at the edges. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Only for a minute. It would be such fun. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 No, thanks. [Another knock] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [with forced sweetness] Oh, very well, 
 then. . . . 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Oh, well, of course, if you take it in that 
 way 
 
 [He proceeds to a chair behind screen, which 
 does not, however^ hide him from the audience]
 
 64 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [smiles his reward] I'll explain it all right. 
 [loudly'] Come in ! 
 
 Enter Gerald O'Mara. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 So you are in ! [hastens across room to shake 
 hands] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Oh, yes, I am in. Gerald, how are you ? I 
 must say you look tolerably well, [they sit 
 down'] 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Oh ! I'm pretty fit, thanks. Had the most 
 amazing time in spite of the climate. And 
 you ? Rosie, you haven't changed a little 
 bit. How's the cookery trade getting along ? 
 Are you still showing people how to con- 
 coct French dinners out of old bones and 
 a sardine tin ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Certainly. Only I can do it without the 
 bones now. You see, the science has pro- 
 gressed while you've been stagnating in 
 Cyprus. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Stagnating is the word. You wouldn't 
 beheve that climate ! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 What ! Not had nice weather ? What a
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 65 
 
 shame ! I thought it was tremendously sun- 
 shiny in Cyprus. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Yes, that's just what it is, 97° in the 
 shade when it doesn't happen to be pour- 
 ing with malarial rain. We started a little 
 golf club at Nicosia, and laid out a nine-hole 
 course. But the balls used to melt. So we 
 had to alter the rules, keep the balls in an ice- 
 box, and take a fresh one at every hole. 
 Think of that ! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 My poor boy ! But I suppose there were 
 compensations ? You referred to " an amaz- 
 ing time." 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Yes, there were compensations. And that 
 reminds me, I want you to come out and 
 lunch with me at the Savoy. I've got some- 
 thing awfully important to ask you. In fact, 
 that's what I've come for. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Sorry I can't, Gerald. The fact is, I've got 
 something awfully important on myself just 
 about lunch time. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Oh, yours can wait. Look here, I've ordered 
 the lunch. I made sure you'd come. \_Rosa- 
 miind shakes her head'] Why can't you ? It's 
 not cooking, is it ? 
 
 5
 
 66 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Only a goose. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 What goose ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Well — my own, and somebody else's. 
 Listen, Gerald. Had you not better ask me 
 this awfully important question now? No 
 time Hke the present. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 I can always talk easier, especially on 
 delicate topics, with a pint of something 
 handy. But if you positively won't come, I'll 
 get it off my chest now. The fact is, Rosie, 
 I'm in love. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 With whom ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Ah ! That's just what I want you to tell 
 me. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 \_siiddenly starting] Gerald ! what is that 
 dreadful thing sticking out of your pocket, 
 and pointing right at me ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 That ? That's my revolver. Always carry 
 them in Cyprus, you know. Plenty of sport 
 there. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 {breathing again] Kindly take it out of
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 67 
 
 your pocket and put it on the table. Then 
 if it does go off, it will go off into something 
 less valuable than a cookery-lecturer. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 {laughingly obeying her'] There. If any- 
 thing happens it will happen to the screen. 
 Now, Rosie, I'm in love, and I desire that you 
 should tell me whom I'm in love with. 
 There's a magnificent girl in Cyprus, daughter 
 of the Superintendent of Police 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Name ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Evelyn. Age nineteen. I tell you I was 
 absolutely gone on her. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Symptoms ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Well — er — whenever her name was men- 
 tioned I blushed terrifically. Of course, that 
 was only one symptom. . . . Then I met a 
 girl on the home steamer — no father or 
 mother. An orphan, you know, awfully 
 interesting. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Name ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Madge. Nice name, isn't it ? [Rosamund 
 nods'] I don't mind telling you, I was con- 
 siderably struck by her — still am, in fact.
 
 68 
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Symptoms ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Oh ! . . . Let me see, I never think of her 
 without turning absolutely pale. I suppose 
 it's what they call "pale with passion. 
 
 Notice it? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 \somewhat coldly-] It seems to me the 
 situation amounts to this. There are two 
 girls One is named Evelyn, and the thought 
 of her makes you blush. The other is named 
 Madge, and the thought of her makes you 
 turn ''pale. You fancy yourself m love, and 
 you wish me to decide for you whether it is 
 Madge or Evelyn who agitates your breast 
 the more deeply. 
 
 GERALD , •, D • 
 
 That's not exactly the way to put it, Kosie. 
 You take a fellow up too soon. Of course 
 I must tell you lots more yet. You should 
 hear Evelyn play the " Moonlight Sonata. 
 It's the most marvellous thing. . • • And then 
 Madge's eyes ! The way that girl can look at 
 a fellow. . . . I'm telling you all these things, 
 you know, Rosie, because I've always looked 
 up to you as an elder sister. 
 ROSAMUND • i 7 • 
 
 \ after a pause, during which she gazes into his 
 face] I suppose it was in my character of
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 69 
 
 your elder sister, that yon put a certain ques- 
 tion to me four years ago last night ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 [staggered; pulls himself together for a great 
 resolve; after a long pause-] Uosie ! I never 
 thought afterwards you'd take it seriously. I 
 forgot it all. I was only a boy then, [speak- 
 ing quicker and quicker-] But I see clearly 
 now I never could withstand you. It's 
 all rot about Evelyn and Madge. It's you 
 I'm in love with ; and I never guessed it ! 
 Rosie ! . . . [Rushes to her and impetuously 
 flings his arms around her neck.] 
 
 JAMES 
 
 [who, during the foregoing scene, has been piU 
 of uneasy gestures ; leaping with incredible swift- 
 ness from the shelter of the screen] Sir ! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [pushing Gerald quietly away] Gerald ! 
 
 JAMES 
 
 May I inquire, sir, what is the precise 
 significance of this attitudinising ? [Gerald 
 has scarcely yet abandoned his amorous pose, but 
 now does so quickly.] Are we in the middle of 
 a scene from " Romeo and Juliet," or is this 9.30 
 a m. in the nineteenth century ? If Miss Fife 
 had played the " Moonlight Sonata " to you, 
 or looked at you as Madge does, there might 
 perhaps have been some shadow of an excuse 
 for your extraordinary and infamous conduct.
 
 70 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 But since she has performed neither of these 
 feats of skill, I fail to grasp — I say I fail to 
 grasp — er 
 
 GERALD 
 
 [_slowly recovering from an amazement which 
 has rendered him mute'] Rosie, a man con- 
 cealed in your apartment ! But perhaps it is 
 the piano-tuner. I am willing to believe the 
 best. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Let me introduce Mr. James Brett, my 
 future husband, Jim, this is Gerald. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I have gathered as much. l_the men bow 
 stiffly] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 ^dreamily] Poor, poor Gerald ! 
 
 [Her tone is fu II of feeling. Jam es is evidently 
 deeply affected by it. He walks calmly and 
 steadily to the table and picks up the revolver] 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Sir, that tool is mine. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Sir, the fact remains that it is an engine of 
 destruction, and that I intend to use it. 
 Rosamund, the tone in which you uttered 
 those three words, " Poor, poor Gerald 1 " 
 convinces me, a keen observer of symptoms, 
 that I no longer possess your love. Without
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 7i 
 
 your love, life to me is meaningless. I 
 object to anything meaningless— even a word 
 I shall therefore venture to deprive myself of 
 life. Goodbye ! \To Gerald.-] Sir, I may 
 see you later. Iraises the revolver to his 
 temples] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 \_appealing to Gerald to interfere] Gerald ! 
 
 Gerald 
 
 Mr. Brett, I repeat that that revolver is 
 mine. It would be a serious breach of good 
 manners if you used it without my consent, a 
 social solecism of which I believe you, as a 
 friend of Miss Fife's, to be absolutely in- 
 capable. Still, as the instrument happens to 
 be in your hand, you may use it— but not on 
 yourself. Have the goodness, sir, to aim at 
 me. I could not permit myself to stand m 
 the way of another's happiness, as I should do 
 if I continued to exist. At the same time I 
 have conscientious objections to suicide. You 
 will therefore do me a service by aimuig 
 straight. Above all things, don't hit Miss Fife. 
 I merely mention it because I perceive that 
 you are unaccustomed to the use of firearms. 
 If olds his arms] 
 
 J.AMES 
 
 Rosamund, do you love me ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 My Jim !
 
 72 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 .TAMES 
 
 {deeply movcd~\ The possessive pronoun 
 convinces me that you do. [smiling blandly'} 
 Sir, I will grant your most reasonable de- 
 mand, [^aiins at Gerald'] 
 
 ROSAMUXD 
 
 \Jialf shrieking] I don't love you if you 
 shoot Gerald. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 But, my dear, this is irrational. He has 
 asked me to shoot him, and I have as good 
 as promised to do so. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 \_entreating] James, in two hours we are 
 to be married . . . Think of the complica- 
 tions. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Married ! To-day ! Then I withdraw my 
 request. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Yes ; perhaps it will be as well, [lowers 
 revolver] 
 
 GERALD 
 
 I have never yet knowingly asked a friend, 
 even an acquaintance, to shoot ine on his 
 wedding-day, and I will not begin now. 
 Moreover, now I come to think of it, the 
 revolver wasn't loaded. Mr. Brett, I inad- 
 vertently put you in a ridiculous position. I 
 apologise.
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 73 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I accept the apology. 
 
 [The general tension slackens. Both the men 
 begin to whistle gently, in the effort after uncon- 
 cern'] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Jim, will you oblige me by putting that 
 revolver down somewhere. I know it isn't 
 loaded ; but so many people have been killed 
 by guns that weren't loaded that I should 
 feel safer . . . [he puts it down on the table'] 
 Thank you ! 
 
 JAMES 
 
 [picking up letter] By the way, here's that 
 letter that came just now. Aren't you going 
 to open it ? The writing seems to me to be 
 something like Lottie Dickinson's. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [taking the letter] It isn't Lottie's ; it's her 
 sister's, [stares at envelope] I know what 
 it is. I know what it is. Lottie is ill, or 
 dead, or something, and can't come and be 
 a witness at the wedding. I'm sure it's that. 
 Now, if she's dead we can't be married to- 
 day ; it wouldn't be decent. And it's fright- 
 fully unlucky to have a wedding postponed. 
 Oh, but there isn't a black border on the 
 envelope, so she can't be dead. And yet 
 perhaps it was so sudden they hadn't time to
 
 74 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 buy mourning stationery ! This is the result 
 of your coming here this morning. I felt 
 sure something would happen. Didn't I tell 
 you so ? 
 
 JAMES 
 
 No, you didn't, my dear. But why don't 
 you open the letter ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 I am opening it as fast as I can. [reads it 
 hurriedly'] There ! I said so ! Lottie fell 
 off her bicycle last night, and broke her 
 ankle— won't be able to stir for a fortnight— 
 in great pain— hopes it won't inconvenience 
 us ! 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Inconvenience ! I must say I regard it as 
 very thoughtless of Lottie to go bicycling the 
 very night before our wedding. Where did 
 she fall off ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Sloane Street. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 That makes it positively criminal. She 
 always falls off in Sloane Street. She makes 
 a regular practice of it. I have noticed it 
 before. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Perhaps she did it on purpose. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Not a doubt of it !
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 75 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 She doesn't want us to get married ! 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I have sometimes suspected that she had a 
 certain tenderness for me [endeavouring to 
 look ineck^. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 The cat ! 
 
 JAMES 
 
 By no means. Cats are never sympathetic. 
 She is. Let us be just before we are jealous. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Jealous ! My dear James ! Have you 
 noticed how her skirts hang ? 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Hang her skirts ! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 You wish to defend her ? 
 
 JAMES 
 
 On the contrary ; it was I who first accused 
 her. 
 
 [Gerald, to avoid the approaching storm, seeks 
 the shelter of the screen, sits down, and taking 
 some paper from his pocket begins thoughtfully 
 to write'] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 My dear James, let me advise you to keep 
 quite, quite calm. You are a little bit 
 upset.
 
 76 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I am a perfect cucumber. But I can hear 
 
 your breathing. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 If you are a cucumber, you are a very 
 indeUcate cucumber. I'm not breathing 
 more than is necessary to sustain hfe. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Yes, you are ; and what's more you'll cry 
 in a minute if you don't take care. You're 
 getting worked up. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 No, I shan't, \sits down and cries] 
 
 JAMES 
 
 What did I tell you ? Now perhaps you 
 will inform me what we are quarrelling about, 
 because I haven't the least idea. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [through her sohs] I do think it's horrid of 
 Lottie. We can't be married with one wit- 
 ness. And I didn't want to be married at a 
 registry ofhce at all. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 My pet, we can easily get another witness. 
 As for the registry ofhce, it was yourself 
 who proposed it, as a way out of a difficulty. 
 I'm High and you're Low 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 I'm not Low ; I'm Broad, or else Evan- 
 gelical.
 
 A GOOD IVOATAAT 77 
 
 JAMES TT- u 1 
 
 [beginning calmly again'] I'm High and 
 you're Broad, and there was a serious ques- 
 tion about candles and a genuflexion, and so 
 we decided on ^ the registry office, which, 
 after all, is much cheaper. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 ld)ying her tears, and putting on a saintly 
 expression-] Well, anyhow, James, we will 
 consider our engagement at an end. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 This extraordinary tiff has lasted long 
 enough, Rosie. Come and be kissed. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Iwith increased saintliness] You mistake me, 
 James. I am not quarrelUng. I am not angry. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Then you have ceased to love me ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 I adore you passionately. But we can 
 never marry. Do you not perceive the warn- 
 ings against such a course ? First of all you 
 come here — drawn by some mysterious, 
 sinister impulse— in breach of all etiquette. 
 That was a Sign. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 A sign of what ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Evil. Then you find that postcard, to 
 remind me of a forgotten episode.
 
 78 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Damn the postcard ! I wish I'd never 
 picked it up. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Hush ! Then comes this letter about 
 Lottie. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Damn that too ! 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [s/tf//s] Then Gerald arrives. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Damn him too ! By the way, where is he ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 \_coniin^ out from behind the screen^ Sir, if 
 you want to influence my future state by 
 means of a blasphemous expletive, let me beg 
 you to do it when ladies are not present. 
 There are certain prayers which should only 
 be uttered in the smoking-room. 
 
 [The two men stab each other with their eyes'] 
 
 JAMES 
 
 I respectfully maintain, Mr. O'Mara, that 
 you had no business to call on my future wife 
 within three hours of her wedding, and throw 
 her into such a condition of alarm and unrest 
 that she doesn't know whether she is going 
 to get married or not. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Sir ! How in the name of Heaven was I 
 to guess
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 79 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 {rising, with an imperative gesture] Stop ! 
 Sit down, both. James [who hesitates], this 
 is the last request I shall ever make of you. 
 [lie sits]. Let me speak. Long ago, from a 
 mistaken motive of kindness, I gave this poor 
 boy [pointing to Gerald'] to understand that 
 I loved him ; that at any rate I should love 
 him in time. Supported by that assurance, 
 he existed for four years through the climatic 
 terrors of a distant isle. I, pampered with 
 all the superfluities of civilisation, forgot this 
 noble youth in his exile. I fell selfishly in 
 love. I promised to marry . . . while he, 
 with nothing to assuage the rigours 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Pardon me, there was Evelyn's " Moon- 
 light Sonata," not to mention Madge's 
 eyes. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 You jest, James, but the jest is untimely. 
 Has he not himself said that these doubtless 
 excellent young women were in fact nothing 
 to him, that it was my image which he kept 
 steadfastly in his heart ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Ye — es, of course, Rosie. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [chiefly to James] The sight of this poor 
 youth tills me with sorrow and compunction
 
 8o A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 and shame. For it reminds me that four 
 years ago I Hed to him. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 It was awfully good of you, you know. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 That is beside the point. At an earher 
 period of this unhappy morning, James, you 
 asseverated that you could not dream of 
 getting married with a lie on your Hps. 
 Neither can I. James, I love you to madness 
 Itakes his inert hand, shakes it, and drops it 
 again']. Goodbye, James ! Henceforth we 
 shall be strangers. My duty is towards Gerald. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 But if you love him . . . ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 With a good woman, conscience comes 
 first, love second. In time I shall learn to 
 love you. I was always quick at lessons. 
 Gerald, take me. It is the only way by 
 which I can purge my lips of the lie uttered 
 four years ago 'iputs her hands on Gerald's 
 shoulders']. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 In about three-quarters of an hour you wdl 
 regret this, Rosamund Fife. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 One never regrets a good action. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Oh ! well ! I say . . . {inarticulate with 
 embarrassment]
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 8i 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 \_after a pause] James we are waiting. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 What for ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 For you to go. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Don't mind me. You forget that I am in 
 the War Office, and accustomed to surprising 
 situations. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Look here, Rosie. It's awfully good of 
 you, and you're doing me a frightfully kind 
 turn ; but I can't accept it, you know. It 
 wouldn't do. Kindness spoils my character. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Yes, and think of the shock to the noble 
 youth. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 I couldn't permit such a sacrifice. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 To a good woman life should be one long 
 sacrifice. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Yes, that's all very well, and I tell you, 
 Rosie, I'm awfully obliged to you. Of 
 course I'm desperately in love with you. 
 That goes without saying. But I also must 
 sacrifice myself. The fact is . . . there's 
 Madge . . .
 
 82 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Well? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Well, you know what a place a steamer is, 
 especially in calm, warm weather. I'm afraid 
 I've rather led her to expect. . . . The fact 
 is, while you and Mr. Brett were having your 
 little discussion just now, I employed the 
 time in scribbling out a bit of a letter to her, 
 and I rather fancy that I've struck one or 
 two deuced good ideas in the proposal line. 
 How's this for a novelty : " My dear Miss 
 Madge, you cannot fail to have noticed from 
 my behaviour in your presence that I admire 
 you tremendously ? " Rather a neat begin- 
 ning, eh ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 But you said you loved me. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Oh, well, so I do. You see I only state that 
 I "admire" her. All the same I feel I'm 
 sort of bound to her, . . . you see how Fm 
 fixed. I should much prefer, of course . . . 
 
 JAMES 
 
 To a good man life should be one long 
 sacrifice. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Exactly, sir. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [steadying herself and approaching James]
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 83 
 
 Jim, my sacrifice is over. It was a terrible 
 ordeal, and nothing but a strict sense of duty 
 could have supported me through such a 
 trying crisis. I am yours. Lead me to the 
 altar. I trust Gerald may be happy with 
 this person named Madge. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 The flame of your love has not faltered ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Ah, no ! 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Well, if my own particular flame hadn' t 
 been fairly robust, the recent draughts might 
 have knocked it about a bit. You have no 
 more sacrifices in immediate view ? . . . 
 
 [She looks at him in a certain ma^'velloiis way, 
 and he suddenly swoops down and kisses her'] 
 
 To the altar ! March ! Dash ! we shall 
 want another witness. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Couldn't I serve ? 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 You're sure it wouldn't be too much for 
 your feelings ? 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Pooh ! I should enjoy it. ... I mean I 
 sha'n't mind very much. Let us therefore 
 start. If we're too soon you can watch the 
 process at work on others, and learn how to
 
 84 A GOOD WOMAN 
 
 comport yourselves. By the way, honey- 
 moon ? 
 
 JAMES 
 
 Paris. Charing Cross 1.30. Dine at 
 Dover. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Then you shall eat that lunch I have 
 ordered at the Savoy. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 Er — talking of lunch, as Pm hostess here, 
 perhaps I should ask you men if you'd Hke a 
 drink. 
 
 JAMES and GERALD 
 
 [looking hopefully at each other'] Well, yes. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 I have some beautiful lemonade. 
 
 JAMES and GERALD 
 
 Istill looking at each other, but ivith a different 
 expression] Oh, that M^ill be delightful ! 
 
 [Lemonade and glasses produced] 
 
 GERALD 
 
 I drink to the happy pair. 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 [a little sinister] And I— to Madge. 
 
 JAMES 
 
 And I— to a good woman— Mrs. Pet [look- 
 ing at her fixedly]. All men like a good 
 woman, but she shouldn't be too good— it's 
 a strain on the system.
 
 A GOOD WOMAN 85 
 
 [General consuiupllon of lemonade, the men 
 bravely swallowing it down. Rosamund rests 
 her head 011 Jameses shoulder] 
 
 ROSAMUND 
 
 It occurs to me, Gerald, you only ordered 
 lunch for two at the Savoy. 
 
 GERALD 
 
 Well, that's right. By that time you and 
 James, if I may call him so, will be one, and 
 me makes two. 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 A Question of Sex 
 
 FARCE IN ONE ACT
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 George Gower (27). 
 
 Francis Gower (liis wcll-prcscrved bachelor uncle). 
 
 May Foster {his married sister, 25). 
 
 Helen Stanton {his wife's married sister, 28).
 
 Scene. — George Go-weir's draiving-room. Even- 
 ing. 
 
 {George Gower is asleep in an easy-chair near the 
 hearth. By his side is a fairly large occasional 
 table, on which are some writing materials and an 
 empty glass. 
 
 Enter May Foster and Helen Stanton. They 
 open the door quietly, and pause on the threshold 
 to observe the sleeper. They are both in a pleased, 
 gay mood of gentle excitation, but at first they 
 speak low'] 
 
 MAY 
 
 The wretch still sleeps. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes. A man is a marvellous thing. Such 
 talent in some directions. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Let's wake him now. I should think he'd 
 had enough. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Enough ! Well. . . . It's turned seven, 
 and he must have dropped off just after 
 
 lunch. Five hours ! 
 
 89
 
 90 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 MAY 
 
 [smiling kindly at her unconscious brother] 
 Ah ! He hasn't slept much for the last few 
 nights ; he's been so frightfully anxious. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [raising her eyebrows'] Anxious ! And 
 what about his poor wife — what about Ada's 
 anxiety ? How he could sleep like this when 
 he knew perfectly well . . . [lifts her hands, 
 and finishes by smiling]. 
 
 [The twoyoung women approach George^ s chair 
 on tiptoe, and indicate to each other by gestures 
 thai they will waken him in the orthodox way. 
 Bending down, Helen sniffs at the empty glass] 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Um ! Whiskey. Naturally. 
 
 [She then bends to George's face to kiss him, 
 but hesitates and looks at May] 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Perhaps it would be better if you did it, 
 dear [May quickly kisses him]. The privileges 
 of a sister-in-law vary in different families. 
 
 [George wakes up. May and Helen stand side 
 by side facing him, their hands behind them, 
 smiling, and full of mysteries] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [mechanically reaching out for the glass] 
 What did you say ? I do believe I dropped
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 9^ 
 
 off for a seconder two [finding glass empty-]. 
 Dash ! What a thirst I've got on to-day ! 
 
 HELEN 
 
 There ! 
 
 GEORGE , P 
 
 Well ! What are you two starnig ar . 
 How's Ada now ? Doctor come yet ? 
 
 MAY [softly'] 
 
 George, it's a girl. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 What's a girl ? Wlio's a gu'l ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 It's a girl. 
 
 [Pause, while the fact of his fatherhood dawns 
 upon George.] 
 
 GEORGE 1 -r -u- 
 
 [starting up] Well, I'm damned if this 
 isn't the quickest thing of the kind that ever I 
 heard of ! [he makes a hound for the door] 
 
 MAY ^ 
 
 [both the girls seizing him] George, come 
 back You mustn't go to her. She's asleep 
 [soothing him, and trying to calm Ins sudden 
 tremendous excitement] . 
 
 GEORGE . 
 
 Well I am damned ! Why, it can t be a 
 quarter of an hour since I left her ! [sinks 
 hack into chair]
 
 92 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 HELEN 
 
 George Gower, does it not occur to you 
 that these terrible oaths are sadly, sadly out 
 of place ? Recollect that as a father you are 
 considerably less than a day old. Blasphemy 
 from lips so young is an instance of infant 
 depravity, such as even I, a district visitor, 
 have seldom seen surpassed. Our curate at 
 Ealing has composed a special form of prayer 
 for young parents. I have brought it over 
 with me, and I shall ask you to — to make it 
 your own. In the meantime I beg you not 
 to disgrace the sacred name of father. Think 
 of poor, dear Ada. Ah, my darling sister has 
 behaved splendidly ! Think of what she has 
 been through ! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 That's just what I am thinking of, and the 
 more I think the more I can't 
 
 MAY 
 
 [interrupting hini] Why, George, you silly, 
 you've been asleep five hours, and 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 I swear I haven't. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 No more swearing, I entreat. You have been 
 asleep five hours. It's turned seven o'clock. 
 Your daughter is some three hours old . . . 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, and everything went off beautifully. 
 Ada cried a bit
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 93 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Ada was simply superb. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, she was, dear. She's asleep now, 
 George. And the baby's the loveliest little 
 thing 
 
 HELEN 
 
 The doctor says he never saw a finer. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, and nurse says so too. And she's got 
 lots of hair. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 And cry— ! She's got lungs like bellows. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Isiiting lip severely'] Why didn't you come 
 and wake me up ? Answer me. For any- 
 thing you knew, I might have been doing the 
 most awful things to the sacred name of 
 father during those three hours— and quite 
 innocently. Helen, you at least . . . {_ends 
 with a reproachful gesture]. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Well, I did ask May to go down and sit 
 with you. 
 
 MAY 
 
 [to Helen] But, dear, I couldn't have 
 dreamt of leaving Ada. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Why not, dear? I came over specially 
 from EaUng, and left my own little ones
 
 94 ^ QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 and Ernest, in order to see after Ada 
 myself. 
 
 MAY 
 
 And I came from Harrow, which is much 
 further than EaUng. I haven't any httle 
 ones ; but if I had I should have left them, 
 I'm sure I should \_plaintivdy']. I left Jack 
 and the two kittens, and there was nothing 
 else to leave. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 But it is a question of experience, dear. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Well, I don't know, dear. It seems to 
 me that common sense and a cool head are 
 better than experience. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 But surely, dear, you don't suggest 
 
 Oh ! {suddenly forgetting this little passage of 
 arms, and thinking of something important} 
 We didn't [whispers in Mary's ear'] 
 
 MAY 
 
 Gracious heavens ! Do you think nurse 
 will remember ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Probably not. I have had three different 
 nurses myself, and they're all alike. Ill just 
 run up and see to it. [George is mystified, as 
 males are.] 
 
 MAY 
 
 Oh, no ! I'll go, dear.
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 95 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Oh, no ! I'll go, dear. Where were the 
 safety pins put ? 
 
 MAY 
 
 I know. I'll go. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 My dear, I really think . . . 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 If it's anything serious, hadn't you better 
 both go ? Further delay might be fatal, and 
 I should like to avoid being cut off in my 
 infancy as a father. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 May shall go. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Not at all. I should much prefer Helen 
 to go. She is so experienced. 
 
 [^4 pause; and then Helen, pursing her lips, 
 and looking as much like a martyred saint as 
 she can, departs'] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 A girl ! '[sighs'] 
 
 MAY 
 
 George, what's the matter ? I thought all 
 the time that you didn't receive our news 
 with that ecstatic abandonment of joy which 
 I beheve is usual under the circumstances. 
 Why aren't you glad and proud ? Why don't 
 you weep happy tears of relief and content-
 
 96 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 ment ? Is it possible you are so lost to all 
 parental feeling as to be indifferent when 
 your wife presents you with a dear little 
 darhng baby? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 May, you're a very decent sort, but if you 
 say two more words in that strain, I'll go 
 upstairs and I'll wring that kid's neck. I 
 couldn't permit any child of mine to be niece 
 to a woman who talked like that. Remem- 
 ber that as a father I have duties, responsi- 
 bilities. 
 
 MAY 
 
 You're not well. I see it now. You're 
 suffering. Of course it must be a great strain 
 on the system to wake up and find yourself 
 a father. George, forgive my hasty speech. 
 You must take a httle nourishment every 
 quarter of an hour till the symptoms pass. 
 \_she pats him gently on the cheek] A great 
 strain it was ! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Strain ! If you knew the strain I've been 
 bearing for months past ! Haven't you 
 noticed the dark rings under my eyes, the 
 unnatural brightness of my orbs, the hectic 
 flush on my cheeks, the bald spot on the 
 back of my head ? Strain ! . . . My dear 
 sister, I have a secret and terrible woe— a 
 woe 'which, with courage worthy of an
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 97 
 
 Englishman and a parent, I have shared with 
 none. May, I am undone ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 [with accents of despairing sorrowful sym- 
 pathy'] Who has undone you ? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 My beloved wife, three hours since, as I 
 slept. I feared it. I have feared it for many 
 weeks. Listen. Five or six months ago. 
 Uncle Francis said that if it was a son, he 
 would settle ten thousand pounds upon it. 
 
 MAY 
 
 And if a daughter ? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 He coldly decHned to consider the possi- 
 bility of such a thing. You know the special 
 brand of ass he is sometimes. I said nothing 
 to anybody, not even to my wife, for I felt 
 that it would worry her. Imagine my con- 
 dition of mind, my agonising suspense. Do 
 you wonder that I have been wakeful night 
 after night ? Do you wonder that, from pure 
 weariness and fatigue, I should fall asleep on 
 this very afternoon of my undoing ? Oh, 
 May ! To be a father is not so simple and 
 pleasing as the superficial observer might 
 fancy. 
 
 MAY 
 
 [sympathetically'] It certainly isn't, es- 
 pecially if you happen to be occupied with 
 
 7
 
 98 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 being nephew to Uncle Francis at the same 
 time. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Uncle Francis ! Uncle donkey ! bncle 
 nincompoop ! Uncle booby ! Uncle b ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 George ! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Bachelor I— Pompous old bachelor. Upon 
 my soul, to see the way bachelors behave 
 themselves in these days makes me sick. 
 
 MAY , . ,r 
 
 Don't forget you were a bachelor yourselt 
 less than a year ago. 
 
 GEORGE . 
 
 Only in practice ; not in theory, not m 
 theor\' I maintain that all bachelors are 
 idiots^ Look at Uncle Francis ! There's a 
 nice sample ! . . • I believe the beggar knew 
 it would be a girl all the time. But m any 
 case why couldn't he keep his precious plan 
 of benevolence to himself till I was actually 
 a father. Then, unless the sex of my child 
 happened to please his fastidious taste, he 
 need have said nothing ; I should have been 
 spared all this anxiety, and I should have 
 been no worse off. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Well, George, it's a great pity, of course. I 
 suppose he won't withdraw the condition ?
 
 A (2UEST/0N OF SEX 99 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [sniffing] Not he ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 [trying to be brave] After all, you are no 
 worse off ! Uncle hasn't robbed you of any- 
 thing. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Oh, hasn't he ? I like that ! You aren't a 
 father, May, and you can't enter into a father's 
 feelings. Now what I feel is that he has 
 robbed me. He's robbed me of precisely 
 ten thousand pounds. Here am I, engaged 
 in the arduous and expensive task of founding 
 a family. I see ten thousand pounds within 
 my grasp. The inhuman monster positively 
 dangles it before me, and then, through no 
 fault of mine — I repeat, through no fault of 
 mine — it is snatched away. 
 
 MAY 
 
 [caressing him] Never mind, George. 
 You're doing splendidly in your profession, 
 you know you are, and you'll soon have 
 got a large practice together, and made ten 
 thousand pounds all of your own. Never 
 mind. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 But I do mind. I will mind. I won't be 
 robbed. I absolutely decline to be jockeyed 
 out of a large sum of money on a mere — a. 
 mere — a mere quibble of physiology. The
 
 lOO 
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 idea is revolting to my legal intellect. Some- 
 thing must be done, and done quickly. 
 
 MAY 
 
 I'm afraid it's a little late, George. 
 
 GEORGE ^ ^, . 
 
 Rot! We must think of somethmg— 
 instantly. Uncle Francis is certain to call 
 to-night. I wish he lived in the next hemi- 
 sphere instead of in the next street ; that 
 would give us a chance. May, you must help 
 me ; I rely on you. 
 
 MAY 
 
 But really, George, I don t see 
 
 GEORGE ^ . 
 
 I shall be sure to think of some scheme in 
 a minute or two. \rc-entev Helaf\ Hush 
 I sha'n't say anything to her Well, sweet 
 
 sister-in-law. 
 
 HELEN , ,. 
 
 [delightedlv to May] That darling is per- 
 fectly marvellous. Nurse brought her up to 
 the light just now, and she bhnked her eyes 
 like anything. 
 
 MAY . , ,-1 XT 1 
 
 livith equal delight and astonishment] No! 
 Just fancy, George ! 
 
 GEORGE . , J • 
 
 Yes Imagine the intelligence involved in 
 that apparently simple act. That's what you 
 call "taking notice," I suppose ?
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX loi 
 
 HELEN 
 
 The little pet blinked her ridiculous little 
 eyes several times. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 About how many times ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 \_after looking at him'] I daresay you think 
 you're very funny, George. . . . 
 
 MAY ' 
 
 [inslindivcly coining to the rescue of the sex] 
 George, don't be silly. You've no notion of 
 good taste. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Well, she called my daughter's eyes 
 ridiculous. I don't think that was quite in the 
 best taste, especially after an acquaintance of 
 only three hours. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [to George] Dear Ada is awake now, and 
 she did say she would like to see you for a 
 minute, but I doubt whether in your present 
 mood — \_George is at the door in a second] 
 George ! [stopping him peremptorily] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Well? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [going Up to him, and putting a hand on his 
 arm entreatingly] Be good to her, George. 
 And mind, you must only stay a minute or 
 two. My dear [to May], you had better go
 
 I02 
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 with him. We cannot be too careful. And 
 I will just scribble a line to Ernest, {sits 
 down to write at tabic'] 
 
 MAY 
 
 [to George'] Now, papa. 
 
 lExit George and May] 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [reading what she writes] " My love. Just 
 a word to let you know that all is well, and 
 Ada has a little daughter, rather weak and 
 puny, I fear, but we cannot expect all 
 children to be as strong as ours. Ada was 
 very brave, but it is fortunate I came, as no 
 one seemed to have any idea of how to 
 manage. May Foster is very kind-hearted, 
 but so girlish. Shall return Thursday, if I 
 can be spared. Love to the chicks. Don't 
 forget what I told you about going to bed 
 earty. With fondest love from your little 
 Nell. P.S. No time for more." [folding np 
 
 letter] 
 Enter Francis Gower, with hat and stick. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Good evening — er 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Ah ! Good evening [getting np]. I must 
 introduce myself. I am Mrs. Ernest Stanton, 
 George Gower's sister-in-law. You, I feel 
 sure, are Mr. Francis Gower, George's 
 uncle.
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 103 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [shaking hands with assiduity'] Delighted 
 to make your acquaintance, Mrs. Stanton. 
 You knew me for a Gower at once, then ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes, you have the unmistakable Gower 
 eyes — wicked eyes — only more so. [they sit 
 downl 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 You flatter me. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Flatter you, Mr. Gower ? How so ? 
 When I see eyes like yours I always say to 
 myself that their owner has ensured the 
 happiness of some innocent and trusting 
 woman 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 I beg pardon — I am not, er 
 
 HELEN 
 
 By not marrying her. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 In that sense I may certainly claim to be 
 the benefactor of your sex. When I review 
 in my mind the vast phalanx of charming 
 women whom I have not married, I 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [interrupting him drily'] Of course you 
 want to know about Ada ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Yes, I thought I would come round and
 
 I04 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 inquire before sitting down to dinner. I 
 was given to understand that there was an 
 expectation, a surmise, a suspicion that — 
 er 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Well, Mr. Gower, I have good news for 
 you. Ada has a daughter. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 A daughter ! How delightful ! [smiles to 
 himself with secret joy'\ You said a daughter ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes. Just after three this afternoon. 
 Rather an unusual hour. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Indeed ! Er Indeed ! I fear I am 
 
 quite at sea in the minute details of these 
 matters. Are — are mother and child both 
 doing well ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Splendidly, splendidly. My sister has 
 behaved admirably, [during the foregoing 
 conversation Helen has just put her letter in an 
 envelope, and addressed it. She now goes to the 
 mantelpiece and rings bell^ 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 And the child — how did it behave ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [smiling cautiously'] Oh, well, Mr. Gower, 
 as you say, you are rather at sea in these 
 matters.
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 105 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 It is so difficult to mould one's inquiries 
 in quite the right form. Now, at funerals, 
 I assure you, I am unimpeachable. I have 
 often been told so. Question of practice, 
 I suppose. It is a most singular thing to 
 me, having regard to the alarming increase 
 in our population, how many funerals there 
 seem to be, and how few births. Perhaps 
 that has not occurred to you, Mrs. Stanton ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 \_after ringing bell again'] Indeed not. 
 Quite the opposite, in fact. Did you hear 
 that bell ring ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Distinctly. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 That is the tifth time I have rung it, at 
 least. These events upset a household from 
 attic to basement. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [mildly surprised'] So far ? Can I be of 
 any assistance to you ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Oh no, thanks. I only want to get this letter 
 posted. If you will excuse me one second. 
 
 [^He rises and opens door for her] 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Of course George is in high spirits ?
 
 'io6 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [^^oing out'] Oh, yes. But he conceals his 
 feeUngs. Men do, you know. They think 
 it's manly. [Exit 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Just so. Well, Mother Nature, you with 
 the inscrutable ways— [sz7s down] you've 
 saved me ten thousand pounds by this day's 
 work. I reverence you. . . . You're a bit of 
 the right sort, \_smiling with silent satisfac- 
 tion'] I've got through safe this time, as it 
 happens. But I must really cure myself of 
 these lits of impulsive generosity. Now if it 
 had been a boy, I suppose George would 
 actually have expected me to fork out that 
 ten thousand, and I suppose like a good- 
 natured ass I should have done so. 
 
 IThe door hursts open, and George and May 
 enter quickly] 
 
 MAY 
 
 [to George, as they enter] Isn't she a pretty 
 little thing ? 
 
 [The two perceive Uncle Francis and stop 
 short] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Yes he is. [with a tremendous portentous 
 look at May, pulling himself together] Hullo, 
 Uncle Francis !
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 107 
 
 MAY 
 
 [with a look at George appealing for instruc- 
 tions] Good evening, uncle. Rather warm 
 isn't it, for the time of, -year? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 You look rather warm, my dear May 
 [shakes hands']. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Well, what's the news, uncle ? [shakes 
 hands] Been to the City ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 No. This is the hrst time I've been out 
 to-day. I thought I'd just walk round before 
 dinner to inquire. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 To inquire ? About what ? Oh ! Ah ! 
 Yes, of course ! You mean about Ada. 
 Well, uncle, I'm glad to say it's all right, isn't 
 it. May ? 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, it's absolutely all right. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Ada is doing well, and I am the father of a 
 fine boy. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [imperturbable] A boy ! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Yes. Now come, uncle, bear up. I know 
 it must be a blow to you. But, heavens ! 
 what's ten thousand pounds to a man of your
 
 io8 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 fortune ? Why, it's less than a fiver to me, 
 isn't it. May ? 
 
 •MAY 
 
 Yes, George, it is. I think it was noble of 
 you, uncle, to offer that ten thousand pounds, 
 though the actual parting with it, to a person 
 of your economic mind, cannot fail to be 
 agonising. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Yes, indeed. When I first heard that my 
 child was a boy, I said : "I wish for uncle's 
 sake it had been a girl." Didn't I, May ? 
 
 MAY 
 
 You did, George. You were sitting in 
 that chair, and I stood here, and you said : 
 " I wish for uncle's sake it had been a girl." 
 Those were the very words you used. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [to Francis] My sympathies went out m- 
 stantly to you, uncle. You who will have to 
 write me a cheque for ten thousand pounds 
 this very night. Personally, I should prefer 
 to consider your offer cancelled. But I feel 
 convinced that you would never consent to 
 such a course. You are a man of your word. 
 You said you would settle ten thousand 
 pounds upon my child if it was a boy. It is 
 a boy, and you will. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 You're sure it's a boy ?
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 109 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [aside to May'] Now, what the deuce- 
 
 [/o Francis] '' Sure it's a boy " ! Well, 
 what do you take me, for ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 I take you for a father, suffering from some 
 nervous disorder. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 You mean I'm a Uttle excited. Well, isn't 
 that natural ? You wait till you're a father, 
 uncle — I bet you it'll make you sit up. But 
 fancy you asking me if I'm sure my own 
 child is a boy ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, fancy ! Uncle, you should be more 
 careful. To a man in George's delicate con- 
 dition, so recently a father, anything in the 
 nature of a shock might easily bring about 
 the most serious results. 
 
 UNCLE 
 
 You are right, my dear little girl. Pardon 
 a rough old bachelor not accustomed to 
 the etiquette of paternity. I suppose you 
 haven't yet decided on a name, or names, for 
 this marvellous infant ? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [looking at May helplessly] Well, er 
 
 MAY 
 
 Dear Ada was saying only just now that 
 at any rate he must be named Francis.
 
 no A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 Probably his name will be George Francis, 
 but he will always be called Frankie, after you. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 My dear, I am deeply touched by this 
 little mark of consideration. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Yes, uncle. Of course we aren't the sort 
 of individuals that proclaim their private 
 feelings from the house-tops \_Francis walks 
 about and twists his moustache] , but we think 
 a great deal of you— a great deal. We look 
 up to you. We admire your notion of the 
 duties and responsibiUties of a great-uncle. 
 
 We, er And perhaps you'd like to give 
 
 me the cheque now, uncle, and then you 
 won't forget it. IFmncis takes no heed] 
 [aside to May] If we can once get the 
 cheque, he'll never stop it, you know, and 
 we can undeceive him afterwards, and tell 
 him it was a joke and all that sort of thing. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Er [goes up to Francis and puts her hands 
 
 on his shoulders']. You are a dear old thing ! 
 [She is just about to kiss him when door opens 
 and Helen enters] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [suddenly frantic] Helen, you'd better go 
 upstairs ; they've been knocking on the ceil- 
 ing like anything for the last iive minutes. I 
 believe they want something.
 
 A (2UESTI0N OF SEX iii 
 
 HELEN 
 
 {^quietly] George, you've had too much 
 whiskey. I've just come from dear Ada. 
 
 [^Iay has dropped her hands from Francis's 
 shoulders and looks stonily at Helen'] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [calmly desperate'] Helen, this is Uncle 
 Francis. You haven't met before, I think. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Oh, yes. We met a minute or two ago, 
 and I was telling Mr. Gower what a fine little 
 girl Ada has. 
 
 [With a stifled shriek May sinks into a chait. 
 George also sits down, lamentably sighing. 
 Pause, in lohich only Helen is mystified'] 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Mrs. Stanton, as the head of the Gower 
 family, I feel it my duty to apologise before- 
 hand. You are about to witness what is 
 known as a " scene " — that is, unless you 
 would prefer to retire. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Not in the least, I assure you. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Not merely a '* scene," but a " family scene " ; 
 which, I beheve, is the most highly developed 
 form of " scene " known to science.
 
 112 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Pray, don't mention it. I am quite accus- 
 tomed . That is, short of bloodshed, I 
 
 can stand anything. But I do think blood is 
 horrid. [sits down with pleasurable antici- 
 pation'] 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 \_nodding suavely in acquiescence'] The pre- 
 liminaries being settled, we may proceed. 
 George, why have you been lying to me ? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Lying to you, uncle ? 
 
 MAY 
 
 Lying, uncle ? [suddenly crosses over to 
 Helen and they embrace, Helen sympathetically 
 rising to the height of Mays emotion. May 
 then sits down again'] 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 I used the word. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [forcing a laugh] Oh, yes. I see what you 
 mean. I see what you mean now. I see- 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 What eyesight ! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Well, I was just carried away by one of 
 those sudden impulses that one has, you 
 know. That was it, wasn't it. May ? 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, George, that must have been it. The
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 113 
 
 sort of thing that comes over you, uncle, 
 before you know where you are. 
 
 FRANXIS 
 
 Comes over mc f 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 No, uncle, not you. You won't under- 
 stand it, I'm afraid. You're too old. You've 
 got past the age for impulse. It's a disease 
 that comes somewhere between measles and 
 gout. It only affects the younger genera- 
 tion. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [showing perhaps the slightest passing trace 
 of heat] I'm too old, am I ? I belong to the 
 older generation, I suppose [ivilh terrible cold 
 sarcasm]. Toothless gums, palsied limbs, 
 doddering idiot, and so on. [smiling calmly 
 again, but distinctly very angry beneath the 
 Arctic smile'] If you look as well as me at 
 forty-two, sir. you'll be lucky— damned lucky. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [half to herself, enjoying it] As Ernest often 
 says, the band is beginning to play. I seem 
 to hear the strains in the distance. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [getting up] Forty-two ! . . . Uncle ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 [ioith shocked surprise] Forty-two ! 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Sit down, sir. 
 
 8
 
 114 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [sitting €101011] Well — you called me a liar, 
 but it occurs to me I'm not the only 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Yes, I do call you a liar — a liar from the 
 basest, the most mercenary motives. You 
 told me your child was a boy. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Tut, tut. A slip of the tongue. You ex- 
 aggerate trifles. Besides, for anything I 
 knew, my child was a boy. I admit I had 
 been told it was a girl ; but you know what 
 women are, uncle, especially at these times — 
 absolutely unreliable. I was merely, as it 
 were, hoping for the best. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Have you not just returned from viewing 
 the body ? 
 
 MAY 
 
 [jnusingly'] Now we're at an inquest. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 I saw a kind of vermilion blob, surrounded 
 by woollen fabrics, and I was given to under- 
 stand that what I beheld was a human nose. 
 But before I could satisfy myself even on that 
 minor point I was told to go, as Ada mustn't 
 be excited. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 I hope you'll all acquit me of any desire to 
 take part in this scene ; but do I gather.
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 115 
 
 Mr. Gower, that George has attempted to 
 deceive you as to the— cr— sex of his— er— 
 offspring ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 You do gather, Mrs. Stanton ; you emphati- 
 cally do gather. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 George, I'm surprised at you ; I really am. 
 To think that your poor dear wife should 
 have gone through what she has gone through 
 this day— and you not satisfied ! George, I 
 blush for you . . . Then you were ashamed 
 of your daughter. You wanted a son : a son 
 that you could train up in your own sinful 
 habits of blasphemy, self-indulgence, and 
 deceit ! All I can say is, I'm glad, profoundly 
 glad, that it is a girl. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Mrs. Stanton, so am I. You have a truly 
 noble mind. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 {^continuing to George] What could be the 
 object of such a childish deception ? Even 
 you must have foreseen that it couldn't last ; 
 that there must come a time when the dread- 
 ful secret would reach your good, kind uncle's 
 ears. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 I will tell you his object, Mrs. Stanton. As 
 you may possibly have heard, I am an in-
 
 ii6 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 dustrious and painstaking person. I work 
 hard and live plainly, and by the exercise of 
 those gifts which heaven has been pleased 
 to grant to me, I have accumulated a 
 fortune — some would call it a large fortune ; 
 I merely call it a fortune. I daresay I am 
 worth a hundred thousand pounds. Now 
 you might imagine that, possessing this 
 and a clear conscience, I am happy. But 
 there is another and a darker side to the pic- 
 ture which I am endeavouring to paint, Mrs. 
 Stanton. I am cursed, continually cursed, 
 in spite of what George is pleased to consider 
 my advanced age, with an impulse — the 
 impulse of unrestrained generosity. [Geoj'ge 
 and May exchange a look heavy with meaning^ 
 Acting under this impulse, about six months 
 ago, when George imparted to me the infor- 
 mation that — er — he, that Ada — when, I say, 
 George imparted to me the information, I 
 said : " George, if your child is a boy, I will 
 settle ten thousand on him." You see boys 
 are so helpless. A boy can't marry a rich 
 husband ; can't make his own clothes ; can't, 
 if the worst comes to the worst, go out as 
 mother's help — that is why I said, ^^ if it is a 
 boy I will settle ten thousand pounds on your 
 child." I was under no obligation to make 
 the offer. I acted merely from impulse, the 
 impulse of absurd generosity. And how does
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 117 
 
 George repay me ? By lying to me, and, 
 what is worse, getting his sister to He to me. 
 In order to obtain a paltry ten thousand 
 pounds he is wilhng to stain his honour 
 with a He. Bah ! You, Mrs. Stanton, with 
 characteristic insight and common-sense, have 
 at once put your finger on the most despic- 
 able aspect of this painful affair. The lie 
 was useless, futile, silly. 
 
 \_A slight pause ensues after this damning 
 indictment^ 
 
 HELEN 
 
 George, did your wife know of your uncle's 
 offer ? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 No, I kept it from her. I thought it would 
 worry her. 
 
 MAY 
 
 That's perfectly true, Helen. He said so 
 to me himself. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 I do not approve of secrets between hus- 
 band and wife. It would have been better if 
 you had told dear Ada. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 But what difference could it have made ? 
 Uncle only made the offer 
 
 HELEN 
 
 One never knows ... Ah ! George !
 
 ii8 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [suddenly to May'] As for you, May, you 
 have pained me beyond expression. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [interrupting with ivomanly tact] Now as 
 I have been dragged into this Httle — shall I 
 say " difficulty " ? — let me end it for you. I 
 always think it is such a pity to allow a 
 quarrel to grow ; one should stamp it out in 
 the bud. George — and you, May — you must 
 beg your uncle's pardon. I am sure he will 
 grant it. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [with Christian resignation] Willingly. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Oh, very well then, if there is to be such 
 a fuss about a mere nothing, a momentary 
 forgetfulness, excusable I should have 
 thought in a man suffering the first pangs 
 of fatherhood, I beg pardon. I apologise. I 
 grovel. 
 
 MAY 
 
 If uncle can take any pleasure in the self- 
 abasement of a fellow-creature, and that 
 fellow-creature a woman, I also grovel. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [brightly] There, there ! That's all right. 
 Shake hands. 
 
 [They shake hands with mutual forgiveness]
 
 A QUEST/ON OF SEX 119 
 
 HELEN 
 
 There ! It's all done with and forgotten. 
 A little tact, I have invariably found, is all 
 that is necessary in these affairs, and I'm 
 sure I'm very glad to have been of assistance. 
 And now, Uncle Francis— I may call you 
 uncle ? — you will write out the cheque. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 The cheque ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [calmly] The cheque for ten thousand 
 pounds. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [almost staggered, yet still imperturbable'] 
 The cheque for ten thou ! [stops] 
 
 HELEN 
 
 You surely are not going to withhold it — 
 especially after George and May have 
 apologised so prettily. You surely aren't 
 going to cast a slur, as it were, upon my niece, 
 and my poor dear sister who has behaved so 
 splendidly to-day ! 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [suddenly tumbling to the game] You surely 
 aren't going to 
 
 MAY 
 
 My dear uncle, you surely aren't going 
 to 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [after a pause] George, is your child a boy 
 or is it not ?
 
 120 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 I'm informed that he isn't — that she isn't. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Well, then, upon what possible ground can 
 you claim my ten thousand pounds ? Allow 
 me to remark that I have not the slightest 
 intention of parting with it. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Mr.Gower, I am deeply disappointed in you. 
 Common humanity alone [breaks off] 
 
 MAY 
 
 Uncle, you have pained me beyond expres- 
 sion. 
 
 [Both the women begin to cry softly] 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [looking to heaven'] My poor wife and 
 innocent babe ! 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Great wealth may be to its owner a blessing 
 or a curse. Alas ! I fear it is too often the 
 latter. It hardens the heart, blunts the 
 finer susceptibilities, and transforms into a 
 fiend what under more favourable circum- 
 stances might have been a human being. I 
 have noticed the same phenomena even in 
 my own children when Ernest gives them 
 sixpence. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [striving after dignity without self-conscious- 
 
 i 
 
 \
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 121 
 
 ness\ By Jove! It's eight o'clock. I shall 
 be late for dinner. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes, that's it. Go— go — and consume 
 dainties out of season, and drink expensive 
 wines, while your own flesh-and-blood eat 
 the bread of sorrow. Centre all your thoughts 
 on yourself. Shut your eyes to the grief and 
 suffering which surround you. Think only 
 of the carnal appetite. There is the rich man 
 all over ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 Trample on us. Drag the Juggernaut of 
 
 your gold across our defenceless bodies. 
 
 What is the shriek of pain, the moan of 
 
 » anguish, to you, so long as your millions 
 
 increase and multiply. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Now, Helen, you see my uncle, my so- 
 called uncle, in his true colours ! 
 
 \Fmncis gazes ivith' longing at the door] 
 
 HELEN 
 
 I do, George. I do, and I cannot bear the 
 sight. I will go to my poor sister who is to 
 be robbed of ten thousand pounds for a mere 
 —a mere indiscretion. I must try to comfort 
 her as best I can. It will be a fearful shock 
 to the poor thing. It might Idll her, but of 
 course she must be told.
 
 122 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 True, the news may kill her, but, as you 
 say, she must be told. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 I will do my best to comfort her — I cannot 
 say more. We must hope for the best. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Ah ! Her you may comfort, but who shall 
 pour balm into the wound of my defenceless 
 child, whose career is blasted, so to speak, 
 before it has cut its first tooth ? 
 
 HELEN 
 
 You may well ask, George. But you ask 
 in vain. Wealth has no ear for the wail of 
 an infant. Wealth is preoccupied with its 
 dinner. 
 
 MAY 
 
 \_appealingly'] Uncle, are you quite, quite 
 determined ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 \_coiighing] Yes, May, I fear I am. And I 
 insist on being allowed to depart. 
 
 ALL THREE 
 
 Oh go, go. Do not let us keep you from 
 your repast. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [moving to door'] Possibly — I sa}^ possibly 
 — I may repeat my offer, if at some future 
 time you, George — that is, Ada, should have 
 a boy. I have noticed that some parents
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 123 
 
 have large families— families in which both 
 sexes are represented. If so 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Alas ! a frail hope, a hope probably 
 delusive ! Our dear curate at Ealing has 
 nine daughters . . . 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 {_with cold politeness] I thank you, Uncle 
 Francis, but I have no expectation of being 
 able to avail myself of your offer. Helen, we 
 must resign ourselves. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 We must. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, yes. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 But do not let us bear spite ; Mr. Gower, 
 we freely forgive you. Personally, I shall 
 pray for you. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Yes, uncle, we feel it our duty to forgive 
 you, and dear Helen will pray for you. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [showing her forgiveness, and with a new idea 
 in her head] Before leaving, Mr. Gower, you 
 must really come upstairs and see the baby. 
 She's a charming little creature, [aside to 
 George while Francis is collecting his hat and 
 
 stick] If we could get him upstairs • 
 
 [George comprehends thai in the presence of
 
 124 A QUESTION OF SEX 
 
 maternity and infancy, his uncle may be less 
 obdurate^ 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [^edging towards the door'] I do not doubt 
 it, but I would really prefer to be excused. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 But Ada said to me specially that you were 
 to go up. She wants you dreadfully to see 
 her baby, her first-born. You must feel how 
 heavy the little dear is. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 I shall be charmed to — when it is a little 
 bigger. 
 
 MAY 
 
 Surely you will not disappoint dear Ada! 
 Surely you don't bear malice ! 
 
 FR.\NCIS 
 
 I would rather . . . 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 [taking him by the arm] Come along, 
 uncle, we'll all go. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Yes, we'll accompany you. You needn't 
 be afraid. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [for the first time showing signs of losing his 
 equanimity ; faintly] Not to-night. Some 
 other time. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Oh, come on !
 
 A <2UESriON OF SEX 125 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [holding back with all his strength'] George, 
 I will not. The two great rules of my life 
 are never to enter a sick-room, and never to 
 handle babies. And you ask me to break 
 them both at once. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Oh stuff ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 The man's shy, actually. Make him come, 
 George. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [appealingly'] No, no, George, I entreat. 
 I once handled a baby, 
 
 ALL THREE 
 
 Well ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 I dropped it ! [Consternation.'} 
 
 MAY 
 
 Did it die ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 No, I have sometimes wished it had. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Who was it ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 It was you, George, and your mother 
 fainted. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Oh ! You dropped me, did you ? Was 
 I injured for life, maimed, crippled ?
 
 126 A QUEST/ON OF SEX 
 
 FRAN'CIS 
 
 Happily not. 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 A jolly good thing for you. I'll teach you 
 to drop me and make my mother faint. Come 
 on, now ! 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Excuse me, I pray you to excuse me. [to 
 himself] I'd give a good deal to be out of this. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 Isokmnly] How much would you give ? 
 
 MAY 
 
 Would you give a lot ? 
 
 GEORGE 
 
 Would you give ten thousand pounds ? 
 [almost shaking him.'] 
 
 Dramatic pause. 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 [faintly, but quite self-possessed again] I feel 
 it coming. 
 
 HELEN 
 
 What ? 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 //. My impulse of extravagant generosity, 
 my terrible charitableness. [He makes an 
 inarticulate noise] There ! There ! 
 
 MAY 
 
 Perhaps pen and ink would assuage the 
 agony.
 
 A QUESTION OF SEX 127 
 
 FRANCIS 
 
 Perhaps. 
 
 [They lead him to the table. He sits doum 
 and pulls cheque hook out of his pocket. May 
 hands him the pen. He begins to ivrite'] 
 
 HELEN 
 
 [reading over his shoulder'] " Pay George 
 Gower ten thousand pounds." . . . Now the 
 signature. 
 
 FR.ANCIS 
 
 [pausing on the verge of the signature'] 
 Understand ! I don't have to see that baby 
 till it's six months old, and I don't have to 
 handle it till it's a year — no, two years old. 
 
 [George nods, all smiles. Francis signs with 
 a flourish. Tears cheque out of book, and 
 hands it to May. May hands it to George, who 
 receives it in ecstatic silence. Francis heaves a 
 profound sigh,] 
 
 CURTAIN.
 
 Ube ©resbam presa, 
 
 UN'.VIN BROTHE31S, 
 WOKING AND LONDON.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA AT LOS ANGELES 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY LIBRARY 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped Ijelow 
 
 
 8 
 
 WA 
 
 JCT 
 
 1 5 1948 
 
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