CORNELL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY Joseph Whitmore Barry dramatic library THE GIFT OF TWO FRIENDS OF Cornell University 1934 PR6045.E26Dr""'""""-"'"^ Dramatic Inventions; five pieces. 3 1924 013 237 189 Cornell University Library The original of tliis book is in tine Cornell University Library. There are no known copyright restrictions in the United States on the use of the text. http://www.archive.org/details/cu31 92401 32371 89 BY THE SAME AUTHOR THE VICTORY OF SEDAN DRIFTWOOD ESAU AND THE BEACON FIVE UNPRACTICAL PLAYS DRAMATIC INVENTIONS Photo by Otto DRAMATIC INVENTIONS FIVE PIECES BY KENNETH WEEKS LONDON GEORGE ALLEN & COMPANY, LTD. 44 & 45 RATHBONE PLACE [All rights reserved] Prinled by Ballahtvhh, Hanson &" Co. at the BalUntyne Press, Edinburgh CONTENTS WHAT WOMEN WANT . A MATTER OF MORALS. THE ASSASSINATED SUICIDE JUNIA ROSSETT THE POWER OF MEMORIES. PAGB I 285 WHAT WOMEN WANT A COMEDY IN ONE ACT TO FREDERICK A. TABER Valerian Craughton. Thisb^ Wylde. Sir Charles Alberslade. MURIELLE FeaRLER-DiGSLEY. Mrs. Fearler-Digsley. norbert forthmont. WHAT WOMEN WANT The orchid-room in Valerian Craughton's country house in Oxfordshire. It is a large vaulted hall of white stone, the walls of which are opened by arches and made articulate by simple pilasters. The arch on the left leads to a library, that on the right to a drawing-room, and the middle one of the three in the rear, to a loggia which overlooks a valley. The other two are closed, and are occupied by marble fountains. The walls of the conservatory are covered with green lattice-work, eighteenth century. Boxes of orchids hang from the vaulted ceiling in brilliant showers and spring from the sides in single spots of colour. Along the wall stand bushes of gardenias, and in the corners are palms and ferns. The floor is tiled with purple tiles and a spreading marble basin rests in its centre. There are water and gold-fish in the basin. Out in the loggia may be seen a tea-table which bears a gold service. The chairs and tables are the same colour as the lattice. The sun is setting and painting inferior Claude-Monets all over the sky. SCENE I MuRiELLE, Sir Charles MuRiELLE and Sir Charles wander in from the drawing-room. MuRiELLE. Onljr one moment. I have something to say to you. Sir Charles. Is it so private as that ? 4 WHAT WOMEN WANT MuRiELLE. Yes, it is very private. [She goes to the marble bowl, and, leaning her elbows on its brim, watches the gold-fish. Sir Charles looks at her expectantly. Sir Charles. Well ? MuRiELLE. What pretty fish these are ! Come and see how they flash against the marble. Sir Charles. Oh ! I dislike fish. Murielle. These are more like flames than fish. Do come ! [He leans his elbows on the edge of the bowl. Sir Charles. I cannot delude myself. Everyone knows that flames never burn in the water. Murielle. But they do !. Phosphorus, you know ; and there are fish that have little electric lights on them. Sir Charles. Oh, now ! Murielle. It is true. They live so deep in the sea that they have to have lamps. Aren't they pretty ? Sir Charles. No, they are horrid. Murielle. Oh! how stupid you are. Sir Charles. You see, I came to hear something important and private. Murielle. Yes, only you are to say it. Sir Charles. I ? Murielle. A woman never speaks first. Sir Charles. She ought to, as she always speaks last. Murielle. Then I promise not to speak last. Sir Charles. But I have nothing important or private to say ! Murielle. Every man has ! Sir Charles. About what ? WHAT WOMEN WANT 5 MuRiELLE. Oh, himself — the people he likes. Sir Charles. How do you know I like anybody ? MuRiELLE {looking at him squarely). That is what I want to know. Sir Charles. You are jealous. MuRiELLE. Of myself ? Sir Charles. I never said I liked you. MuRiELLE. I know it. \She sinks wearily into a chair. Sir Charles {following her). Do you care ? MuRiELLE. Not in the least. Sir Charles. You never said you liked me. MuRiELLE. I don't. Sir Charles. Why not ? MuRiELLE. Because you do not like me. Sir Charles. I do ! I like you ever so much. MuRiELLE {laughing). Really ! How amusing. Sir Charles. Honestly ! I have always liked you. MuRiELLE {scornfully). I suppose you will say you love me next. Sir Charles. Oh ! I would not dare. MuRiELLE ipexed). You had better not. Sir Charles. It is not because I am afraid of you. MuRiELLE. Is it because you do not love me, then ? Sir Charles. Really, this is not fair. You force me to be rude, one way or the other. Murielle. It would be very rude to say you were afraid of me. Sir Charles. Yet it would be much ruder to say I loved you. I have no right to. Murielle. A man has the right to love anyone he wants. 6 WHAT WOMEN WANT ^ Sir Charles. Then — you would not be angry ? MuRiELLE. It never has made me angry to beloved ; it is tiresome, that is all. Sir Charles. So you have been loved beforef You have listened to other men say that they loved you ? MuRiELLE (casually). Dozens of them. Sir Charles. How could you ? At least you sent them packing Murielle. Not at aU. I found them very useful. Sir Charles. You are a flirt ! You wish to add me to your list of slaves. Murielle (sharply). How silly! You have not even said you loved me yet. You are a dog in the manger. Sir Charles. I am not in the manger. Murielle. Why don't you jump into it ? Sir Charles. Murielle ! Murielle. Sir ! Sir Charles. I may say I love you ? You will listen to me ? Murielle. I said nothing of the sort. Sir Charles. But you will ! You know that I love you — that I have always loved you — that I love no one but you ! Murielle (rising). Sir Charles ! You are taking a cowardly advantage of me. Sir Charles (ahashe^. I — I know it. I Murielle (softening). But I forgive you. After all, you are only a man. Sir Charles (reviving). Then you allow me to love you ? Oh, I am so happy to have said it ! Murielle ! (He seizes her hands) Say that you love me ! ,.• WHAT WOMEN WANT 7 MuRiELLE {protesting). Stop ! I never said it ! Sir Charles. You must ! I no longer plead ; you are at bay. MuRiELLE. I am not ! Let me go. [He takes her in his arms and kisses her. Then he releases her and walks abruptly to the door of the loggia, where he stands breathing angrily. Murielle leans against the howl to produce an effect, hut seeing that he is not watching her, laughs, at first to the fishes, and then aloud. He turns, surprised. Sir Charles. MurieUe ! '.Murielle. You silly ! Come here. Sir Charles {running to her). You forgive me ? Murielle. I may. Sir Charles. Yoti love me ? Do you really love me ? And you wUl marry me ? Murielle. Let me see the ring. Sir Charles. My darling ! \He tries to seize her again. Murielle {retreating. No, no ! The ring. \He pulls one out of his pocket and gives it to her. Sir Charles. I will have it reset. Murielle {inspecting it critically). By all means. Sir Charles. Let me put it on your finger. \She holds out her hand, and he does so. Murielle. With little diamonds all down the sides, you know, and platinum settings. Sir Charles {walking toward the library door with her). Yes, platinum settings. My darling ! Murielle. Don't forget the little diamonds. Sir Charles. No, my dear little yihey disappear. 8 WHAT WOMEN WANT SCENE II Mrs. Fearler-Digsley. Norbert Mrs. Fearler-Digsley and Norbert wanier in jrom the drawing-room. Mrs. F.-D. Only one moment. I have something to say to you. Norbert. Is it so private as that ? Mrs. F.-D. Yes, it is very private. \She goes to the marble bowl, and, leaning her elbows on its brim, watches the gold-fish. Norbert looks at her expectantly. Norbert. WeU ? Mrs. F.-D. What pretty fish these are ! Come and see how they flash against the marble. Norbert. Oh ! I dislike fish. Mrs. F.-D. These are more like flames than fish. Do come ! [He leans his elbows on the edge of the bowl. Norbert. They are lovely ; they are like the petals of a broken flower dancing in a spring. Mrs. F.-D. What a lovely idea ! You say everything so simply and yet so vividly. Norbert. I cannot help it ; you make me. Mrs. F.-D. I make you ? Norbert. Oh, I say, what is the use of pretending ! You know I idolise you. Mrs. F.-D. Norbert ! How can you talk so ? Norbert. It is true. You are a goddess to me, something to kneel before. Mrs. F.-D. Hear the child ! Why, I am old enough to be your mother — ^you are little older than Murielle. WHAT WOMEN WANT 9 NoRBERT. You are only twelve years older than I. Mrs. F.-D. We belong to different generations. NoRBERT. But we belong to the same generation of thought. You are beautiful and fresh and strong. Mrs. F.-D. Do you suppose my beauty and freshness are natural ? See {she scrubs her face with her handker- chief and shows it to him), I work hours over it. Girls are fresher. NoRBERT. What do I care ! Girls are fools ; you are inteUigent and worth talking with. They prattle about baubles, but you know how to discuss life. There is something almost divine to me in your wisdom ; I have only false visions in my mind, but you have knowledge. Let me be more than your subject. Mrs. F.-D. I am only a sham, Norbert. A little experience of the world is not vnsdom. You must not put me on a pedestal from which I shall inevitably faU. NoRBERT. Then you will stoop to me, and lift me ? You win let me love you ? Mrs. F.-D. It is absurd. Norbert. It is not. I want to marry you. Mrs. F.-D. My dear, I am a very selfish woman. You would have to constantly console me for imaginary woes, amuse me, and see me grow old and cross. As your mind developed, mine would wane, and you would hate me. Norbert. You think I want a doU for a wife. No, I want a motherly wife, one that will mother me as well as my children. Mrs. F.-D. Oh, no, the thing is ridiculous. Norbert. Why ? Listen to me ; marry me, be good to me. I love you, and I need you. Do not be bound by prejudices. Do you dislike me ? lb WHAT WOMEN WANT Mrs. F.-D. My boy ! I love you dearly. NoRBERT. Then marry me ! Mrs. F.-D. Norbert ! Are you serious ? NoRBERT. My honour ! Mrs. F.-D. {walking toward the library). Let us go out into the garden and talk it over. Norbert {following her). You consent ? Say first that you consent. Mrs. F.-D. {turning). Where is the ring ? Norbert {taking one from his pocket). My angel ! Give me your hand. Mrs. F.-D. Not that it is final. [He takes her hand and puts the ring on it. Norbert. It is eternal — you are mine ! Sophia ! \They disappear^ SCENE III TnisBi. Valerian TmsBi and Valerian wander in from the drawing-room. TniSBi. Only one moment. I have something to say to you. Valerian. Is it so private as that ? TniSBi. Yes, it is very private. [She goes to the marble bowl, and, leaning her elbows on its brim, watches the gold-fish. Valerian looks at her expectantly. Valerian. Well ? Thisb^. What pretty fish these are ! Come and see how they flash against the marble. Valerian. Oh ! I dislike fish. WHAT WOMEN WANT ii Thisb^. These are more like flames than fish. Do come. [He leans his elbows on the edge of the howl. Valerian. Miss Wylde, you are a thorough " cere- bral," are you not ? Thisb^;. I think so, except that I have no imagination. My desire is to live by reason alone. Valerian. You do not believe anything except knowledge ? ThisbI. I believe nothing except truth — I do not mean facts, for they are generally lies. Valerian. You consider love, life, and beauty as very uncivilised subjects ? You wish to see things as they really are — as a clear intellect would see them ? TnisBi. Yes. Are you going to argue with me ? Valerian. No ; I know you want the rights of men — have a passion to govern. TniSBi;. What are you aiming at ? Valerian. I want children. TniSBi: {turning from him contemptuously). Is that all? Valerian. I am far more intellectual and intelligent than you ; my knowledge overshadows yours, I govern and am powerful. I have all the things you want. Like you, I believe neither in love, nor in life, nor in beauty. I have never loved ; I have reached the age of thirty-five without loving, but it is every man's duty to have children. If you will marry me for four years, I wiU give you every opportunity as long as you live to pursue your own ambitions. TniSBi. And the children ? Valerian. They will be provided for. After four years we will separate. This is a reasonable bargain. 12 WHAT WOMEN WANT Thisb]6. Quite. Can you live up to it ? Valerian. You know me. [She goes to the door, pondering. Thisb^. Very well ; come into the library and put it on paper. Valerian. Agreed. [They walk to the library door. Thisb^. Oh — ^where is the ring ? Valerian {drawing one from his pocket). I have it here. [They disappear. SCENE IV All MuRiELLE and Sir Charles appear at the drawing-room door at the same time that Mrs. Fearler- DiGSLEY and Norbert come in by that of the loggia. Valerian enters from the library with Thisb^; at nearly the same moment. Norbert. "| Sir Charles. \ Darling ! Valerian. J [They discover each other and fumble the situation badly. Valerian recovers first, and starts toward the loggia. Valerian. Who is ready for tea ? Norbert. Just the thing ! Let me help you. [They go out into the loggia. MuRiELLE. Mother ! Mrs. F.-D. Hush, child. Do not call me mother before all these people. WHAT WOMEN WANT 13 TniSBi;. Do you take it as an insult ? Mrs. F.-D. No, as a reproof. Sir Charles. By Jove, Miss Fearler-Digsley, you can only reprove your mother for being a rival. MuRiELLE. What do you mean ? Sir Charles. In an abstract sense, of course. Mrs. F.-D. Tut ! Go and help Valerian, Murielle. Ah! [She sits down as Murielle goes into the loggia. What a heavenly spot this is — quite like Botticelli's Decameron. We ought to spend all our time telling stories. Sir Charles. I thought he wrote the Satyricon ? [He sits down. Thisb^:. Happily those days are past. Mrs. F.-D. Gracious ! I wish they would write more love stories. Sir Charles. I will tell you love stories, if you like. Valerian {coming in with a tray full of cufs). Who spoke of love ? [He ofers tea to Mrs. Fearler-Digsley and Thisbe. Murielle and Norbert come forward with cakes. Sir Charles. I did. What else is there to speak of ? Valerian. Don't. I forbid you all to speak of love in my house. [He puts the tray on a table, hy which Norbert and Murielle sit down. Valerian drinks his tea standing near the door to the loggia. Mrs. F.-D. Why ? Valerian. Because there is nothing in the world that has been so misrepresented and boomed. Norbert. Nonsense. Valerian, It would be nonsense to say that it does 14 WHAT WOMEN WANT not exist at all, but it is not nonsense to present its real nature. Mrs. F.-D. So you imagine you know its real nature ? [Laughter. Valerian. My dear Mrs. Fearler-Digsley, what is it that is commonly supposed to distinguish us from the animals ? Mrs. F.-D. Why, intelligence, brains — the in- tellect. Valerian. Exactly, and the whole animal kingdom is measured by degrees of intelligence. You admit that ? Mrs. F.-D. Of course ; the more brains a thing has, the more perfect it is. Valerian. And the more brains a man has, the more perfect he is. You admit also that the intellect is the most beautiful, most great and good thing in the world ? That it is superior' to character and to matter ? Murielle. It is a diflFerent thing ; you cannot compare them. Valerian. There you are wrong. Character and the body are as much a matter of personality as is the intellect. Will power, reason, and imagination are supreme ; to contradict this or to ignore it is to prove one's self either unintelligent or perverse. To be intelligent should be the greatest effort of everybody. No man who believes in mathematics will question it, and all men who do not believe in mathematics are insane. I think you must confirm me in saying there is nothing greater than intellect either on earth or in heaven. Sir Charles. I suppose we must, now that truth is becoming so popular. Valerian. Then if you think that, you dishonour WHAT WOMEN WANT 15 yourself in not striving to act by the direction of your brains. Every self-respeicting man to-day ought to try to see life as it is — to see the truth, and the truth is discoverable only through the mind. Science has learned a great deal about life, but the individual has to confront a side of it not explored by science, and he has to use his own eyes to understand it. If he looks out from his intellect he will know the truth about life ; if from his heart or his senses, he will believe lies. For instance, no man should believe in God or in evil, because it is unintelligent to do so, and to be unintelligent is a greater sin than irreverence. There is no greater sin. Believe nothing that your intellect does not know. Faith, hope, and worship ; fear, despair, and agnosticism, are results of the absence of enough energy to think. To obey traditions, govern- ment, and the wisdom of old men ; to be controlled by other men or things ; to use your senses without analysing their messages — there is no end to the lack of intelligence in our day. Hardly a man is brave enough to be intelligent, although many would be martyrs for mere beliefs. Think, think, think ! None of you think ! You all have education, but you do not think. Sir Charles. Oh, come on ! What on earth has all this to do with love ? Valerian. Some of you hoist love on to a pinnacle and clap loudly. Women and poets naturally grovel before it, but even men as great as Wagner have done so. Mrs. F.-D. Quite rightly. After all, very little truth is known, and love is real. Valerian. Less is known about love than about evolution. Nothing, in fact, is known about love i6 WHAT WOMEN WANT outside of its function in nature. What is spoken of as love is simply a panacea to which you flee the instant you become too lazy to think or too tired to care. That is a cowardly retreat before things which anyone could defeat ; bewildered by the complexity of life, you give up trying to understa:nd it, and closing both eyes and ears, shriek " Love." When people fall in love normally, they understand life ; it is those who never have loved, but think they would like to after a bout with the world, who set it up as the philo- sophy of life — a panacea like all religions. They trample knowledge under foot, and like beasts give themselves over to the pleasures of fanaticism. With- out being able to explain their theory, they cast its spell on others. You may call this noble, Dut I do not. If Wagner had written Gotterddtntnerung at the same time as its music, he never would have made Briinnhilda renounce knowledge for love. The reason was that after completing the drama, he himself felt so strong a desire to be loved, as a result of having done a good piece of intellectual work, that he did not care if he was intelligent then or not. Mrs. F.-D. But few people insist on worshipping love. Valerian. Many do. Supposing that its philo- sophical importance is destroyed, even as a phase of life it is over-estimated. It is pleasant to love and to be loved. There is nothing more pleasant, but how often do the right people love each other ; how long is it before it ends in sorrow if they do ? It brings many pains with jealousy, separation, and misunder- standing. MuRiELLE. But that pain is sweeter than pleasure. Valerian. Romance speaks. You do not believe WHAT WOMEN WANT 17 what you say. It is not beautiful to suffer from love. The only excuse for love is that it be happy ; and I have seldom seen it so. It is rank idealism and mysticism to put any beauty in any kind of pain. That idea is at the bottom of all voluptuousness. Illusions of any sort, no matter how pleasing, are mere voluptuousness ; romance and idealism are as per- nicious as the enjoyment of pain, and the pain of love being a very great pain, to like it is to prove one's self decadent. But love is always pain unless one is loved ; perhaps once or twice in a lifetime this happens. On the other hand, men love continually, and their love is happy only once or twice in their lives. If, then, you consider love beautiful or worthy of being given the direction of life, or of being followed as a principle — ^you are perverts. That is why I forbid you to talk about it in my house. Mrs. F.-D. Good heavens ! How the man must have been crossed in love. Valerian. I have never loved, and if I ever do, it shall occupy none but my spare moments. It is a capital recreation after work. MuRiELLE. You are a cold-hearted onlooker ! Valerian. Action kiUs thought. Sir Charles. Have we not had enough of the latter ? I have drunk four cups of tea to keep up with you, but being in the rear, I call for a little action. Don't you like athletics ? Valerian. Athletics are the worst vice of modern civilisation. Mrs. F.-D. I quite agree with you. {She gets up.) 1 am going out to watch the sunset ; what are you going to do, Norbert ? Norbert. Go also. [He rises. i8 WHAT WOMEN WANT Valerian. Let us all go and smoke. I have some new cigars. [The others get up, and Valerian leads ^he way into the loggia. Mrs. F.-D. Thisbe, my child, why are you so silent and serious ? You have not said a word. Thisb£. Oh ! I have been thinking. Mrs. F.-D. You, too ? Dear me, it must be in the air. {Excepting Murielle and Sir Charles, they all go out and sit down in the loggia. SCENE V Murielle. Sir Charles Murielle. Charles, wait a moment. I have some- thing to say to you. Sir Charles. Oh, I say ! Haven't you said it once ? Or rather, haven't I ? Murielle. You do not understand. What do you think of Craughton ? Sir Charles. A cut-and-dried old bachelor. Murielle. Do you believe what he says ? Sir Charles. Of course. Only things of that sort are hopelessly above the level of daily life. Besides, I do not think he has ever lived any more than he has loved. He speaks like a man who does not know the real purpose of the heart and senses. He exaggerates the importance of reason just as others do that of love, when the real truth is that life is a hash of many motive forces happily undominated by any one of them. WHAT WOMEN WANT 19 MuRiELLE. Do not use his rhetoric ; you have nothing to put into it. / think he is right. Sir Charles. Ab9ut what ? MuRiELLE. Love. Sir Charles. He is a cynic. Love is not anything hke what he says. It is a glorious burst of health, and he is not healthy enough to know. Surely healthy men are the rightful inheritors of the world, and what they approve is good. They love beauty, action, and to love. Less powerful people will do well to follow their example, so as not to be destroyed. MuRiELLE. Do you think mental health is less im- portant than physical ? Why, you are a cripple in comparison with his mental health, even if you are athletic and he is not. A glorious burst of mental health would be true love, while yours is ordinary — perhaps nothing but passion. Sir Charles. Well, then, why doesn't he burst into true love, as you call it ? Murielle. Ah, perhaps that does not exist after all. I do not know. Sir Charles. If it does, it must be a fearfully grim affair. MurieUe, dear, why should we bother about such forbidding things ? We have real love — a living, warm love — one that will always bathe us in a life- giving atmosphere. Why trouble about the other ? [He puts his arms about her. Murielle {freeing herself). No, no. Do not talk like that. Sir Charles. What ? Have we anything else to talk of ? I have not ; I can only think of you. Come to me. \He holds out his hands entreatingly. Murielle (retreating toward the loggia). Oh, no ! I — I could not. 20 WHAT WOMEN WANT Sir Charles. Wait ! What is the matter I Have I offended you ? MuRiELLE. No. Only I am not in the mood. Sir Charles. Murielle ! How can you be so cruel ! You do not love me. Murielle. I do — really, I do ! Sir Charles. Then I have angered you. Murielle (twisting her ring). It is not that — but, you know, I cannot help believing what he said, and perhaps it would be best after all if we did not marry. Sir Charles. You are not in earnest ? Murielle ! Murielle. Yes, I am in earnest. I am not sure whether I love you or not ; I do not believe in love, anyway. I thiiik I was carried away by my emotions this afternoon. You know what silly, romantic ideas get into a girl's head. Yes — in fact, I was influenced by something I read, and I thought it was very splendid to do as I did, but I see now that I was not serious. Forgive me, Charles, it is all my fault. Sir Charles. You mean to throw me over ? You want to break our engagement ? Murielle. It is best, dear. I am wiser than you. We would not be happy. I do not think I can love. Sir Charles. You are deceiving yourself ! Do not let Craughton's inhuman ideas affect you. Murielle. They do not. I believe I am only a shallow, heartless woman, and I am not worthy of your manly devotion. You would regret marrying me and lose all respect for me. I ask your forgiveness. [She gives him hack the ring. Sir Charles. You are breaking my heart — ^you are killing me. WHAT WOMEN WANT 21 MuRiELLE. You will find a woman more worthy of you, Charles. Sir Charles. Never ! I will never love anyone but you ! MuRiELLE {soothingly). I want you to. I will always be your friend — ^your sister. That is the only love I am capable of. Believe me. Let us shake hands, Charles. Sir Charles. Murielle ! You MuRiELLE. It is quite final. [He takes her hand and kisses it passionately. She smiles down at him benevolently, and, turning, goes out into the loggia. SCENE VI Mrs. Fearler-Digsley. Norbert As Murielle goes out, she passes Mrs. Fearler- Digsley and Norbert, who, coming in, are left alone by the departure of Sir Charles through the library door. Mrs. F.-D. It is no use, Norbert. I have been thinking over what you said to me, and have concluded that it is folly for us to marry. Norbert. I will not let you change your mind. You have no right to do so now that I have built all my hopes on your promise. Mrs. F.-D. Hopes ? I am a shabby old widow, and you a brilliant young poet ; there is nothing in it for you, Norbert. It would be terribly selfish of me to accept your love. Love ! I do not think there is such a thing ; who has ever seen it ? 22 WHAT WOMEN WANT NoRBERT. There is nothing else in the world ; we are all made of it. I love you, and you must not destroy me ! Mrs. F.-D, I should do so if I ruined your life by marrying you. You are only a boy — at least in ex- perience — and I know the world enough to foHow common sense instead of the heart. Believe me, Norbert, it would be absurd for us to marry. Norbert. Nothing is absurd when two people love each other. Mrs. F.-D. Perhaps not, but, you see, I am not sure whether I love you — in that way. My first marriage was a mere transaction, and the instinct in me to love was killed. I have never been allowed to love; I doubt if there is such a thing. You see you cannot marry such a person as I. Norbert. Even if you hated me, I should want to marry you. Mrs. F.-D. No, my dear, it is impossible. No one would respect either you or me. I wUl be a mother to you, Norbert — a more appropriate duty. Norbert. You are playing with me. Because I am young and dreamy you allow yourself to play with me. But I am more dangerous than an ordinary man, and I will not accept your refusal. Mrs. F.-D. My dear Norbert ! Do you threaten me ? Norbert. Pardon me. I am unhappy ; do not be cruel to me. Mrs. F.-D. Poor boy ! Go out into the park and open your poet's heart to the trees ; they will under- stand — men never will. You think me worthy of your love, dear, but I could never understand you or appreciate you. Poets never find the love they seek. WHAT WOMEN WANT 23 That is why the world is always so wonderful to them. Its beauty never dims. NoRBERT. Then I am not a poet, for I have found my love, and the world is ugly. Mrs. F.-D. I was unwise. Good-bye, Norbert. Let us shake hands. NoRBERT. Sophia ! You Mrs. F.-D. It is final. [She holds out his ring to him ; he kisses her hand passionately. She goes out into the drawing- room, and with bowed head he moves slowly to the library. SCENE VII Thisb]§;. Valerian Thisb^ and Valerian come in from the loggia. Thisbe. Only one moment. I have something to say to you — alone. Valerian. Well ? Thisb^. I am going to break off our engagement ; here is your ring. \She holds it out to him. Valerian. Thisbe ! Why ? TniSBi;. Take it. [He does so. Valerian. Explain ! What has happened ? Thisb£. After what you said at tea-time I can never marry you. Valerian. Because I decried the worship of love ? TfliSBi;. Yes. Valerian. But surely you agree with me ! How could I have offended you ? 24 WHAT WOMEN WANT THiSBi:. You did not offend me, and I agree utterly with you. Valerian. Then what on earth is the matter ? Thisb]6. It is not because anything is changed — at least in you, but you have started a train of thought in me that never before existed, and it means that I simply will not marry you. Valerian. Do you begrudge me the initiative ? Thisb^. Yes, I do. Valerian. What have I done ? TniSBii. Never before have I given a serious thought to love. For me it has always been a subject unworthy of consideration — I never bothered with it, never experienced it, never thought of it. It gave me a shock when I found you going to such trouble to attack it, and it suddenly appeared as a very strong and very real thing. Your vehemence brought it out as something important. I have been forced to con- sider it and to study it. Valerian. So much the better. Thisb£. So much the worse. The consciousness of love's power has undermined me, and my heart has turned traitor. Valerian. You — — Thisb^, Yes, I am beginning to love — not only to love, but to love you ! I am mortified by my weakness, and I am fighting it. My first step is to give you back your ring ; my next will be to take a severe course of organic chemistry. You have done me a great wrong. Valerian. This is too bad. Thisb^. I have awful misgivings that I will never again be intellectual. I am afraid I shall always love you — always ! WHAT WOMEN WANT 25 Valerian. Nonsense, this is only a mood. TniSBi:. I wish it were ; if you only knew how awful it is to love ! The shame of it — and I am too weak to master it. Valerian. I would recommend a little treatise I have been reading TniSBf:. No, no ! I could not study now. I only have a terrible desire to say " I love you." Valerian. Thisbe, control yourself. Thisb]6. I cannot. Have pity on me, {She ap- proaches him.) Do you think you could love me ? Valerian. Thisbe, go to your room and repent. {He points at the door.) I am shocked, thoroughly shocked. It is fortunate we did not marry. I thought you were a serious woman. Thisb^:. I have never been serious before. I will go away. Good-bye. \He gives her his hand. Valerian. Brace up, Thisbe. Thisb^. I will do my best. [She turns and goes out into the drawing-room. SCENE vni Valerian. Murielle As Valerian shrugs his shoulders and is about to go away, Murielle makes her appearance jrom the loggia. Murielle. Are you alone, Valerian ? Valerian. Unless you are somebody. Murielle. What a cynic you are. Valerian. You persist in being original. 26 WHAT WOMEN WANT MuRiELLE. Do not make fun of me. {She sits down) Are you really as strong as you pretend ? Valerian. In comparison to you ? Do you fear me ? MuRiELLE. One should not fear strong people; they are so much kinder than weak ones. Valerian. Intolerance is the stamp of weak people ; it is their only weapon. MuRiELLE. Of small people ; they need not neces- sarily be weak. Valerian. Does not small mean weak ? Anyone who condemns anything is small. Strong men ap- prove of and do everything. Only the totality of experience will make a perfect instrument ; the power not to do things is hardly strength. MuRiELLE. Yet it is called strength of character. Valerian. By those who have none to do good things. MuRiELLE. So you think yotirself strong in not loving ? Is that not small ? Valerian. I would love if I knew how. MuRiELLE. , You should find out. In order to com- plete yourself you ought to experience love. Until you have lived and loved you are not whole, even if you have thought ; it is therefore absurd of you to speak about things you have never experienced. Valerian. I know all about love from having studied it. Murielle. Would you know all about water if you had never drunk it, although you had seen others do so ? Valerian. That is a clever question, but a foolish one. The only thing I would learn from drinking water would be the sensation of quenching my thirst. WHAT WOMEN WANT 27 That is the least part of the experience, and one which almost surely forbids any other. Few men who have drunk water push their inspection of the consequences further than the last swallow. MuRiELLE. You believe you know more about love than I ? Valerian. Have you loved ? MuRiELLE (blushing). I do love. Valerian. Then you know nothing about it. MuRiELLE. Oh ! but I do. Valerian. You feel it, but you do not think about it. Murielle. It is all I think about. Valerian. One cannot think when one loves. Murielle. False ! I think you are a monster, for instance. Valerian. That is a conviction, not a thought. Am I so hateable ? Murielle. I should either hate you — hate you or Valerian. Hate me, by all means. It is the safest sort of love. Murielle. First, do you really mean what you said this afternoon ? Valerian. I always say what I mean. Murielle. Well, seeing that you have asked me — I confess that — ^you interest me. Valerian. Thisbe said that she loved me, point blank. Murielle. What ? She was joking. Valerian. I hope so. Murielle. You reaUy mean that she had the in- delicacy to say she loved you ? Valerian. She said it. 28 WHAT WOMEN WANT MuRiELLE {outraged). The idiot ! Valerian. I quite agree with you. Do reason with her. I am glad you are going to be more delicate. MuRiELLE. The confession of a noble sentiment is not indelicate. A woman who professes to be in- tellectual can have no sentiment. Valerian. Now see here, I am not the man to talk with about sentiments. MuRiELLE. My dear Valerian, you are the most sentimental man alive. You have sentiments about your beliefs, your brains, your person ; it is that alone which makes you give opinions on all subjects. You are hopelessly romantic. Valerian. Only in regard to myself. MuRiELLE. Is there any other sort of romance ? Valerian. There is yours. You need a second. Murielle. You are too quick for me. You see through me, Valerian. What are you going to do ? Valerian. Nothing. Murielle. You must ; I am a danger, and you must meet me. Valerian. I am impregnable. Murielle. Love knows no obstacle. Valerian. Murielle, I do not love you, T never will love you, and it is useless. Murielle. I have not said I loved you. You showed me that love is a paltry thing — I scorn it. I want to think and to be strong. I have renounced love ; I loved only half an hour ago, but I no longer do, because you taught me that it is not good enough. I want to learn to reason, and I want you to teach me. Valerian. I advise you to keep on loving. It is your mission. Murielle. Very well ; you have commanded me. WHAT WOMEN WANT 29 Valerian. May I ask whom you are going to love ? MuRiELLE. You. Valerian. You may if you like. MuRiELLE. And I will make you love me. Valerian. We shall see. Murielle. I have always been able to make people love me when I have willed it. Valerian. Only you have never let them know it until they were caught. Murielle. Then the conquest will be all the greater ; I defy you. Valerian. I warn you that we are to be veritable enemies, Murielle. The whole subject disgusts me. You are going to put an end to our friendship. Murielle. How is it possible for one to love any- body else when a man who argues like you is present ? It is a taunt to all women. You are going to be simply annihilated. Au revoir. You have already begun to love me in threatening me. [She sails away into the library. SCENE IX Valerian. Mrs. Fearler-Digsley As Valerian stares after Murielle, Mrs. Fearler- Digsley runs in from the drawing-room. Mrs. F.-D. Valerian ! Valerian {turning. Don't say it. Mrs. F.-D. What ? Valerian. That you love me. Mrs. F.-D. How did you know ? 30 WHAT WOMEN WANT Valerian. It is my curse ; they all love me. Mrs. F.-D. Everyone loves you, my dear— but not in the way I do. Valerian. What is your way — submission or de- fiance ? Mrs. F.-D. You think me a silly schoolgirl. For shame, Valerian ! No, I pity you ; you need a woman to fill in the ravenous blanks in your life. Besides, I have not declared anything. Remember that I am a matron. Valerian. All honour to your dignity ! Mrs. F.-D. There are women, my friend, who are born to provide for the comforts of children. Most men never are able to procure these comforts them- selves, and unless they find a nurse they live harassed by practical details all their lives. You are essentially impractical. Valerian. Without suffering from it. Mrs. F.-D. Anyone who can speak with convic- tion, as you did, about the sentiments, needs a nurse. If you were to marry an ordinary woman who said she loved you madly, you would both soon be ship- wrecked. Valerian. Now, Sophia, no man in this Ufe ever married his nurse. I hope you are not going to propose something nearly resembling incest. Mrs. F.-D. I speak of trained nurses, my dear. Valerian. You are quite untrained. Mrs. F.-D. Fifteen years of married life gave me a diploma ; no need of man is unknown to me. Valerian. What. are you aiming at ? I don't know what you mean. Mrs. F.-D. Your arguments have enlightened me as to the value of love, but they have also shown me that WHAT WOMEN WANT 31 I must be your friend, or else you will run into danger. Valerian, as a business agreement, I should like to undertake the management of a part of your affairs which you are unfit to direct. As a veritable partner I would be ready to enter into a contract with you. Serious friendship rules me. Valerian. Good heavens above ! Are all men so afflicted ? You know my opinions on this matter, and it is most inconsiderate to speak as you have. You pain and anger me at once. I want neither love, nor friendship, nor care ; I am sorry to be rude. Mrs. F.-D. {taken aback). I am confused ; I thought you almost invited me to speak, and I did so counting on your will. Pardon me ; I have made a great mistake, and I regret it. Still, you know my mind, and I rely on your generosity. Valerian. I am in a contemptible position. I think we both need generosity ; let us try to forget about it. Mrs. F.-D. Alas, I never can. [She retires into the library with dignity. SCENE X Valerian. Norbert. Sir Charles NoRBERT and Sir Charles come out from the library as Mrs. Fearler-Digsley enters it, and arrest Valerian, who is anxious to escape. Sir Charles. Look here, Valerian, I have a point to settle with you. Norbert. And I, too. [They confront Valerian. Valerian. Are you both going to say you love me ? 32 WHAT WOMEN WANT Sir Charles. We are both going to ask what you mean by interfering in our affairs. NoRBERT. And amusing yourself with serious matters. Valerian. I assure you I care neither for your affairs nor for serious matters. Sir Charles. There is no use in oratory at this moment, Craughton. NoRBERT. No, it is up to you to explain yourself. Valerian. I never have been able to. Sir Charles. What is your object in breaking up my affair with Murielle ? Norbert. And mine with Sophia. Valerian. Oh ! This is too much. In the first place, I did not know you had any such affairs ; when did they happen ? Sir Charles. Never mind. You have wrought a curious change in Murielle, and she has thrown me aside. It was all on account of what you said this afternoon. Norbert. Sophia also is entirely changed on account of your doctrines ; what are you going to do about it? Valerian. My dear friends, when I talk I do so regardless of the temperaments within hearing. It is your business to influence MurieUe and Sophia, not mine. Sir Charles. Then why have you done so ? Valerian. If I did, I did it unknowingly. It is not my fault, and I tell you that I am awfully sorry. Norbert. That does not help us any. You have alienated their affections. You have got to answer for it. Valerian. What on earth can I do ? WHAT WOMEN WANT 33 Sir Charles. You can say that you did not mean all that about love. NoRBERT. No, that would never do ; he must say that he means something else about it. He must speak in favour of it. Valerian. Really, that is more than I will do. If you are angry with me, let us settle it between our- selves, but I will not lie. How do you know that my words changed their opinions ? Sir Charles. It could have been nothing else. NoRBERT. It was not so much that you abused love as that you showed you cared nothing for it. Here we prayed for it, and you, who slighted it^ get it ; is that fair ? Sir Charles. They had already trapped us ^ seeing more quarry, they pursued it. You should not have presented yourself as game. Valerian. Good Lord ! Presented myself ! Sir Charles. To be indifferent to women is to tempt them. Valerian. I am sorry. WTiat can I do to help you ? As your friend, I will try to smooth things over, but I will not contradict myself, and it is you who will be the debtors in the end. There is nothing I should like better than to see you all safely married — it is my dream. Couldn't you dispose of Thisbe, too ? NoRBERT. Do not be frivolous. Do anything — say you love them or hate them, then they will become sensible and listen to us again. Sir Charles. No need of saying you love them. Just gush about love and romance a little aU to your- self ; that wiU set them on the right track. Valerian. I will do my best. 34 WHAT WOMEN WANT SCENE XI Valerian. Sir Charles. Norbert. Murielle, Mrs. Fearler-Digsley Murielle and Mrs. Fearler-Digsley wander in demurely. Mrs. F.-D. Murielle, dear. Murielle. Yes, Mother. Valerian. Mrs. Fearler-Digsley — Murielle, will you let me congratulate you both on the happiness I learn you are both giving and receiving ? Mrs. F.-D.] „ ■ „ , Murielle. | Happiness ? Valerian. Your engagements to my two dear friends, Charles and Norbert ! I am so pleased. Mrs. F.-D.I ^ ^ , TV , 1- Engagements ! Murielle. J ° ° Valerian. So unexpected, but so agreeable to me. Murielle. Mother, have you become engaged ? Mrs. F.-D. Murielle, what does this mean ? Valerian. Perhaps I have been indiscreet ; do forgive me. Mrs. F.-D. {to Murielle). To whom are you engaged, pray ? Murielle. To no one. To whom are you engaged, please ? Mrs. F.-D. To no one. Mr. Craughton, you have been misinformed. Valerian. Is it possible ? Only this instant Charles claimed you of me — ^and Norbert, Murielle. WHAT WOMEN WANT 35 MuRiELLE. Of you ? {She laughs.) Indeed ! And did they think you were our owner ? Mrs. F.-D. How absurd ! Valerian. Are neither of you engaged ? Mrs. F.-D.) ^^^ j MURIELLE. / Sir Charles. Murielle ! You know you really are engaged to me. NoRBERT. Sophia ! How can you say so ! Valerian. I think there is some explanation due. Charles and Norbert, accusing me of interfering in their love affairs, came and demanded that I should with- draw. As there was nothing to withdraw from, I could not find my part very consequential. Sophia, Murielle, you will assure these gentlemen that I am innocent, will you not ? Murielle. Mr. Craughtoii, I was at one time pledged to Sir Charles Alberslade. If I see fit to ask release, it has nothing to do with you. Mrs. F.-D. Valerian, although I have broken my promise to Mr. Forthmont, you are not the cause of it. Sir Charles. He is ! He put unnatural ideas into your head. Norbert. He stole you from me wantonly, without any purpose. Valerian. How do you know I had no purpose ? Suppose I love them both myself ? Did that ever occur to you ? Mrs. F.-D.l Murielle. Sir Charles. Then that is squarer. They can now choose between us. Norbert. Sophia, can you hesitate between your H You do ? 36 WHAT WOMEN WANT two rivals ? You know I love you, and that he cannot love. Valerian. Yes, for goodness' sake, choose between us and settle the matter. Mrs. F.-D. Murielle, do vou love Mr. Craughton ? MuRiELLE. Mother, that is what I was going to ask you. Mrs. F.-D. I am sure I would not compete with you. Murielle. I retire before your wishes. Valerian. Let's toss up for it. Heads, Sophia ; tails, Murielle. Murielle. This is not a gamble. . If my mother loves you, Mr. Craughton, let her speak. Mrs. F.-D. Dear, I will not stand in yoiu: way. Valerian. Rot ! As you both love me, there is nothing to do but draw lots for me. Murielle. I do not love you ! I scorn you. Mrs. F.-D. You know very well I do not love you. Valerian. Then what on earth is to prevent your making up with Charles and Norbert ? Sir Charles. Be reasonable, MurieUe. Norbert. Take back my ring, Sophia. Murielle. Never ! I love no one, and I wiU never marry. Love is a farce. Mrs. F.-D. You are right, Murielle. Love is a farce, and I, too, will never again marry. Sir Charles. Murielle ! Norbert. Sophia ! Valerian. If you are acting after my sermon of this afternoon, I warn you that it is not a working theory and that it is not suitable for real life. Sir Charles. Hear him ! He does not follow his own preachings — not even he — ^as he showed when he WHAT WOMEN WANT 37 said he loved you, and if you follow them you will do wrong. NoRBERT. There is no truth in his ideas. Valerian. My friends are right. Forget what I said and make up. I want you to marry and be happy ; it would be a great sorrow to me to know I had caused unhappiness. Sir Charles. I have forgiven you, Murielle ! NoRBERT. I beseech you, Sophia. Murielle. Silence ! Mr. Craughton was wiser than he knows. I have not accepted his message in full, but the truth in it has warned me against such a foolish step as marriage. No, Sir Charles, I wiU not change my mind ; I mean to be detached and intelli- gent all my life. I will never marry. Mrs. F.-D. I have spoken, Norbert. My folly was evident to all ; my destiny is a solitary one, and it is best. I do not believe in love. Sir Charles (bitterly). So this is what a woman's heart is made of ! Oh, Valerian, I am grateful to you for having saved me from her. Norbert. My illusions are dead. I thought women soft and true, but I find them hard and cruel. Valerian, you have guided me over a very dangerous point, and I love you for it. Murielle. What is this ? Mrs. F.-D. So they are insulting us after all our condescension ! Valerian. Nonsense. You are all fools. Norbert. We are not. You have shown me that friendship is a nobler thing than love. You have been very good to me in this matter, and I pledge you my eternal friendship, Valerian. It is more beautiful than love. I love you as a brother. 38 WHAT WOMEN WANT Sir Charles. Bravo, Norbert ! I second yon. Friendship is a finer thing than love. Here is my hand for ever, Valerian, old chap. They will see that we, too, can renounce love — there is something better to replace it. [They shake Valerian's hands demonstratively. Mrs. F.-D.^ ^^^ , murielle. / Valerian. Be sensible ! There is absolutely no difference between friendship and love, except in degree. MuRiELLE (interfering). I am not the person to stand aside and see my interests hurt. Charles, I forbid you to be so friendly with Valerian. Mrs. F.-D. Norbert, this is not seemly. Leave him alone. Norbert. Not seemly ? There is nothing more noble. Sir Charles. They are jealous because they know friendship is stronger than love. Valerian (feebly). I think I ought to go. MuRiELLE. No, you shall not ; I have the first claim to you. Norbert. He is my friend. Mrs. F.-D. I will not lose by your lack of dignity. Murielle, I order you to give him up. Sir Charles. I defy you all to take him from me. Valerian (more feebly). This is what comes of professing not to love ! They have aU fallen in love with me, unhappy mortal that I am ! (With in- spiration.) Listen ! I love you all. I am simply mad about every one of you ! I am fiUed with love of the whole race. Murielle. He loves me only. WHAT WOMEN WANT 39 Mrs. F.-D. He really cares but for me. Sir Charles. I am his best friend. NoRBERT. He knows I love him most. Valerian (loudly). Order ! This scene is disgrace- ful, perfectly disgraceful. If you cannot come to your senses I invite you all to take the next train to tovsrn. SCENE XII All. Thisb^ comes in dressed for travelling and carrying a handbag. Thisb^ {sadly). I find I am obliged to hurry to town, Mr. Craughton. I hope you wUl excuse my rudeness ; the reason is very urgent. \The others do not find a word to say. Valerian {excitedly, as she moves toward the door to the loggia). Wait a minute ! Wait ! I am going with you ! \He hurries after her. Thisb£. I am going on business. Valerian. So am I ! Strictly business ! \T^hey disappear. The others stand exasperated and foolishly surprised. MuRiELLE (recovering her composure). No one knows what a woman wants ! Mrs. F.-D. Norbert ! (^he walks toward the draw- ing-room door) Only one moment. I have something to say to you. Norbert {moving after her). Is it so private as that ? Mrs. F.-D. {going out). Yes, it is very private. {Norbert follows her and disappears. 40 WHAT WOMEN WANT MuRiELLE. What is the use ? Charles ! Only one moment. I have something to say to you ! \She goes to the library door. Sir Charles {laughing. Is it really so private as that ? \He approaches her. MuRiELLE. Yes, it is very, very, very private. [They disappear. END OF THE PLAY A MATTER OF MORALS A PLAY IN FOUR ACTS TO MRS. HORATIO ALLEN Cassien Gaunt. Mrs. Gaunt, his mother. ASHTON Maurlscot, M.P. Mrs. Maurlscot, his wife. Denise Maurlscot, his daughter. Nina Edgewood. Gilbert Thorne. Gates Mallard. Julia Mallard, his sister. Professor Floedalson. Doctor Kleinhell. ACT I Cassien's study in London. ACT II A room in the Mallards' house. ACT III Cassien's laboratory. ACT IV The same as Act I. The events take place on the 22nd and 2^rd of May 1913, within twenty-four hours. A MATTER OF MORALS ACT I The wall on the left side of the room is halved by another, which leaves it at right angles and then turns to run parallel with it to the rear wall. In the part facing the front is a door which communicates with the hall. A second door opens from the nearer side of the wall into a bedroom. In the middle of the rear wall is the fireplace. At an equal distance from it as the corner made by the third section of the left wall, another angle occurs, which is formed by a part of the right wall crossing the room diagonally and leaving only enough space for a door in the part facing the left side. In the diagonal portion are two more doors that are transparent, and lead to a balcony. The other one goes into a laboratory. The room is small, low- ceiled, and dingy, although efforts have been made to conjure away its dimness. The paper is striped by fancy ribbons of a brownish-magenta hue on a grey ground, over all of which is thrown a veil of black lines calculated to give it texture. Its effect is almost negatived by age, however, and it is one of those things that, once seen, is immediately forgotten. There is very little pretence to cornice, frames, or mouldings; what woodwork there is, is stained white. The mantelpiece — a wooden one — is surmounted by a mirror, and much of the wall space is hidden by beautiful pictures carefully arranged. At the glazed doors are curtains of white linen. In front of them, well in the room, is a large table fitted as a desk, behind which is a chair. At either side of it are other chairs, and a few more stand along 43 44 A MATTER OF MORALS the walls. In the same position as the table, on the other side of the stage, is a couch beside a reading-table. Behind it, against the left wall, is a bookcase ; a cupboard stands between this and the fireplace. The ornaments are interesting and the rugs well chosen. An air of extravagance is created by a tumult of plants and flowers that crowd about the doors to the balcony, and are massed thickly outside; these doors are open. It is late in the afternoon, and the sun is shining. SCENE I Cassien. Gilbert. Cassien is seated at the desk, working. A hell rings ; he ignores it. After a moment it rings again, and he looks at the door angrily. Then he resumes his writing, indiferent to the continued summons. The visitor is more -persistent than his resolution, however, and he jumfs up exasperated by the noise. Instead of going to the door he opens that on the right, and slams it behind him as he goes out. The bell is silenced, only to be seconded by knocks. The voice of Gilbert is heard. Gilbert. Cassien ! I say, Cassien ! Are you there ? \There being no answer, Gilbert tries the door, and finding it unlocked, enters. He looks around the room questioningly, and walks toward the windows. Then he recrosses the room to open the bedroom door. Cassien ? Where the devil are you ? \He closes the door again and stands pondering, when the laboratory door swings ajar and Cassien's voice is heard. A MATTER OF MORALS 45 Cassien. You know I am not in, Gilbert. Run away and do not disturb me. Gilbert {approaching the door). So you are here after all ? Cassien {coming in). What do you want ? Gilbert. Nothing. Cassien. Then go away. Gilbert. Don't be gruff, Cassien. Cassien. Look here, Gilbert, I have no time to waste. I have told you repeatedly not to bother me again. There is the way out. Gilbert. But your personality, Cassien ! I am not responsible. Cassien. Nonsense ; you imagine personality can govern the world. Gilbert. It does. Nothing can defeat a charming personality. Cassien. You are wrong; personality is only effective in dealing with personalities. Against other things it is helpless, and has never been known to do an honest day's work. Gilbert. Do not injure yourself ; you have nothing but personality. What do I care whether you work or not ? Your personality is all that concerns me. Cassien. Because you have nothing better yourself. Now go away. Gilbert. I have no such intention. [He throws himself down on the couch. Cassien. Do as you like. \He seats himself at the desk and resumes his work. Gilbert. You treat me abominably. {No reply) You know that I have no other interest in life than you, and you are cruel to me. {Silence) Don't you value my affection ? 46 A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien {putting down Ms fen). I value no one's affection. Any sort of regard for me is extremely distasteful. I ask nothing of the world but to be left alone. Gilbert. That is the most you could ask. Do you realise that there is no man in London who is more sought after than you ? You could be an idol if you would only show yourself. Cassien. Stop ! I hate it. Gilbert. You are admired, loved, praised by the entire world. Why do you slink away from it as if you hated it ? Cassien. I do. Gilbert. I do not understand you. Cassien. Of course you don't, Gilbert, because you are nothing more nor less than a hermaphrodite. Gilbert. I say ! Cassien. You have all the woman's thirst for con- quest ; you flourish your wares shamelessly in the eyes of no matter whom, simply to gain regard. You seduce the hearts of the immediate assembly for no other reason than that it pleases you, and as soon as you have received their confidence you throw them away. You never loved; you have no need of love any more than a woman needs love. Like them, you desire its potential form from every being in creation and cast it aside when assured, only giving your own when defeated. Giving, I say ; you couldn't take love. That is only one of your hermaphroditic qualities. Gilbert. You are quite in error. In the first place, I am an ideal friend. Cassien. In teasing me to death ? No, Gilbert, you may have a man's head and body, but you have A MATTER OF MORALS 47 a woman's heart. How much it modifies your character I do not know, but I see very little of the latter — another feminine trait. You are the puppet of every mood, you are inconstant in any line of action, you are overwhelmed by circumstances ; all of which faihngs would be mastered by character if you had it. Gilbert. Character is a horrid bore. Gassien. Absence of it is pleasant to others, but it spells failure. Once you tire people as you tire me, you will be put out of the way. Gilbert. You say aU that because you know I am more attractive than you. You are jealous of me. Cassien (looking at him narrowly). Not in the way you think. Gilbert. You are jealous enough of your time. Cassien. It belongs to me. Gilbert. So does mine, if you would only take it. Cassien. That is another way of proposing to rob me of mine, as you are doing now. Really, Gilbert, I must insist on your leaving. \The bell rings again. Gilbert. Too late. It would be rude to these people. Cassien {rising). Won't they leave me alone ? Gilbert. You selfish brute ! You really have no right to shirk your duties toward the world. Cassien. Enough, Gilbert. [He goes to the door and opens it. 48 A MATTER OF MORALS SCENE II Cassien. Gilbert. Nina. Floedalson. Nina walks in, followed by Professor Floedalson. Nina. HeUo, Cassien ! How . are you ? I hope we are not disturbing you. I have brought Professor Floedalson to see you. May we come in ? Cassien.' You are in already. Glad to meet you. Professor Floedalson. Do not stand in the hall. \He shakes Floedalson's hand and brings him into the room. Nina advances and dis- covers Gilbert. Nina. You here, Gilbert ? You are privileged. Gilbert. If privileges are such when fought for {getting up) — Hello, Floedalson ! Nina. Now, Cassien, you must let me make some tea. I have brought Professor Floedalson to talk with you about your inventions. Cassien. Oh ! The things are in the cupboard. [Nina and Gilbert set the table beside the couch. Cassien and Floedalson sit down. Floedalson. Of course, Mr. Gaunt, I know all about your work, and what of its secrets you have cared to reveal. I am curious, though, to see your instruments, and I also have an offer to make to you on another subject. Cassien. They are in the laboratory ; I shall be happy to show them to you. Floedalson. First, I want to tell you the grateful- ness that I feel for your kindness ; I know how valuable your time is. Nina. Nonsense, Professor ; it is of no value. A MATTER OF MORALS 49 Gilbert. Careful, Nina ! He is cross to-day. Floedalson. Miss Edgewood, Mr. Gaunt, has no appreciation of the labours of a scientist. I repeat how much I am thankful, and hope you will not regret your loss. Cassien. I sacrifice very little, sir. The instru- mentsi Floedalson. Yes, yes ; but first I must discharge the real object of my visit. Mr. Gaunt, there is no man alive who is more prized by society in general than you. AH classes of men and all kinds of men realise your worth. You are treasured and loved by society. Cassien. If your visit is to flatter me, Professor Floedalson, I beg you to stop. Floedalson. No, not to flatter ; to offer. I am asked to present to you the presidential chair of the New Scientific Institute of London. Do not expos- tulate ; the position is not a big enough one, I know, but it may be made so. Nina. Congratulations, Cassien ! Cassien. I am sorry. Professor Floedalson, but I long ago resolved to take no active part in life. I am not fitted for it ; I am moved by the attention, I assure you, but I must renounce the honour. Floedalson. Oh, Mr. Gaunt, do not chagrin us, at least without reflection. Everything will be done to make the position a joy for you, not a task. There will be no duties — merely greater liberty. Cassien. Thank you. I cannot accept. Nina. What right have you to ignore an oppor- tunity to develop yourself and to serve society ? Unless you have a good reason, you wiU be a sort of criminal. so A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien. I said no. Floedalson. Think of the resources that are going to waste every day that you remain secluded. You have surplus energy of a supernatural quality which might be revolutionising the world. Society needs you and calls to you. Do not be deaf ; in serving it you will serve yourself. Cassien {rising impatiently). Really, must I be rude ? My answer is final. Nina. Tea is ready, Cassien. Perhaps it will coun- sel generosity. Will you have a cup, Professor ? Floedalson. Thank you ; I should like to see Mr. Gaunt's laboratory first, if I might. Cassien. By all means ; Gilbert, will you take him in ? I want my tea. Gilbert. So do I. Nina. Be an example, Gilbert ! One of us ought to sacrifice. Floedalson. Dear me ! I do not want to trouble anyone. Gilbert. Not in the least ! Come with me. [He takes the Professor out into the laboratory. The door closes. SCENE III Cassien. Nina Nina and Cassien sit down to their tea. Nina. Really, Cassien, I think you are too tactless. I brought Floedalson here on an important matter, and you not only made light of it, but you offended him and insulted me. A MATTER OF MORALS sr Cassien. Look here, Nina, I did not ask you to call, and you can make the best of whatever you receive. Nina. Don't carry the matter too far. Cassien. I only reply. Nina (putting down her cup). What motive possesses you ? Cassien. I have no motive. If I do not care to accept the direction of an institute, I surely have the right to refuse it. Nina. But why ? You have given no reason. Cassien. Because I prefer to keep to myself the " superfluous " energy of which Floedalson spoke. I have no desire to be a servant of universal or any other society. I can direct that service to my own uses. Nina. You cannot. The smallest amount of energy cannot be entirely employed by a single occupation. It requires two or three fields to turn it all to account. Cassien. That is my affair. Society has no claim on me. I wiU give it what I see fit, and it has no right to grumble. Nina. It has a right to grumble when it knows of precious matter that is going to waste. Cassien. Nothing is going to waste. If it grumbles, it is simply from greed ; it hates to see an individual profiting by what it might enjoy. Society hates the individual. My energy is my own, and I wiU do as I wish with it. Nina. You are miserly. Cassien. When I have given society all that I have already ? Nina. True; pardon me. But at least, if you 52 A MATTER OF MORALS withhold from society so much that you might give it, you ought to give more to your friends and your family. There is your mother, whom you practically refuse to see, and who only lives for you. Here is Gilbert, who worships you, and whom you avoid. Granting that humanity in general must take what you care to give, those that are near to you deserve the full allowance. You are so seclusive that no one ever sees you ; it may bore you to hear of the love and admiration of stupid mankind, but why should it that of your rela- tives and friends ? My dear Cassien, we do not want to ask sacrifices, duties, or attention from you ; we only want our love to be accepted and acknowledged. Cassien. Go on. Nina. Give us access to you ; do not despise us. We do not insult you with sympathy ; there is no reason why we should impose upon you in asking recognition. Not one of us seeks to patronise you or injure your individuality. Simply let us love you and be near you. Cassien. Is that all ? Nina. Yes. Cassien. Every word that you utter that speaks of love pains me. It is not rancour or sad experiences, my dear Nina, that makes the love of people horrible to me ; I am not cynical. Neither am I affected in refusing it. I know myself, and in knowing myself I am myself. By such means only can I become my- self. I am not ashamed of my character because it is different from other people's, any more than Siegmund. was ashamed of his. That does not prove that it is weaker than other people's. On the contrary, I am stronger, because I govern it. You, an observer, what do you think my character is ? A MATTER OF MORALS 53 Nina. I think you are an egoistical individualist, a hater of organisation, a spirit so perfect that it is capable of the greatest and the meanest acts. Cassien. You overlook the one motive which rules me. I am jealous — I am a slave to the passion of jealousy. Nina (laughing). That is absurd. You love no one ; how can you then be jealous ? Cassien. You have no idea what jealousy is. Hatred, revenge, cruelty, passion — these are incapable of the lengths to which jealousy may go. The madness of Electra was heroic ; the desire of Salome was sub- lime — but the passion of jealousy has worked out more fearful tragedies than these. Nina. No doubt ; but what earthly connection have they with you ? Cassien. Must a passion always be the same ? Is its strongest form found in its most frequent manifestation ? You cling to the fact that five minutes ago I said love was distasteful to me, and you concluded therefore that I did not love. You supposed that jealousy must inevitably be the ugly, stupid thing of a person who loves another little enough to want to possess him even in so small a matter as fidelity. That is an ignoble, vicious feeling, unlike the pure beauty of true jealousy. I do not speak of it now as concerning three people ; I speak of it as concerning nobody and yet everybody. Nina. You are detraqui, Cassien. For heaven's sake, talk sense. Cassien. I do. It concerns nobody in my case, because I love nobody ; and it concerns everybody, because I love myself. 54 A MATTER OF MORALS Nina. Now we are finding a point of departure; you love yourself. Cassien. I love myself absolutely. The self-love that I have is more than self-esteem or a pretty romance. It is a passion which is stronger and more beautiful than all the vapid love stories in the world. Self-love is the first of all moral duties ; it forms and cultivates the individual, and it is the only thing that can do so. People who do not love themselves remain undeveloped and worthless ; they are the unfit, and are crushed out by the men who do love themselves and devote all their energies to perfecting themselves. Self-love is the secret of evolution ; it is the most beautiful and moral of aU qualities. I say this, that I love myself, and in making myself more strong I work for the entire universe. The individualist is the only moral man ; he who lives for himself lives for his brothers ; and sacrifice, altruism, and unselfish- ness are sentimental errors prompted by morbid self- love which has not found its true expression. If everyone loved himself, there wovild be no need of injuring others to live. Nina. Faguet has said all that ; we would all like to live up to it. Cassien. Then why don't you ? In allowing others to lean on you, you destroy their strength and your own. I am self-sufficient, and the moralness of it is proved by the appreciation men show of me. They know me so pure and great that they shriek for more, more, fearing to lose some of me. Nina. What has this to do with jealousy ? We are wandering away from the subject. Cassien. I love myself so much that I am jealous of myself. The idea of someone else loving me burns A MATTER OF MORALS 55 me with all the wrath of Othello. I hate every word of love to me as he would those to Desdemona. I am' fearfully jealous of myself. Nina. You mean to say that the love of your family and friends, and the world, does not honestly please you ? Cassien. It enrages me. I hate it. I belong to myself ; the love of others tries to steal me from myself. No one shall have me ! I mean to guard myself against the rivals I have in those who wish to steal me — unhappily, against the whole world, for it loves me. Nina. I hate that sentiment. Cassien. It is good; it is a proof of my self-love. But it is violent, more violent than the petty anger of a jealous lover. With me it is a question of my very life, for once betrayed by myself, my individuality- is lost and all I live for gone. My jealousy is more essential than the instinct of self-preservation. Nina. Really, Cassien, this is verging on insane analysis. Cassien. I wanted to show you why I hate praise, love, admiration — any demonstration from others. All I ask is to be left alone. What is flattery and food to you is attack and poison to me. We are built difEerently. Anything but complete indifference rouses my jealousy, and I am not accountable for that passion's acts. If I am too unwisely loved, I will not be responsible. Take your Professor away, keep my family and friends out of sight — that wiU be kind of you. Nina. You are decadent. Cassien. Is savage chastity decadent ? Or the shame of Lucrece ? No, Nina, my jealousy is as beautiful as my self-love. You cannot afford to scorn 56 A MATTER OF MORALS either ; they are essential to the realisation of my individuality, and that is all I can offer the world. I would murder to protect it, Nina. Why have you told me this ? Cassien. In self-defence. Nina. Have you not given me a great deal ? Cassien {frowning at her). I have given nothing of myself. Nina. But you have ! You have confided the secret of your character to me. You have trusted me, and revealed yourself to me. You have given me all of yourself that you could to a friend. You do not really know yourself, or you would be more consistent ; you would not have explained a word to me. But you did, and you show that you do care that much for me — that your self-love and jealousy are ideas instead of motives. (Rising.) Cassien, I hope this is true. I sincerely hope so, because you know how much I am your friend — that it would hurt me to see you cast me aside. I believe you actually love the world with aU the force that you say you love yourself, and that you are attempting some sort of self-conquest. Cassien {whom Nina has approached, jumping up furiously). Take care ! You know me. SCENE IV Cassien. Nina. Gates. Julia. Mrs. Gaunt The door to the hall opens, and Mrs. Gaunt comes in. Mrs. Gaunt {stopping and staring at Nina through her lorgnette). Dear me ! I thought you would be alone, Cassien. A MATTER OF MORALS 57 Cassien. So did I. Nina. As I am in the way, do not intimate that I should go ; I was about to do so. Will you call Professor Floedalson, please. Mrs. Gaunt. Floedalson ? Is he here ? That is different. [Nina turns sharply to the balcony and devotes herself to the plants. Cassien. What do you want ? Mrs. Gaunt {unheard by Nina). Cassien, I thought you never saw that girl. Cassien. Honestly, mother, that is really none of your business. Mrs. Gaunt. Nonsense ; I know more of the world than you do. Cassien. You are jealous, a jealous mother — some- thing I scorn. Mrs. Gaunt. A jealous mother ! Who brought you up, pray ? There is nothing in it for you with Nina Edgewood, my dear boy. If I advise you to let her alone, it is in your own interests. Jealous ! I see little enough of you to be jealous. Cassien. Then please do not meddle with my friends. You do not want me to have any. Mrs. Gaunt. Bosh ! To disprove that, I have brought two new ones to you. {She goes to the door) Julia ! Gates ! [Julia and Gates appear. Cassien will never learn how unfashionable stairs are. Cassien, this is Gates Mallard and his sister, Julia. {To Gates.) My son, little Cassie. Gates {attacking Cassien suavely). My dear Mr. Gaunt, may I shake the hand of one whom I have so long admired ? 58 A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien (looking him up and down). If you like. Gates {holding his hand ready). I am impatient to express all my admiration for you. [Cassien touches his hand and nods coolly to Julia, who is very alive to the situation. Mrs. Gaunt. You must overlook poor Cassie's eccentricities, Gates. He is too cordial at heart. Cassien {curtly). Shut up, mother ! Had you not better introduce Miss Edgewood ? Mrs. Gaunt {angrily). Tou can do that, if you like. Cassien. Nina ! For heaven's sake, leave those plants alone, and finish your tea. Nina. I really must go. Gates. Now, Miss Edgewood, that is hard on us. [Nina stares at him coldly, and he fumbles stupidly with his hat. Cassien. These are two friends of my mother's — what did you say they were called ? Mrs. Gaunt {furiously). I am ashamed of your bringing up, Cassien Gaunt. To think of all the sacrifices I made for it ! Cassien. Do you regret them ? Mrs. Gaunt. Yes, I do. Miss Edgewood, Mr. Mallard and his sister, Julia Mallard. [There is a frosty series of hows. Cassien {wearily). Do pour some tea, Nina. I am quite incapable of it. Nina. Let me call Professor Floedalson. What are they doing aU this time ? Mrs. Gaunt. They ? All this time ? Cassien. Gilbert Thorne is showing him the machine. Mrs. Gaunt. Can't Gates see the machine, too ? A MATTER OF MORALS 59 Come on, Gates. I must see old Floedalson again. It is years Cassien. Take him away by all means. Anybody is at liberty to see the machine. Gates. Are you coming, Julia ? Julia. No. I will wait here — that is, if Mr. Gaunt permits. Cassien. Make yourself quite at home. I am going to finish my tea. [Nina ofens the door to the laboratory and goes out. Mrs. Gaunt. This way. Gates. [She takes his arm. Pretty room, isn't it ? I picked out the paper — cost me cab-fares for a week. \_They go. out. SCENE V Julia. Cassien Cassien and Julia sit down. Cassien. Have you known my mother long ? I don't remember her ever mentioning you. Julia. Only a few weeks. Cassien. I am sorry to say that mother is a woman who has absolutely no love for her son, but who is very jealous of him. Julia. She loves you very dearly. Cassien. Oh ? Of course I don't know. Julia. At least it is 'unfair to say she is jealous of you. Cassien. She never allowed me to have a single friend, except Miss Edgewood, when I was little. She growled so at the approach of people who liked 6o A MATTER OF MORALS me that I was always alone. Now she wonders why I care for solitude. People call it selfishness in me and condole her. There was never question of my loving her ; she wouldn't let me. By the way, do you know anything about father ? Julia. Your father ? Cassien. I suppose all men have one. Such a primitive system of taking life ! I have always been curious about father. Julia. Did you never know him ? Cassien. Alas ! No one ever did. I thought per- haps you might be of his set. Julia. What do you mean ? Cassien. I speak merely from curiosity. I imagined your knowing mother might be due to some knowledge of poor, dear father. Julia. Really, Mr. Gaunt, I can hardly understand such flippant conversation. Cassien. No harm meant, I assure you. After all, so little is known of parents even in these scientific days. I regret continuing in the dark in regard to mine, but hope for future inventions to Julia. Don't let us talk of such things. We hardly know each other well enough — ^yet. Cassien. Don't we ? I thought mother had made us regular cronies by this time. ]vLix (laughing). You are dauntless ! Do you know, I find you much handsomer than they painted you. Cassien {gloomily). There you go. Is there no way of offending you ? Julia, What for ? I don't want to be offended. Cassien. Then don't say disagreeable things. Julia. That you are handsome ? You are — strong and handsome. [She studies him admiringly. A MATTER OF MORALS 6i Cassien. Well, that is kinder than to yap about my brains. You may admire my body at discre- tion. Julia. I know nothing about brains. When I see a noble, genuine man, though, I am a critic. One doesn't often see one. Cassien. That is the limit of discretion ; go no further. {He looks at her with some interest^ Are you really stupid ? Julia. Let us say instinctive. Cassien. Answer too clever. I am disappointed. Julia. It was instinctive. Do you enjoy lack of intelligence ? Cassien. Enormously. I have been searching for years for someone without any intelligence, but even educated people are intelligent nowadays. Julia. What appeal have they ? Cassien. They have something to give me, and can take nothing from me. Julia. What can they give you ? Cassien. Companionship. They are dumb, deaf, blind — but they are wonderful friends. Julia. I am not blind. Cassien. That disqualifies you. Julia. If I become so after this flash of the Grail, may I hope ? Cassien. There is no denying that you please me. Only don't say such stupid things. I despise flattery and admiration of any kind. The vulgarity of yours is what pleased me ; keep it as low as possible, i^he hell rings.) Good Lord ! not more of them ? Julia. You are a capital entertainer ; I don't wonder you are liked. 62 A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien. Call mother, will you ? I mean to get out of this rabble. Julia. Don't leave me ! [She goes out the laboratory door, and Cassien goes to the other. SCENE VI Cassien. Ashton. Mrs. Maurlscot. Denise Cassien opens the door, and the Maurlscots a-p-pear. Ashton. How do you do, Mr. Gaunt ? May I ask if you are at home ? Cassien. Yes, yes. Come in. Good afternoon, Mrs. Maurlscot. Mrs. Maurlscot. I hope so. This is my daughter, Denise — Mr. Gaunt. Cassien. A privilege. [He bows to Denise, who takes note of him in an intellectual manner. Ashton. So this is where you live ! A quiet situa- tion — a little high. Cassien. It answers my needs. WiU you have some tea, Mrs. Maurlscot ? Take the couch. Mrs. Maurlscot. Thank you, I will. How did you ever find such a place f I have never been in this quarter before. Cassien. No ? It is rather select. [Denise studies the backs of the hooks in the case while taking her tea. Mrs. Maurlscot and Ashton sit down on the couch. A MATTER OF MORALS 63 AsHTON. Now, my dear Mr. Gaunt, let us go directly to the subject I came to discuss — about your discovery. Cassien. I hate to talk shop over my tea. Mrs. Maurlscot. Yes, Ashton ; it is so common. AsHTON. Never mind. I have put a scheme through the House to buy your papers and to realise yoiir projects. In other words, the country is ready to purchase your entire work and to apply it. [He leans back, to observe the effect on Cassien. Cassien. I am sorry that you have done this without consulting me. Mrs. Maurlscot. What ? The man misunder- stands. AsHTON. Think ; you will be very rich and very famous, besides seeing your dreams accomplished. Cassien. Unfortunately, Mr. Maurlscot, I care neither to sell my discovery nor to see it in practice. Ashton. You are not in earnest ? Cassien. I am. I mean to keep my papers and to keep my instruments. I do not want them published. AsHTON. You want to deny civilisation Cassien. Civilisation ? Has it come to that ? Yes, I do. Why should I spread out the treasures of my mind to be mauled by a pack of brutes ? They have already been prostituted by a pack of so-called thinkers. I do not care to make public property of my brains. I should do so sooner with my body. I prefer to keep the highest part of me pure and clean ; I wUl not share my intellect with anyone, far less with " civilisa- tion," because it belongs to me, and I lose it in sharing it. AsHTON. You would multiply it ! 64 A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien. No. I would disperse it and sully it. Whatever my mind has created rests with its creator. I am not the dog of your " civilisation," that I should toil desperately for it, give extravagantly to it, and be paid with kicks. It sits up confident that those who are really gods will feel it. No, I am not an artist ; artists beg society to accept their creations, but artists need love — and they don't get it. Nobody but an ass would follow in Wagner's path ; had he written his music and kept it to play only to himself, as Brabazon painted only for himself, he would always have been respected. As it is, even artists are learning that it is unworthy of them to cater to civilisation. Scientists are unaware of its existence, and supermen ignore it. I am one ; what I do I do for myself, and for my development. The results of my development I intend to guard until I die. You err in supposing I work for civilisation ; my self-realisation is alone concerned, 'and until I have completely realised myself, I will remain intact. Every great man has made the mistake of sharing himself with society before he is half-formed, and his kicks are deserved. Only at death is one well formed and respectable. Do you understand ? AsHTON. Why, no doubt — ^yes, but so unpractical, my dear Mr. Gaunt. Cassien. Because civilisation wants to make money out of my ideas ? AsHTON. Not that — ^advance, advance. Cassien. It advances backwards in trifling with subjects which it neither respects nor understands. Science may consider my work, society shall not. It is time organisations and bodies of men were as ill- seen as they deserve. Men without individuality are A MATTER OF MORALS 65 always insolent. Society is the vice of men who have force only in union ; I prefer to stand on my own feet. AsHTON. But, my dear fellow, why discuss society ? We have to do with yourself only. Cassien. In tearing me up and throwing me to the arena ? Never. (Rising.) Poets may fawn on their Bluebeard — not I. The tokens of success he gives are really too mean for me. I have not won a single one from myself yet. Take away your shabby offers ; civilisation for once has been deceived by its self- conceit. That of an individual blows it over. AsHTON (shaking his head at Mrs. Maurlscot). Idealism is too weak for real life. Cassien. It would not be if society were abolished. Where is the new Lincoln to emancipate individuals — the slaves of society ? My answer is given — I will not sell my papers. AsHTON. There is time to think it over. Cassien. I give none of myself away. [Denise turns and looks fixedly at him. SCENE VII Cassien. Ashton. Mrs, Maurlscot. Denise. Julia. Gates. Mrs. Gaunt. Nina. Floedalson. Gilbert The door to the laboratory opens and Mrs. Gaunt comes in, followed by the others. Floedalson. Wonderful ! Perfectly wonderful ! Gates. It is wonderful, isn't it ? 66 A MATTER OF MORALS Mrs. Gaunt. Well ! If there isn't Ashton Maurl- scot ! What on earth are you doing here ? AsHTON (confused). Business, business. Mrs. Gaunt. And so this is your wife ? Introduce me, Ashton. AsHTON. Jenny, this is Mrs, Gaunt, Cassien's mother. Mrs. Maurlscot (acidly). Perhaps I ought to call her by her Christian name. Mrs. Gaunt. Bless me ! I have no Christian name. It is an honest old pagan one. I am pleased you permit me to caU you Jenny. Here, Gates, take Jenny's cup. Mrs. Maurlscot (outraged). It is not empty — Mrs. Gaunt. Mrs. Gaunt. Fill it up, fiU it up. Always plenty of tea. Ah ! it is a pleasure to see old friends again. Ashton, have you forgotten those old days at Trou- ville ? (AsHTON chokes over his tea and, blushes scarlet^ How old I was then ! I took the world at its word. I grow younger every year now. Mrs. Maurlscot. You must be very young. Mrs. Gaunt. That is always comparative, you know. [Mrs. Maurlscot, defeated, bites her li-p angrily. Ashton. I didn't know you were in England. Mrs. Gaunt. Yes, I have come to stay. By the way, do you know Mallard ? Gates ! come and meet one of my very oldest friends — ^Ashton Maurlscot, M.P. Gates. Delighted, Mr. Maurlscot ; nice weather, isn't it ? Mrs. Gaunt. Gates is one of my youngest friends. AsHTON. So I see. A MATTER OF MORALS 6-] Gates. You might almost say we were partners. Mrs. Gaunt. Tut ! In a business way, you ought to add. Gates. Of course.. Mrs. Gaunt is the most capable woman I ever knew. Mrs. Maurlscot. Of what ? Mrs. Gaunt. And Gates is a dear fellow who knows how to meet the world. AsHTON. He evidently succeeds. Mrs. Gaunt. Where is your daughter ? Is that she ? \^he indicates Denise. Mrs. Maurlscot. That is my daughter. Mrs. Gaunt. How much she looks like Cassien ! {Renewed agitation in Ashton.) They must know each other. Mrs. Maurlscot. I hardly think they have anything in common. Mrs. Gaunt. No ? Of course, that is a matter of opinion. What a good match they would make ! AsHTON. Kate ! Mrs. Gaunt. Well, why not ? Mrs. Maurlscot. We must go, Ashton. I have Mrs. Gaunt. No ! Why hurry ? Ashton has never seen Cassien's laboratory — ^have you ? I know so little of my old friends nowadays. Ashton. Jenny is right ; it is very late. Mrs. Gaunt. Nonsense. {She takes his arm) The same old siUy boy as ever ! Come, look at it. By the way, here is Floedalson — don't you remember Floe- dalson at Cambridge ? And at Trouville ? Ashton. Of course, of course. (Floedalson a-p- ■pro aches) How are you, Floedalson ? A professor ! How you have grown up. Floedalson {shaking hands). The wheel turns. 68 A MATTER OF MORALS Maurlscot. You aren't the scapegrace you used to be either. Mrs. Gaunt. Are you sure ? What a respectable pair you are ! Well, you can afford to be now. AsHTON. I know what honours you have gained ; as for me Floedalson. The pilot of England ! It is good to find you once more. Mrs. Gaunt. Enough of sentimentalism ; come and explain that thing to Ashton. Floedalson. I should love to. A genius — Cassien Gaunt — a genius. I am sad at his denying us his name for our Institute. AsHTON. Has he refused your offers too ? Mrs. Maurlscot. Ashton ! AsHTON. You have never met Mrs. Maurlscot, have you ? Jenny, Professor Floedalson — and this is my daughter, Denise. Floedalson. Mrs. Maurlscot. Mrs. Maurlscot (nodding at Floedalson). Ashton, I am in a hurry. AsHTON. One minute. I do want to see the laboratory. Floedalson. Won't you come too, Mrs. Maurlscot ? Mrs. Gaunt. Of course, Jenny. It is in here. [She goes into the laboratory. AsHTON. Denise, it is your duty. Floedalson. A genius ! A man of genius. [AsHTON, Mrs. Maurlscot, Denise, and Floe- dalson go out. A MATTER OF MORALS 69 SCENE VIII Cassien. Nina. Gilbert. Gates. Julia. Cassien. The old woman is not afraid of him, is she ? Or of Jenny. I say, Miss Mallard, how would he do for a father ? Nina. I am shocked, Cassien, by the whole per- formance this afternoon. No one has had any manners, and it is aU your fault. Cassien. My fault ? I didn't bring up all those people. Nina. You could give an air of breeding to your rooms which people would respect. Cassien. You see I don't prepare my rooms for visitors. Assaulted, I relinquish them to the enemy. Make yourself quite comfortable. [He turns on his heel and goes into his bedroom, locking the door after him. Nina. This is fearfully demoralising. Let us go, Gilbert. Gilbert. Not I ; I am going to wait for the storm to pass. Gates. It is a pleasure to find a few moments to talk with Mr. Gaunt's friends. [Gilbert strolls to the balcony doors and, going out, stands among the flowers. Julia dis- creetly busies herself with examining the chimney ornaments. Nina. I am afraid that he has very few of them — true ones. Gates. There is you, Mr. Thorne, myself JO A MATTER OF MORALS Nina. Why, you have only just met him ! Gates. Friendship is a matter of sympathy, Miss Edgewood. It does not need mere circumstances to form it. Nina. Whatf ellow-f eeling haveyouwith Mr. Gaunt ? Gates. Can I describe it ? Could you yours ? Nina. A definition need not be a description. Gates. I wiU define it, then, as the same sympathy I feel toward you. Nina. Oh ! Well, I assure you, it is not a fellow- feeling in my case. Gates. Could I expect that ? AU people are not equally quick to respond. Nina. No ; and some never do. Gates. There is always the hope of it. Nina. Don't bother to hope too long; it is very tiring. Gates. Hope springs Nina. Oh, yes, and dislike grows. Gates. I trust that my feeling will be mutual, Miss Edgewood, for although, of course, you do not know it, I am a very real friend to Mr. Gaunt, and a valuable one to his mother. Nina. There is no need of pointing out the latter. As to the former, I do not see in what way you are anything to Mr. Gaunt. Gates. It is not my nature to seek gratitude. I assure you, however, that, unknown even to him, I have been able to help him a great deal. Nina. I think it is not worth your while to sacrifice for him. Gates. Some sentiments need no reward. Nina. It is not fair to place him under obligations to you. A MATTER OF MORALS 71 Gates. There are none. I merely wanted to prove to 70U that we are both friends of — may I say Cassien ? I wish to prove this because I wish that we could be friends, too, Nina. Really, Mr. Mallard, I am flattered by your motive, but I can see no interest whatever, common to both of us. Gates. Cassien is a common interest. You are fond of him ; I might almost say you look on him with tenderer eyes. I want to further your plans if I can. (Insistently.) You are very fond of him, are you not ? Nina (indignantly). Of course ! Gates. Would you say you — Gloved him ? Nina. Mr. Mallard, this is none of your business. Gates. It is my business, because. Miss Edgewood, it means a great deal to me whether you love him or not. Nina. I cease to understand. Gates (attempting to take her hand). You will when I say that I love you — that I am jealous of him — that I am madly in love with you. Nina (striking him with her gloves). Don't touch me. I hate you ! You have insulted me. Oh ! \She turns quickly and goes to join Gilbert on the balcony, where they both sit down, talking animatedly. Julia comes forward instantly. Julia. You have made a pretty mess of it ! You ought to have known better than to approach her so soon. Women are not all as hardened as I am. Gates. Shut up. Who is running this affair, you or I ? As to that, I can't see that you have gotten very far with Gaunt. , Julia. Be silent ! Gates. Oh ! You are cultivating Fine Shades and Nice Feelings since this morning ? 72 A MATTER OF MORALS Julia. You are mighty raw material, Gates Mallard. Gates. Then why do you get uppish when I mention Gaunt ? Julia. Because — I hate to hear his name in your mouth. Gates. Oh ! she has fallen in love with the man in earnest. JULIA. Well, what if I have ? That is my lookout. I say to you is that you speak of him politely in my presence. Gates. Jingo ! What hauteur ! Now listen to me a little, Sissy ; don't you go spoiling our plans by allowing your sUly passions to run loose. Women are never to be relied upon. I warn you ! If you fumble the game, out you go. Julia. Don't worry about me ; I am clearer-headed than you. SCENE IX AsHTON. Mrs. Gaunt The laboratory door opens. Mrs. Gaunt and Maurl- scot come out. Julia and Gates retire to the back of the stage, where they remain unnoticed. Mrs. Gaunt. Now, my dear Ashton, I want to know what you are going to do for my Cassie. Ashton. I tell you I have succeeded in getting a demand for his papers, but he won't sell. Mrs. Gaunt. What tommy rot ! Ashton. I assure you I worked hard to bring the offer about. He is foolish to reject it. I do not see what more I can do for him. A MATTER OF MORALS 73 •Mrs. Gaunt {reflecting). I think perhaps he is wise. It might be better not to sell outright. AsHTON. But the price is enormous. He never ■would be able to make more out of the thing in ex- ploiting it himself — not to speak of the capital necessary and the years of labour. Mrs. Gaunt. Thanks for your trouble ; I will see what I can do with him. AsHTON. I wish you would. It is really all I can do for him, and I want to help him. Mrs. Gaunt. I should think you would. He is much more of a credit than that block of ice Denise — Oh, of course, she is intellectual, but she is unintelligent. AsHTON. I also have a question for you ; what are you doing in England ? Mrs. Gaunt. There is no use, Ashton ; I intend to go wherever I like. Ashton. For heaven's sake, stay away from London. You have made a horrible scene for me with Jenny. I don't blame her either. You talked outrageously. Honestly, Kate, if you don't keep away from London, you will have no more from me. I have acted as squarely as possible ; you ought to. Mrs. Gaunt. My dear Ashy, if I cared to show certain Ashton. There, there ! For goodness' sake, be reasonable, is all I ask. Mrs. Gaunt. I am. It was an accident, meeting you this way, and it was half your fault for bringing the others with you. Ashton. I know it. Let us drop the matter. Oh, who is this Mallard ? Mrs. Gaunt, (evasively). Just a decent sort of chap 74 A MATTER OF MORALS who has been a good friend to me — always with his sister, you know. AsHTON. I do not like him. Mrs. Gaunt. Hush ! They are here. AsHTON. Drop him, Kate ; he is not a good person for you to know. He will only hurt your position. I like Thorne much better. Mrs. Gaunt. Thorne is a dunce. SCENE X Gates. Mrs. Gaunt. Julia Gates and Julia come forward. Ashton turns and goes to join Nina and Gilbert. Mrs. Gaunt. Well ? Gates. Little news. Julia seems to have made a start ; I have done all I can. Mrs. Gaunt. Talked with him, Julia ? Julia. Yes. Mrs. Gaunt. Was he half-way interested ? Julia. I — I think so. Gates. The fool is in love with him. Mrs. Gaunt. That can do no harm. Things look promising. Be tactful. Gates, and don't speak to Maurlscot ; he is a clever man in aU things except sex. I wiU look after Thorne. If the question of the sale of Cassien's papers comes up, squelch it. A MATTER OF MORALS 75 SCENE XI Mrs. Maurlscot. Gilbert. Denise Gilbert comes forward. Mrs. Gaunt looks signifi- cantly at Gates and Julia, who follow her to the balcony. Mrs. Maurlscot and Denise come out of the laboratory. Mrs. Maurlscot. Ah, Mr. Thorne. WiU you help Denise with her wrap ? Where is Mr. Maurlscot ? Gilbert. On the balcony. \He picks up Denise's mantle, which she left on a chair near the bookcase. Mrs. Maurlscot. I wiU call him. [She goes to 'do so. Denise. Do not bother, Mr. Thorne. Gilbert. It is done. Did you find the instrument difficult to understand ? Denise. Rather. It is a marvellous idea, and I am very much interested in it. Gilbert {still holding the wrap). And Cassien ? Denise. I scarcely saw him. His books are fascinat- ing. I care very little for great men's personalities. Gilbert. You look remarkably like him. That is why I studied you so carefully. Denise. Do I ? (laughing). Does that make your researches flattering ? Gilbert. I would like them to be. Mrs. Maurlscot. Here we are, Denise. Ashton ! Are you never coming ? Ah ! before I forget it — do call, Mr. Thorne. Our afternoons are Tuesdays. Gilbert. Thank you ! l(i A MATTER OF MORALS SCENE XII All Cassien unlocks his door and comes out as Gilbert is about to help Denise with her mantle. Cassien. One moment, Gilbert — that is the privilege of the host. Gilbert. I protest. Cassien. Uselessly. \He takes the garment and holds it for Denise, who jrowns. Mrs. Maurlscot. None but the brave, you know ! Sorry to leave, Mr. Gaunt. A most pleasant call, I assure you — the laboratory a dream. Cassien. Of course. Come again — I will have my mother here especially for you. Gilbert. Cassien ! You are an imp. Mrs. Maurlscot. Ah, me ! These brilliant men ! One is so at a disadvantage vpith them. Gilbert. A gracious woman is never at a disad- vantage, Mrs. Maurlscot. [Mrs. Maurlscot beams. AsHTON {coming out from the balcony, followed by Nina, Mrs. Gaunt, Gates, and Julia). All ready, Jenny. Au revoir, Gaunt. Sorry about the offer, but you will think it over, I am sure. [Flo ED ALSO N comes out of the laboratory. Mrs. Gaunt. Look at old Floedalson ! Been mous- ing about in there all alone. [There is laughter. Cassien shows his visitors to the door. Much chatter oj leave-taking. Gilbert {aside to Gates). Look here, Mallard, what- ever your little game is, keep away from Miss Edge- A MATTER OF MORALS tj wood and don't bother Cassien. I am the friend of both of them. Gates. You [Julia hurries towards them. Julia. Gates ! Mr. Gaunt has accepted for the party ! \She takes Gates' arm and leads him away, con- versing with him. Gilbert stares at Cassien, and, taking his hat, walks coldly out after the others without saying good-bye. Cassien shrugs his shoulders, closes the door, and returns to his desk, where he sits down to resume the work he broke of at Gilbert's arrival. end of the first act ACT II A room in Gates Mallard's house. On the right is a window, and the door to Julia's bedroom occupies a diagonal wall which, with a similar one on the left, makes half an octagon of the piece. On the left, in the space corresponding to that of the window on the right, is the door to a hall. There is a linen closet in the left diagonal wall, which has panelled doors similar to the dado and woodwork of the rest of the room. The paper is yellow, divided into strips by shiny bands. The paint is cream-coloured. Against the rear wall stands a mahogany secretary of the Georgian period ; in the centre of the room is a large table of like date, and mahogany chairs are placed before both, as well as along the walls. At the window, curtains of deep yellow, and on the floor a very decorative Turkish rug. There are no pictures and no ornaments. A Dutch lustre hangs from the centre of the ceiling. It is the morning of the 23rd of May. SCENE I Julia. Gates Julia ofens the door of her room and comes out, turning noiselessly to shut it again. She wears a Jrock designed for indoor use, delicate and negligee, appropriate only for the early morning. As she closes the door, Gates comes in by the other. Gates. Julia ! What are you doing there ? \She starts and looks defiantly at him. 78 A MATTER OF MORALS 79 Julia. Doing here ? Gates (striding angrily toward her). You ought to know better than to go near that door. Julia. It is my door. Gates. Not for the present. Julia. I am seeing to the linen. Gates (observing her closely). How long have you been up ? Julia. I — I just got up. Gates. I did not hear you come down. Julia. That is not my fault. Gates. Are you telling me the truth ? Julia. You would not know it if you saw it. Gates. You are evading me. Have you been into that room ? Julia. No ! Gates. That is not true ; you have been in there. ' Julia. Let me see to the linen. Gates. Julia, if you have been into that room, I will turn you out of the house. Julia. Gracious me ! How lofty and strait-laced you are to-day ! What difference does it make if I have been in there or not ? Gates. This — that there are certain limits after all, and I simply will not have them passed. Julia. There is no fear ; your limits are pretty liberal. Gates. I want to know whether you have been Julia. Be quiet ; you wiU wake him up. Gates. How do you know he is asleep ? Ha ! that confirms me (taking her arm and squinting at her threateningly). Were you in there ? Julia {-pushing him away). Yes, I was. You may think what you like about it. I have other things to do. \She goes toward the linen closet ; Gates follows her. 8o A MATTER OF MORALS Gates. You mean to say- JuLiA, Yes, I do. It is none of your business (m- ptuously). After all, didn't you as much as order me to ? Gates. You abandoned creature ! Oh, you shaE suffer for it. To think that my sister Julia. Nonsense, Gates. Don't call me names, because I won't have it. It is a wonder you could imagine the pretty plot you did for your sister. You needn't pretend to be so shocked. Gates. A plot is one thing — ^it does not change anything ; but there is no excuse for profiting by it to justify yourself. If you have done as you say, you shall leave this house. You were the only thing that I reverenced. Julia. Really ? It may interest you to know that I have been in there ever since last night. Gates. My God ! Have you the brazenness to declare it ? Julia. Why not ? To pretend to do a thing is as bad as to do it. There is no use in getting mad. I have only done my share in your game pretty thoroughly. You can play your hand as earnestly as you wish — so much the better for our ends. Gates. Our ends ! Do you think I care anything about them any more ? You have spoilt it aU ; I won't help you out of the hole you have jumped into. Julia {alarmed). What f You won't force him ? Gates. No. I am disgusted with the whole matter. You have taken away from me the only thing that I valued — my sister's pride and honour. I schemed this thing for your benefit, to place you in an enviable situation for life. What do I care for money or a connection with the Gaunts ? I have plenty of A MATTER OF MORALS 8i money and a better family than they — who have none at all. It was all for you, and now you have destroyed my respect for you. You can make the best of it. I refuse to do anything more. Julia {entreatingly). Gates ! What are you saying ? You wiU not leave me helpless ? What have I done ? What difference does it make ? Gates. I will not forgive you. Julia. I do not ask that, only you must do as I expected you would. I wouldn't have done it unless I had counted on you. You know that. I am not so despicable as you think. I love him, Gates — ^you know I love him. I could not help it. {She bursts into tears.) You must not desert me now ! I only followed your plans. I trusted in you. I have done no wrong. I could not help it. Gates. I thought you a strong woman, and relied upon your good sense. You have doubly disappointed me. No, I abandon you to the course you have chosen. Julia (frantically). No, no ! I have chosen no course. I did not know what I was doing. You saw the power he had over me yesterday. It is not fair ! You favoured every detail, and I — only a woman — you ought not to have expected so much of me. It is your fault. Gates Mallard, and it is up to you to stand by me. It is your fault, I say ! I did not think I did very wrongly, but if you do, you must credit it to your doings. You cannot ruin the sister whom you treasured and made a tool of. [She cries. 82 A MATTER OF MORALS SCENE II Mrs. Gaunt. Gates. Julia Mrs. Gaunt comes in from the hall. Mrs. Gaunt. What on earth is all this rumpus about ? \She looks questioningly from one to the other. Gates. Julia has made a fool of herself. I am done with her. Julia (running to Mrs. Gaunt). Oh, no ! Reason with him. Mrs. Gaunt. Explain, Gates. Gates. In there. \He jerks his thumb toward the door. Mrs. Gaunt. Not Gates. Exactly. And as for me, there is nothing more to be said. Mrs. Gaunt. Julia Mallard ! {She draws away from her furiously) You dared to try to steal my son ? Julia {suddenly cold and angry). This is all nonsense. [She walks resolutely to the window and stands looking out. Mrs. Gaunt. Well, I wouldn't have believed it of her. Gates. I am sick of aU this business, Kate ; count me out. Mrs. Gaunt (Recovering herself). There, Gates — I was angry, jealous ; no one has ever been my rival in Cassien's heart. But I apologise ; it was sudden. Julia, dear A MATTER OF MORALS 83 Gates. You mean to say that jealousy is all that is touched in you ? Have you no shame for the girl ? Mrs. Gaunt. Of course not. It is too bad, I suppose. But what harm is done ? There is no use in regretting anything, and much less in avenging. Forgive me, Julia. Julia {turning to her). I knew Gates was too hasty. Mrs. Gaunt. Julia shall marry Cassien, and that will be the end of it. It will make your attitude all the more plausible ; he must marry her, no matter what our plans are. As they are, it is a good thing. Gates. I will not blackmail any man for such a girl's sake. Mrs. Gaunt. Demanding that he marry her, black- mail ? It is a question of his own honour. He will. I saw yesterday that he was drawn to her — -that is the first time in his life that he has ever been to anyone ; and he told Julia she pleased him. Leave him alone ; don't say anything until he gets a chance to act. Gates. All this simply to get hold of his damned invention. Julia. Yes — ^you who preached that all this was " simply for little Julia." , Gates. What do I care about the invention ? Isn't it as much for you as for me ? Mrs. Gaunt. Drop this siUy quarrel. You both of you will gain. Once Cassien is married to Julia, wonders may be done with his invention and your capital. Do you suppose I want to see anyone the loser ? Cassien is a dreamer, and needs a practical influence in his life. There is no earthly reason why his ideas should go to waste when they might make money. Ashton sees that — but he shall not get hold 84 A MATTER OF MORALS of them. I want you to make a good thing out of them ; you are a better friend than Ashton. Gates. Confound it ! Mrs. Gaunt. What did you give Cassien ? Gates. Nothing but wine. I never saw a man lose his head so quickly on champagne. Mrs. Gaunt. He never touches alcohol ; not used to it, you see. Did he object to staying ? Gates. Didn't know whether he stayed or not. After dinner and all that music, and supper, he was a different person. Once a " cerebral " fogs his brain a little, he is a perfect animal. I put him to bed like a baby. That was an inspiration, to fHe Wagner's centenary ; he would have come for nothing else. Mrs. Gaunt. I am glad everything has gone all right. Now Cassie wiU marry Julia as a matter of course, and we four will make the world open its eyes. It has been so simple. Gates. No need of rejoicing yet. Mrs. Gaunt. Now you ask Julia's pardon and run along. Cassien ought to wake up before long, and I am the person to meet him first. Gates. Sorry, Julia, that I spoke harshly ; come and have some breakfast. {Going out.) Send for me as soon as he comes out. []vl.\k follows him. A MATTER OF MORALS 85 SCENE III Mrs. Gaunt. Floedalson Mrs. Gaunt opens the doors to the closet and takes out "piles of linen, which she commences to sort out on the table. From time to time she glances at the bedroom door and shakes her head amusedly. Then Floedalson makes his appearance. Floedalson. Pardon me, Mrs. Gaunt. Do I dis- turb you ? Mrs. Gaunt {starting. Heavens ! You surprised me. Good gracious, no ; come in. Floedalson. They said I would find you here. {He shakes hands with her) I would have sent a note instead of coming so early in the morning, but I wanted to ask a favour of you, and must have the answer now. Mrs. Gaunt. Come any time you like, Floedalson. We are not people to be ruled by formulas. How did you know I was living with the Mallards ? Floedalson. Mr. Mallard told me so yesterday. Mrs. Gaunt. Ah. The same old boy — never lets information escape him. I suppose that is how you became a professor. Well, I am glad to have you around again as in the old days before Ashton cut you out. Floedalson {coughing. Yes, yes. It is good to resume past friendships. It steadies life. Mrs. Gaunt. Come as if the house belonged to me ; the Mallards treat me as one of the family. Floedalson. Exactly. Now, not to annoy you 86 A MATTER OF MORALS over your linen — I went to Cassien's just now to find him, but he was out, so I came to you. I want him to demonstrate his machine this afternoon before a German scientist who has come expressly for that purpose. Mrs. Gaunt. Nothing simpler. I shall tell Cassien. Floedalson. It will not put him out ? I shall be very grateful to him. MjRS. Gaunt. He would love to do it. What time ? Floedalson. Say three o'clock. Mrs. Gaunt. Good. I will see to it. Floedalson. Oh — ^have you spoken to him about the Institute ? Mrs. Gaunt. To be honest, I have not ; but look here, Floedalson, you go ahead just as if he had ac- cepted the position ; announce that Cassien is President of the Institute, and count on me. I wiU persuade him to allow it, or, if not, all you have to do is to say there was a misunderstanding — it will be too late then for him to fuss. He is enough of a philosopher to resign himself to agreeable impositions. It is absurd, his having refused the honour. FloedalS?)n. Do you think that would be honest ? Mrs. Gaunt. Of course. Try it and see. It can do no harm, and it means a great deal to you — as well as to me. Floedalson. Well, if you wiU back me up Mrs. Gaunt. Trust me, old man. I know Cassien ; he never bothers about things that are past. The secret is to get things into the past. Floedalson. I will consider it. I am to give his answer this morning to the committee. Mrs. Gaunt. Make it affirmative. A MATTER OF MORALS 87 Floedalson. Very well. Thank you, Mrs. Gaunt. Mrs. Gaunt. Kate ! Kate ! Not that. Good Lord, we are not strangers. Floedalson. Happily, very happily. {They have made their way to the door) I will see you, then, this afternoon. Mrs. Gaunt. At three o'clock ; be prompt. He hates people to be late. Floedalson. At three, sharp. Thank you a thou- sand times. Au revoir. Mrs. Gaunt. Good-bye, good-bye. [Floedalson kisses her hand gallantly and disappears. SCENE IV Mrs. Gaunt. Ashton Mrs. Gaunt turns to the linen again. The voices of Floedalson and Ashton are heard in the hall. Ashton's Voice. Hello, Floedalson. What are you up to here ? Floedalson's Voice. Business. What is your excuse ? Ashton's Voice. I never give one. Going ? Floedalson's Voice. Pressed. Come to Gaunt's at three this afternoon. Ashton's Voice. Au revoir. \He comes in. Mrs. Gaunt {aghast). Ashton Maurlscot ! What imbecility brings you here ? 88 A MATTER OF MORALS AsHTON. Am I indiscreet ? Mrs. Gaunt. It is folly. AsHTON. None greater than your coming to London. Mrs. Gaunt. Will you never learn the rules of life? AsHTON. Have I played so badly ? Mrs. Gaunt. Horribly. AsHTON. You are the only one who thinks so. Mrs. Gaunt. Because, fortunately, I am the only one who knows anything about your life. You need not imagine that success has anything to do with the way you live. AsHTON. I am wonderfully presentable. Mrs. Gaunt. You know nothing about the strings which work the world. You are the plaything of both sex and character. Do you think clever handling of circumstances can control them ? You will make a terrible mistake some day. Ashton. Still, I have fenced as happily as you, with all your knowledge. Mrs. Gaunt. I haven't finished yet, you have — ^at least so far as going ahead is concerned. Now, what brings you here ? What do you want ? AsHTON. I want you to argue with Cassien about selling his papers. I have gone so far with the Government that the money is raised, and I am practi- cally bound to furnish the invention. Kate, Cassien must sell. I am ready to steal if he won't. Mrs. Gaunt. Is the thing as valuable as all that ? Has it such a future ? AsHTON. I think it has. Mrs. Gaunt. And you think the petty sum you offer is enough ? A MATTER OF MORALS 89 AsHTON. It is plenty big enough ; and. then it is for the country. Mrs. Gaunt. For the country ! Patriotism is a pretty exchange for money. Double the price. AsHTON. Impossible ! Mrs. Gaunt. It is really none of my business ; Cassien can do as he likes. AsHTON. You will not use your influence ? Mrs. Gaunt. I have none. I advise you to give up hope. Cassien is very obstinate, and if he has already refused, he will not change his mind. I will say nothing to him, and I counsel you to drop the matter. AsHTON. I cannot. Floedalson told, me to be at Cassien's at three ; there is going to be a German there who may buy the thing over our heads. You must talk with him before then, or I must ; where is he ? Mrs. Gaunt. I don't know. I am tired of the subject. To be frank, I do not care to see Cassien injure himself by selling out, and I will not favour it. AsHTON. Injure himself ? It will give him glory and plenty of money. What will he do with it other- wise ? This chance is one in a lifetime. Mrs. Gaunt. I know nothing about it. Please leave Cassien alone ; he is my son, and he is under my protection. I am sorry that this is all you can do for him. AsHTON. You are unreasonable — or else you have another scheme in mind. If you are treacherous enough to open the matter to that German, I promise you, you will regret it. 90 A MATTER OF MORALS Mrs. Gaunt. Don't be a fool, Ashton. I have no such plans. Where are Denise and Jenny ? Ashton. I left them at home. Kate, I want you to stay somewhere else than at the Mallards'. If you insist on staying in London, let me find you a place of your own. Mrs. Gaunt. Thank you, dear ; I am quite happy here. Ashton. I am not happy with you here. I mis- trust Mallard ; he is not a good friend for you, and it looks badly. Everyone knows what he is. Mrs. Gaunt. Gates has been more a friend to me than you. As to his reputation, I never heard badly of it ; as to mine — ^Julia is^ here, and Cassien in and out all day. Ashton. I think you might yield in this small matter, Kate. I wish it. Mrs. Gaunt. I am sorry I'm not able to. Ashton. Not able ? Axe you afraid of him ? Mrs. Gaunt. No ! It suits my pleasure to stay here, that is aU. Ashton. Then I hold you responsible for anything that results from it. Do you understand ? Mrs. Gaunt. Quite. You are actually learning. Now, Ashton, go away, and don't come here again. Suppose Jenny knew ? Ashton. Am I never to see you ? Mrs. Gaunt. At Cassien's, anywhere else. Go there this afternoon — only not a word to him. Ashton. If you are going to compromise me by- staying in England, you might at least amuse me. Mrs. Gaunt. Oh, you men ! Never contented ! Of course I wiU amuse you, as much as you want, only A MATTER OF MORALS 91 very indiscreetly. We are sure to be found out if we are discreet. That is one reason I came back to London ; in Paris everyone spied upon me. To win tolerance, there is nothing like indiscretion. AsHTON. What a rotten way this is to live ! Why on earth did I ever marry Jenny ? Mrs. Gaunt. Ask her mother. AsHTO N . She is a vain, shallow, pseudo-serious woman, ambitious for nothing but social glory. Mrs. Gaunt. I pity you, Ashton. We might have been very happy together. However, we have been fairly happy apart — there is always a sunnier seeming alternative. I need more money. AsHTON. You shall have it. Mrs. Gaunt. You have been a very good boy. Ashy, and you may kiss me. [He does so. SCENE V Mrs. Gaunt. Ashton. Denise. Mrs. Maurlscot An altercation is heard in the hall. Gates' Voice. I am sure he is not here ! I saw no one come in except Professor Floedalson. Denise's Voice. I heard his voice. Let me by. Mrs. Maurlscot's Voice. Are you sure, Denise ? AsHTON. Jenny ! Denise ! Mrs. Gaunt. Now you have done it. Here, go in there. [She hurries to the door to the linen closet. Ashton. I will not hide. Mrs. Gaunt. Do not be a bigger fool. Ashton. There is nothing to hide for. They can 92 A MATTER OF MORALS accuse me of nothing — I can turn the ridicule on them. Mrs. Gaunt. They can demand explanations ; which is just as bad. Go in there ! It is better that they should not find you. AsHTON. Perhaps you are right. [He goes in, and Mrs. Gaunt shuts the door just as Mrs. Maurlscot and Denise come in. Mrs. Gaunt. Bless me ! How do you do, Mrs. Maurlscot ? This is an honour. So sorry to be in the midst of domestic labours. Denise. Mrs. Gaunt, have you seen my father ? Mrs. Gaunt. Ashton ? Yes, at Cassien's. Denise. I mean this morning. Mrs. Gaunt. No, I have not seen him. Mrs. Maurlscot. I told you so, Denise. Do be sensible. Denise. I saw him come into this house not ten minutes ago. Mrs. Gaunt. Really ? Perhaps he is with Mr. Mallard. Is it important ? Denise. He is not with Mr. Mallard ; I heard him talking with you. Mrs. Gaunt. Honestly, Miss Maurlscot, I am en- titled to a little more deference. Mrs. Maurlscot. Yes, Denise, do be sensible. Denise. Can you declare he is not here ? Mrs. Gaunt. I am sorry, he is not. If your need of him is serious, I should advise your calling at his club. But what right have you to search the house ? Denise. I have this right, Mrs. Gaunt, that I have looked on long enough at a situation which I do not A MATTER OF MORALS 93 in the least understand. There has been ever since I can remember a peculiar sort of relationship between you and my father, which has been kept secret and hidden from my mother. I happen to have found out that you receive an allowance from him, and I rebel against repeated mystification. Who are you ? What r6le do you play in my family ? I am here to exact an explanation. Your conduct is not straight- forward. Who are you ? Mrs. Gaunt. My dear child, your head is full of neurasthenic inventions. There is no mystery ; your father and I have known each other since we were children, and it is natural that we should see each other. You are putting yourself in a very ridiculous position, and your most dignified step will be to apologise in going. Your father is not here ; I am beginning to lose patience. Mrs. Maurlscot. Yes, Denise, do be sensible, and come away. Mrs. Gaunt is a very old friend of your father's. Denise. Indeed ? And the allowance ? And his fear of her ? And what right has my father to make a friend of a woman with a reputation like hers ? Mrs. Gaunt. Careful ! I will stand little more of this. Mrs. Maurlscot. You are only a child, Denise, and know nothing about such things. Denise. It is time I did. I have no charity for the ungoverned lives that you all seem to be falling into. It is time someone called a halt and pulled you up. I may be young, but I am stronger for it than you with all your experience. Fortunately, one human being values character and is not afraid to exercise it. 94 A MATTER OF MORALS Mrs. Gaunt, I am not satisfied with your explana- tion. Mrs. Gaunt. I really care very little if you are or not. I am not bound to satisfy you. Denise. Then, if you wUl give no other construc- tion on the matter, I will be confirmed in calling you what you are — a parasite, an impostor, my father's mistress. Mrs. Gaunt (violently). Another word and I will strike you. Mrs. Maurlscot. Denise ! You are crazy. Denise. Crazy ? Is it crazy to possess a little pride, to abhor immorality, to love one's father ? This busi- ness is rotten, and what is rotten I destroy ! That is my nature. That woman must leave London, and she must have nothing more to do with my father. There is no use in talking in symbols ; I hate her, and I have come to fight. Mrs. Gaunt (frightened). No, no, you do not under- stand — ^you do not know what you are talking about ! There is nothing rotten, nothing at all — some day you will know. Denise. I want to know now. If you are anything more than a common adventuress, I want to know it now. Mrs. Maurlscot. Don't insist, Denise. This is so disagreeable. Denise. What are you ? [The closet door opens, and Ashton comes out. AsHTON. Denise, you are speaking to your aunt. I impose respect upon you for her, and an apology. Denise (aghast). My aunt ? AsHTON. What methods of secrecy I have employed A MATTER OF MORALS 95 have no concern for you. You have acted most un- wisely ; there are certain situations in life which even you have no right to pry into. Ask Mrs. Gaunt's pardon and return home. Denise {completely at sea). Why — I'm sorry — ^how could I have realised ? You understand ? It was really nothing personal. Forgive me. Mrs. Gaunt. There is nothing to forgive. You simply didn't know any better. Denise. Father, forgive me ! I have learned some- thing bigger than truth. AsHTON. Come home. \B.e -puts his arm around her, and they go out. Mrs. Maurlscot (Jailing effusively wpon Mrs . Gaunt) . Kate! Mrs. Gaunt. You old fool, Jenny. Don't gush as if emotion were drowning you ; it is only nerves. Mrs. Maurlscot. Always cold, always clear — ah, me ! {She dries her eyes) Life is perplexing — most perplexing. \She trots out ajter the others. Mrs. Gaunt files uf the linen, and after a moment walks slowly out of the room. SCENE VI Cassien. Julia The bedroom door of em, and Cassien appears. He is in evening dress, disordered, crushed. His face and bearing show the results of unaccustomed extravagances. He stands in the doorway, peer- 96 A MATTER OF MORALS ing about the room as if trying to locate himself. Julia comes in by the other door, ani hesitates at sight of him. Cassien. Where am I ? Julia. Our house. Cassien. Your house ? Have I been here all night ? Julia. Have you forgotten ? Cassien {putting his hand on his jorehead). My head ! Julia {going toward hirri). Are you ill ? Cassien. No. What am I doing here ? The dinner, the music — I remember nov?. Oh ! (j)assion- ately). I was drunk. I have shamed myself. I hate myself {he almost sobs). To think that I could have fallen so low. Julia. It is nothing. Do not take it so seriously. All men are unwise at times. Cassien. That is no excuse. I was mad. Julia. We all were. There is nothing to regret. Cassien. What have I done ? What may I not have done ? My head is swimming with vague im- pressions. Julia. Lie down and rest. Cassien. Here ? How did it happen that I stayed here ? Julia. It was too late to go home. Your mother made you stay. Cassien. I was too drunk to go home ? Oh, the hideousness of it ! Yes, yes ; I was too drunk, I say. I have never disgraced my manhood so before. I am disgusted with myself. A MATTER OF MORALS 97 Julia. It is not important. Besides, it was not altogether your fault ; Gates led you on to drink more than you ought to have. Do not be hard on yourself. Cassien. I have lost my self-respect. I wiU punish myself for this ; I have been untrue to myself. To think that I betrayed my confidence to all those people. I am no longer whole — I have left the window's open and every passer by has looked into my soul. There is nothing in me that I may not have shown to them. What did I say ? How much did I speak ? How much of me have they seen and stolen ? Julia. Nothing. You did not talk ; you did not show that you were — ^had taken too much. Cassien. Then how did they know that I could not go home ? I am common property, I tell you ; I have invited them all to examine me as if I were so much goods. Julia. No, no. They have forgotten all about it already. Cassien. I have not. You say Gates led me on ? Why didn't my mother stop him ? He shall pay for it. A drunk man is the possession of the first tramp who passes. I have no value now. Julia. Nonsense ; your reputation can stand a good deal more than one error. Cassien. A reputation is doomed by one error. Men without one cannot fall. Scandal is the proof of a man's honour. I have been false to myself. Julia. You are silly. People know that you have a perfect spirit. That is why they respect you. A complete personality is bound to do wrong, and it is better to be complete than to be a mere part of a man. Cassien. Complete spirits master their lower G 98 A MATTER OF MORALS natures, although they possess them. That is the whole secret of evolution — of heaven and of hell. I have submitted to the evil in me, I have been weak, and I will pay for it by suffering, which is the proof of immorality. I suffer ; therefore, I have sinned against myself, and I thirst for revenge. Julia. On whom ? Cassien. On myself and on those who sympathised with my worst nature. Julia. Profit by your mistake ; why waste time in paraphrasing it ? The most immoral deeds may be made moral by strengthening the good in you. There is no such thing as evil. Cassien. Are you such an idealist as that ? But it is false — to profit by errors is a mean recompense for having made them. I take no such second-rate roads. My course exacts prevention instead of cures. Julia. It can have no results. Cassien. Whose room is thiat ? It is not a guest's room. Julia. Mine. Cassien. Yours ? Did I turn you out ? Where did you sleep ? Julia. I slept — I — You did not turn me out. Cassien. It was nothing less than that. Another fault. Julia. You did not, because — I stayed in there. Cassien. And I ? Julia. Also. Cassien. In the same room ? Julia. Cassien ! Cassien (tvhite with passion). What do you mean ? Julia. Do not frighten me, Cassien. It was not my fault. A MATTER OF MORALS 99 Cassien. Have I understood ? What further crimes have I committed in this pretty sottishness ? We slept all night in the same room together. Why didn't you kUl me ? Why don't you kill me now ? Julia. Kill you ? Because I love you. Do you suppose I would have stayed there if I had not loved you ? Cassien. You stayed there voluntarily ? I did not compel you to ? Julia. No ! You were quiet as a child all night. Cassien. Then why did you stay ? Julia. I said, because I loved you, because I wanted to be near you, because I could not have stayed any- where else. There was a force which ordered me. Cassien. I cannot grasp it. I was drunk, I was put to bed quietly, I slept — and yet you stayed with me. You love me ! What does that mean ? What right had you to stay with me ? Julia. The right of fate, Cassien. I say I was not thinking. I simply obeyed a power which directed me. I am not a fool nor a bad woman. Cassien. Not a bad woman ? Would any but a bad woman have acted so ? I did not even tempt you. Julia. Love is not influenced by encouragement or denial. Of course, it was wild of me to have dared — all great impulsions are wild. It has not been harmful to either of us. I have asserted my sincerity in daring. Cassien (furiously). Monstrous, absolutely mon- strous. I never heard of such ideas. Is it not enough to have debased me, without desiring to ruin me altogether ? Unfortunately, you did not hear the lecture I gave Nina Edgewood yesterday. I am as jealous of myself as I would be of a woman, and I 100 A MATTER OF MORALS hate those who love me. I hate those who desire anything of me ; and when anyone is so hardy as to steal — that person pays doubly for it. You could not steal my love because I could not love you ; but if you have stolen anything else, my jealousy wiU be revenged, and my revenge will be thorough. (Carried away by tvrath.) I warn you ! There is no one on earth I hate as I hate you. Julia (terrified). Cassien ! You are insane ! Yesterday you said that I could take very little from you — that I was too stupid. You were right, I can give you companionship, but I cannot rob you of even as much as that. Let me be your companion ; I will never say again that I love you if it maddens you. There is nothing to be jealous for — I am too powerless to give you cause for jealousy ; only let me be a comrade. Cassien. You have already made yourself a rival. Julia. Then you do love me ! Cassien. Enough ! I despise you. You have out- raged me. You shall answer for it. Either you or I shall be exterminated for it. Julia (sobbing and sinking into a chair). Oh ! if you only knew how I love you. SCENE VII Cassien. Julia. Gates. Mrs. Gaunt Gates and Mrs. Gaunt come in from the hall. Gates fretends to be surprised to see Cassien. Gates. Hello, Cassien ! You down already ? Cassien. Down ? From where ? A MATTER OF MORALS loi Gates. Your room — the floor above. Cassien. Floor above ? I slept here. Gates. Nonsense ; you slept upstairs. Cassien. I slept in that room. Gates. Why, that is my sister's room. Cassien. Do I need to be told ? Gates. You mean that you spent the night in my sister's room ? Look here, Gaunt, that is dangerous jesting. Cassien {deliberately). I spent the night in your sister's room. Mallard, and in company with your sister. Gates. Julia, is this true ? Julia {sobbing. It is, it is. Gates. You infernal cad ! By heaven \He rushes at Cassien, who does not move a muscle. Julia throws herself on Gates. Julia. No, no ! Go away ! Do not touch him. Cassien. You are a clever actor. Mallard. I have seldom seen such honest indignation. Gates. Actor ? You shall account for yourself to- morrow morning. Cassien. Oh, there is no need of duels. I think the question can be settled more simply than that. Gates. Let me beat him, Julia. Let me go. Cassien. Arbitration is more in your line. Gates. The cur ! A man who accepts the hos- pitality of a friend — eats and drinks at his table, sleeps under his roof — to return it,* by dishonouring his sister ! There is noble character for you ! Even when your own mother was in the same house. Oh, I burst with honest rage. You are vile ! My nature demands your annihilation. I02 A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien. Let me express a little of my sentiments. In the first place, Mallard, your story does not agree with that of your sister. You say I was given a room upstairs ; she says that I was put to bed here. Gates. Julia ! Cassien. You have cooked up a very pretty plot to compromise me, and to bully me into some line of action. You do not want to duel me, or fight me, or kill me ; no, you wiU be perfectly satisfied if I make everything right by marrying Julia, won't you ? Gates. Marrying Julia ? There is nothing else for you to do. What is the use of killing you ? That would not repair the wrong or remove the insult ; you have got to marry Julia. I will shoot you unless you do. Cassien. I thought so. Now, you made me drunk, you put me to bed in your sister's room, and you next assume the defender's rage, to try to scare me. You mimic outraged family honour admirably, only you have handled the play clumsily. Any fool could see through it. You see you cannot count on women. It happens that Julia loves me too much to deceive me. I do not know why you wanted me to marry her, but that has been your object; has it not ? Gates. The man that you are would, of course, resort to accusing me of trickery. No one will listen to you, however. Cassien. Do you desire " the man that I am " in your family ? Is it not a further insult to Julia ? My dear Mallard, you know very well that you esteem me highly, and that only disproves everything that you have said. My conclusions are quite true. You A MATTER OF MORALS 103 mean to blackmail me. Unless I marry your sister the awful story of Cassien Gaunt will be all over London, confirmed hy his drunken proceedings at a concert. He will be damned, won't he ? Of course, a gentleman — I speak of you — need not contaminate himself by even whipping the brute. His disgrace is more hearty punishment. Yes, you have schemed effectively, only you have not hoodwinked your victim. Of course, I have no defence. No one would believe me. But I believe myself, which is better. May I ask you why you wanted me to marry Julia ? Gates. Need you ask ? It is the only reparation possible for your scoundrelish act and for your cowardly insinuation about me. Cassien. That is now. But before ? Oh, I'm not curious ; what does it matter ? You are quite serious about the marriage ? Gates. Unless you do Cassien. There, there. You cannot doubt my de- cision. Gates (eagerly). Which is ? Cassien. That of course I will marry her. Julia (surprised). You wUl ? Gates. Bravo ! I knew you would be sensible. Cassien. I meant to from the beginning. Let it be to-day, if you will. Gates (joyfully). Oh, no, to-morrow wiU do. I thought you would do the honest thing, old boy. Cassien. Especially after the dishonest one. You are a reader of character. Gates. Gates. I know men pretty well. Well, Julia, are you pleased ? (Julia says nothing.) I will overlook the faux pas, you know, so long as you do the right thing by Julia. I04 A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien. Of course you will. You are so sensible, Gates. Why, mother ! Are you not going to con- gratulate me on my success ? Do you disapprove ? Mrs. Gaunt. Of course not, Cassie ; only the situa- tion was a trying one just now, and it rather frightened me. Go ahead — I only criticise your irregularity. I shall be happy to have Julia for my daughter. Cassien. Good enough. We all understand each other perfectly. By Jove, Gates, you acted the part well! Gates. Thanks, Cassien ; better drop that subject, it is a touchy one. Cassien. Forget all about it. Aren't you going to kiss me, Julia ? [Julia turns her head away silently. Gates. She has a right to be let alone now. Cassien. She shall be. Come, mother ; let us go out to luncheon. See you this afternoon. Gates, I sup- pose ; be sure to bring Julia. Gates. Take a nap before we come. At three o'clock ? Cassien. Yes ; any time. Au revoir, Julia. Julia. Good-bye. [She does not stir. Mrs. Gaunt. Poor little child ! All worn out, I declare. Kiss your mother. [She kisses her. Cassien {pleasantly). Come, mother. Ta ta, Gates. [He saunters out into the hall. Mrs. Gaunt {to Gates). Be careful. He seems gentle, but — things too smooth to suit me. Come at three. [She follows Cassien. A MATTER OF MORALS 105 SCENE VIII Julia. Gates Gates. WeU, Julia, are you dissatisfied ? Julia (wearily). No ; only he does not mean it. Gates. Of course he does ; he could not do anything else. You nearly spoiled it all by telling him it was I who made him drunk, and put him in there. StUl, he does not know ; and, after all, it has turned out perfectly rippingly. If he speaks of it again, I will tell him he was drunk even this morning, and mis- understood you. Lay everything to that, and the field is ours. Don't forget. He simply is bound to marry you. He cannot get out of it. Julia. Wait and see. He is cleverer than you ; he has some plan in his head already, or he would not have acquiesced so readily. It was easier to seem to give in than to storm. I advise you to be careful. Gates. You will be married this very month. Trust me, Julia. Now we will have all the benefit of his genius, he will coin money for us. Of course, the details have been trying, but is it not worth them ? With Cassien Gaunt in the family, our fortune is assured in all directions. Julia. The game is not over yet. Gates. By Jove ! If I thought he could wriggle out of it, I would go now to his laboratory and steal his papers. That would be one pretty big haul at any rate. But he cannot do anything but marry you, and so what is the use ? We will have them, and many more papers some day. io6 A MATTER OF MORALS Julia (going into her room). I am very tired. Gates. Poor Julia ! Never mind — think of all that is before us. [Julia cLisa-p-pears, and. Gates rvbs his hands together delightedly as he watches her go. END OF THE SECOND ACT ACT III The laboratory adjoining the room that was represented in the first act. Against the left wall is built a hooded sink and slab, the form of which is unbroken, without opening, excepting the glazed window which occupies its middle front. Beyond it is the door to the living room. The rear wall contains two windows, and is fronted by a long experimenting table fitted with gas and water-pipes. On it stand bottles of acids, crucibles, and the ordinary utensils of a chemical laboratory. Under it are cupboards. The right wall is formed of three sliding screens which divide the laboratory into two parts ; that on the other side is supposed to be devoted to physical and electrical pursuits. The furthest screen is pushed back, so that the rear wall can be seen for some little distance beyond. Before this partition is a draughting table. The floor is tiled, and the appearance of the room is as bare and ugly as necessary. A few stools and chairs offer service where needed. It is a quarter to three in the afternoon of the 23rd of May. SCENE I Mrs. Gaunt. Julia. Gates Mrs. Gaunt. Be wary. I never saw Cassien in quite the same mood as to-day. His Kght-heartedness and amiability perplex me. Be careful, Gates. Gates. I see nothing significant in his manner. If he is gay and good-natured it is because he is really io8 A MATTER OF MORALS jolly glad to have Julia without the indignity of being inconsistent. After all, there is no hand to play. It is now a question of obeying circumstances. Mrs. Gaunt. Cassien has too much character to obey circumstances. I am sorry things have gone so far, because I do not see how we are going to direct them any more. It is not his way to accept the in- evitable even when he desires it, and I know he does not desire to marry Julia. Gates. Why not ? Julia. Because he does not love me. Gates. Love ! What has that to do with it ? Mrs. Gaunt. Cassien lives for ideas, and I am afraid it is more than we can do to bend him from them. I ought to have said no. Gates. If his character is strong, my will is stronger. Mrs. Gaunt. I only caution you. Nothing wrong has been done, any way. It might have been only a practical joke. Perhaps I am too serious. Gates. Yes ; it might have been only a practical joke if Julia had not been such a fool. Julia. Oh, do not bring that subject up again. Mrs. Gaunt. As for me, far from thinking Julia was a fool, I believe she was right. We are altogether too much restricted by artificiality nowadays, which prevents the advance of civilisation. As soon as we become direct and honest in doing what we want to do, we will do great things. Do not be imposed upon, Julia. I for one defend you. Gates. Julia needs no defence ; anyone who en- dangers their personal safety does so with belief in their strength. She can look out for herself. Julia. I intend to — thank you. A MATTER OF MORALS 109 Gates. Don't be sniffy. The mistress of Cassien Gaunt must be civil to the world. Julia {com.'pressedly). What did you say ? Mrs. Gaunt. He meant nothing, Julia. Julia. You called me the mistress of Cassien Gaunt ? Gates. What else are you ? Julia (bitterly). You think I — I so much as touched his hand last night ? You dare to say that I — Oh, what a rotten fellow you are to think it ! To believe that your sister played that part. I despise you. Gates (laughing). So you spent the whole night with him without so much as touching his hand ? You must think me credulous. Why, this morning you admitted your fault, and whimpered over it. Mrs. Gaunt. Never mind, Julia. I do not blame you. Julia (furiously). Be silent, both of you. If I spent the night in his room, it was because he was iU. I kept watch over him, wide-eyed, and cared for him. I did not sleep an instant. I was his nurse — a duty even his mother never even thought to assume. I believed you naturally understood this, and I could not see why you lectured me for it. It was rash in me, but I could not help it ; he needed attention after the way you dosed him, so I displeased you. But now you insult me by insinuating that I abandoned myself. Well, I am not one to take insults ; I have done no wrong. Gates. You did not ? Mrs. Gaunt. Have we misjudged ? Julia. You evil-minded plotters ! I see now what all your abuse meant. I have enough of such cynical points of view. You can work out your plans alone ; no A MATTER OF MORALS I am going away — but not until you apologise to me, Gates Mallard, you low scoundrel ! Gates. How could I have known ? After all, it is natural to jump to the conclusions that match the circumstances. There was only one thing to think. Julia. Of your sister ? Gates. I hated to. Mrs. Gaunt. Forgive us, Julia. I apologise. Julia. You who encouraged me in my supposed wickedness ! It has revealed your true nature, Mrs. Gaunt. As to you. Gates, I am done with you ; I am disgusted with the whole dirty business. Gates. Julia ! We ask forgiveness ; what more can we do ? I am ashamed of myself. Do not go back on us now. Julia. My mind is made up. I am going away. Mrs. Gaunt (j.rritated). Heaven help us ! Was there ever such a child. {She walks quickly to the door) Gates, I leave her to you. \She goes out. SCENE II Julia. Gates Julia. Do not speak to me. Gates. How could we have known the honesty of your purpose ? On the face of it it was dishonest, and you only showed us the face. Julia. I showed you nothing. I never imagined you would so disrespect me. I never could trifle with Cassien. Gates. But he thinks vou did. A MATTER OF MORALS iii Julia. He also ? No ! Gates. Of course he does ; what else did he mean this morning ? We all did. Julia. Then I desert you all — Cassien as well. I see that decent motives seem as bad to you as rotten ones, when arrows point at suspicions. I acted well, and you have all repaid me vilely. That is enough. I will not marry Cassien for all that you might benefit by it. Gates. Julia ! Calm down ! We have apologised for a slight error — ^you wish to revenge yourself now from wilful pettishness. If you are silly, it is I who will be angry. Julia. I say I will not marry Cassien ; you can be angry or not. He scorns me if he thinks as you say he does, and I love him too much to impose upon him. Gates. I will enlighten him. Julia. Then your pretty trick will fall through ; he would not believe you anyway. Mrs. Gaunt suspects him of a design. I am afraid of. him. Gates ; he hates me, and I am afraid to marry him. I will not do it. Gates. There is nothing to fear. You must marry him ; we will be ruined if you do not, Julia. Kate thinks we are rich. It is not true. By your marrying Cassien alone can our fortunes be assured. Julia. Where is our money ? Gates. Mine is gone ; I have lost it. Julia. And mine ? Gates. What there is of it is all we have. Julia {scornfully). So you have deceived me as well as Mrs. Gaunt ? You have gambled away all your money and half of mine. It is like you to use me further in your speculations. You count on my 113 A MATTER OF MORALS marrying Cassien so that you can turn him to good account. Gates, you are a poor sort ! I am heart- broken. Gates. It isn't so bad as that, Julia. I can regain everything and more, if you wUl marry Cassien. I have had bad luck and had not told you ; but it means nothing to you so long as it turns out all right. Julia. Means nothing to me, when it is I who must make it turn out all right ! It was little to have insulted me and used me as a tool, but it is much to have robbed me and disgraced me. No, do not speak ; I have enough of it. I ought to have known from your relations with Mrs. Gaunt that something was wrong. I am shocked by your degeneracy, and I cannot afford to associate with you any longer. You do not even stop to consider that you hurt my good name. I am going away. Gates. Let me reason with you. You have a wrong idea of what I aim at. It is all for you," Julia ; I have not done anything unworthy of me. Julia. You have done things unworthy of me ; I abandon you. Gates. Let us not say anything more about it until you have had time to think. Julia. No. I tell you that I will not marry Cassien ; and that I care to have nothing more to do with you. Keep my money ; I will earn my own living. Gates. I give you one more chance, Julia. Cassien will be here in an instant. If I cannot count on you to carry out the plan we have already so far realised, it will not be for you to desert me. I will spread the story of your infamy all over London, and turn you out. Julia. Do anything you like. A MATTER OF MORALS 113 Gates. Julia ! After all, family ties are sacred, and you ought to work in harmony with me. Do not betray our interests. They are so promising. Julia. Do not think you can deceive me by blowing east, then west. You only betray yourself. I am independent of you. Gates. Very well. If you refuse to further your own interests and plot against mine, I will follow other tactics. You have resolved definitely to abandon me, and ruin us both ? Julia. Definitely. Gates. It is final ? Julia. Absolutely. Gates. Good. [He walks quickly to the draughting table, and, taking a key from his -pocket, o-pens the drawer. Julia. What are you doing ? Gates. I, for one, wiU not be undone by your folly. \He takes out a bundle of papers. Julia. What are those papers ? Gates. These are the papers concerning Cassien's invention — ^his experiments, his discoveries, and his instruments. Julia. Well ? Gates. They are mine. Julia. You are going to steal them ? Gates. There is nothing else for me to do ; you have gone back on me. Julia. You will even turn criminal ? Gates. Unless you decide to be reasonable. Julia. Oh ! count me out. Your schemes are too low for me. Gates. Then you consent to see me forced to steal ? H 114 A MATTER OF MORALS Julia. Willingly, rather than be your accomplice in equally shabby affairs. Gates. Good. At least my futtire is assured by these papers. You can go to the devil. Julia. I can also go to the police. Gates {pushing the papers into his pocket and re- locking the drawer). You will not dare do that. Pooh ! I have wasted too much time on you. Julia. Gates, you put those papers back in that drawer, or you will not leave this room while I am alive. I mean it ! SCENE III Gates. Julia. Gilbert. Nina Gilbert comes in, followed by Nina. Gilbert. Hello, are you always here now ? Why, Miss Mallard, you seem in earnest about those papers. Gates. What papers ? Gilbert. How do I know ? The ones your sister spoke of. Gates. Oh ! {He turns away.) Julia, I am going. Gilbert. I would not ; in case anything is missing, it would throw suspicion on you. Julia. Do you suspect us ? Gilbert. Of nothing. Only Cassien has expressed his dislike of you both to me, and I am his friend. Gates. Cassien is engaged to marry my sister. Nina. Nonsense. Gates. It is true. Gilbert {to Nina). Do you know anything of this ? Nina. It is false ; he has not said so.' A MATTER OF MORALS 115 Gates. Wait, and he will. Gilbert. Rot. I know your record, Mallard ; you may have manipulated Mrs. Gaunt, but I advise you to leave Cassien alone. Miss Edgewood and I are equal to your powers, and we mean to protect Cassien. Gates. It is my turn to exact a little decency from you ; please be more civil. Some day you will answer for the insult you have offered me. I am patient. Gilbert. You had better be. You have not ex- plained yet what you did with Cassien last night. Gates. I do not mean to. You presume a good deal on the rights of your friendship. Miss Edgewood, I beg you to cast off your prejudices and be open with me. I desire your goodwill. Nina. I gave you my will yesterday. [Julia has wandered into the other -part of the laboratory, and the door now opening. Gates, thoroughly ruffled, follows her instead of retorting. ii6 A MATTER OF MORALS SCENE IV Cassien. Gilbert. Nina Cassien comes in. Nina. Cassien, what does Mallard mean when he says you are engaged to Julia ? Cassien. What he says ; I am. Gilbert. What ? Cassien. Didn't you know it ? Gilbert. Be serious. Cassien. You see I love Julia, and Gates has been so good as to favour me ; I hope to be married during the month. Nina. You are trifling ! Cassien. My dear Nina, there are some things that happen hopelessly out of the ordinary. I have fallen in love with Miss Mallard quite in outrage to my character, and we have come to an understanding at once, quite in outrage to custom. Of course you are surprised, but I hardly care to explain further. Accept my statement without demanding all its causes. Gilbert. You know what I and everyone else think of the Mallards, as you yourself thought yesterday. Heaven knows, I am always your abject slave, but even in my devotion I fail to understand. Cassien. I notice that you tried to understand Miss Maurlscot yesterday. That may be a breach of your enslavement to me ; what do I care ? It only hints at further breaches of sympathy, as in this instance. I say I am going to marry Julia, and that is all that I say. A MATTER OF MORALS 117 Gilbert. I am not the one to make the least friction. Only, whatever you think, you must know that I scorn Gates. I think you are making a big mistake. Cassien. Cease to think about it, dear Gilbert. In asking you to trust my wisdom I betray too much fondness for you — but I do so. Wait. Gilbert. I will. If you have a reason, I trust you. Have I offended you as to Miss Maurlscot ? Cassien. You could not. {The voice of Mrs. Gaunt is heard catting Gilbert. Gilbert. Why do you not trust us, Cassien ? \He goes out. Nina. Gilbert supposes you divinely wise. I do not. Do not trifle with such serious matters. \She turns from him as Denise comes in. With a word of recognition as she passes her, she goes out. SCENE V Denise. Cassien Denise. Pardon me. I thought no one was here. [She turns to go. Cassien. Do not go. I have the joy of telling you of my engagement. Denise. Really ? To whom ? Cassien. Miss Julia Mallard. Denise. Julia Mallard ? Does father know ? Cassien. What has he to do with it ? Denise {approaching Cassien). Did you know we were cousins ? ii8 A MATTER OF MORALS Cassien. Of course not. Denise. We are ; Mrs. Gaunt is my aunt, mother's sister. Cassien. Am I to suppose that ? Who told you ? Denise. All three of them. Cassien. How interesting ! You see, I know nothing- about mother or her family. I am honoured, Miss Maurlscot, to be your cousin. [He bows mockingly. Denise. I am not, if you care to know it. There is something odd about it. Don't you know the truth ? Cassien. I never have. Father has been a remote subject— one that didn't appeal to me much. Denise. Someone has done wrong. Cassien. Everyone has, Denise. I might as well call you that. Denise. You need not, even if you are my cousin. Father will not approve of your marrying that woman, I know. Cassien. You alarm me. Denise. Why do you mock me ? I am not a fool. Cassien. I have not said what you are, yet. I find you amusing. Denise. You are the most conceited and selfish man I ever saw. Cassien. You need not call me that, " even if you are my cousin." My dear child, the days of missions are over. No one tries to reform the world any more. Denise. It needs it badly. Cassien. I suppose you hate the Mallards and mother and me because we are not like you ; that is not the excuse of reform. I hope to goodness you are not my cousin. Denise. I will do my best to avoid it. A MATTER OF MORALS 119 Cassien. I have never been disliked before. You amuse me. Denise. I find you hateful. SCENE VI Gates. Julia. Gilbert. Mrs. Gaunt. Denise. Cassien Gates and Julia come in at the same time as do Mrs. Gaunt and Gilbert from the other room. Julia crosses the stage and goes out without speaking. Mrs. Gaunt engages Gates and Cassien ; Gilbert approaches Denise. Mrs. Gaunt. There you are, Gates. Have you said Hello to Miss Maurlscot ? Cassien, it is three o'clock, and Floedalson wUl come at any moment. [They go over to the right. Gilbert. Miss Maurlscot, I want to see you for a moment. Will you arrange it ? While the others are busy, later — I have something to tell you. Denise. If you Hke ; I want to talk with you, too. I feel stifled in this room — and with these people. Gilbert. I know ; they irritate me as well. I wiU find you in there. {}le indicates the other room.) We can have a moment to ourselves. Denise. Have you information for me ? Gilbert. Purely personal. I — I will tell you later. Mrs. Gaunt. Denise ! Listen to what Mr. Mallard is saying. He thinks women should have equal rights. Cassien. And so destroy the articulateness of civilisa- tion. Certain functions create certain organs ; if you try to make a formless organ for highly-formed 120 A MATTER OF MORALS functions, you must invite chaos. As soon as men, women, and children present one pattern, the functions of each will present no pattern. [Gilbert goes out into the other fart of the laboratory. Denise. The sexual functions and corresponding duties are not articulations of civilisation at all. You place them too high ; they will go on in spite of uni- form opportunity for all human beings. Mrs. Gaunt. Of course. For instance. Gates and Denise could marry without its affecting their real lives at all ; if it did, people wouldn't do it. Denise. For heaven's sake, do not talk of marriage. Mrs. Gaunt. Why, my dear, I quite intend you to marry Gates. Cassien. Wouldn't that be snug ? All tied together like herrings, Denise. It is not your place to propose for me. Gates. You see, I have hardly had time. Miss Maurlscot. Denise. Find it. Gates. May I ? Oh, I had not hoped for such happiness. Denise. It is always well to hope for the things one can never get. SCENE VII Cassien. Mrs. Gaunt. Denise. Gates. Ashton. Mrs. Maurlscot Ashton and Mrs. Maurlscot come in. Mrs. Gaunt. I was just making a match, Ashton ; you blew it out. A MATTER OF MORALS izi AsHTON. Your matches are easily consumed, Kate. Mrs. Maurlscot. How are you, Cassien ? Ah, my dear, it is as hard as it is desirable to make a match for you. Cassien. It was for Denise. AsHTON (to Cassien). I have as much as concluded the purchase of your papers. Forgive me ; you hesitated yesterday, and I was driven to give no negative reply. Unless you positively refuse again, the deal is closed. Cassien. They expect me to sell ? AsHTON. They always have, and so did I. When I reported that you seemed unwilling, they did not believe me, and although the formalities have not been gone through, I am now powerless to withdraw. If you finally refuse, it is up to you to announce it. I cannot. Cassien. I must sell or else make a fuss ? AsHTON. I am sorry. I thought to render you the greatest service, and so went too far to back out. You are unreasonable, you know, and I leave it to you to settle the matter. Unless you actively protest, there is no stopping the transaction ; I advise you to resign your scruples and seize this magnificent oppor- tunity. Anyone will tell you I have done a great deal for you, and you are perverse to ignore it. Cassien. Your idea of desirability is a little general. It really would serve you right to be thwarted. Don't you expect my wrath, knowing my nature ? AsHTON. I did not know you when I acted for you ; knowing you, I fear your retort, but surely you are not so eccentric as to return malice for goodwill. Mrs. Gaunt. Leave him alone, Ashton; he does 122 A MATTER OF MORALS not want to sell, and it is unfair of you to make him trouble. Cassien. No trouble at all. You see, I have changed my mind, mother ; I am only too happy to sell. Mrs. Gaunt. What ? You will throw away your genius for a few pounds ? AsHTON. Now he is sane. Cassien. I am bored by the whole affair ; I am only too happy to get out of it. As I am going to marry Julia, I will not want to bother about science any more. Mrs. Gaunt. Good Lord, Gates, do you hear him ? Gates. He is quite right. Mrs. Gaunt. Am I insane ? Gates, are you out of your head ? Cassien, have you turned comedian ? Cassien. Not at all ; I never mean to work any more. Gates. He is very sensible. Mrs. Gaunt. I am all in the dark. Ashton. Of course you will work, Cassien, and I am overjoyed to see that you are becoming practical. You have answered admirably to the call of your country and of civilisation. Cassien. Not at all ; I owe it to them. Mrs. Gaunt {to Gates). We are ruined. Gates. I am not. Mrs. Gaunt. He has tricked us. Gates. There is little lost. Mrs. Gaunt. But then there is no need of his marrying Julia ; I forbid it. Gates. He does not mean to. Ashton. I am very pleased, Cassien. You will have your cheque to-morrow. A MATTER OF MORALS 123 Cassien. Any time. The things are yours. You did not know that I was going to marry ? AsHTON. No; whom? Cassien. Julia Mallard. AsHTON. Dear me, I— er— congratulate you. Mrs. Gaunt. It is not definite yet. Cassien. Nothing can make me renounce my Julia. Mrs. Gaunt. Tut, Cassien ! You get things ready now for Floedalson. There are not enough chairs here. Gates, fetch us a few. [Gates brings in some chairs from the other room. Cassien commences to pull back the screens. Mrs. Gaunt. Sit down, everyone. {A bell rings.) There is the door. [She disappears to answer. SCENE VIII All Mrs. Gaunt returns with Floedalson, Dr. Klein- hell, Nina, and Julia; Gilbert returns. Cassien. Good afternoon, Floedalson. Floedalson (bowing to everyone). Let me present my eminent friend, Herr Doctor Kleinhell, the dis- tinguished scientist. Doctor, this is Mr. Cassien Gaunt. \7ke necessary formalities. Cassien. I leave the discussion to you, Floedalson. Let us get it over with. 124 A MATTER OF MORALS Floedalson. As you say. Will you be seated, Doctor ? [Everyone sits down where they can see into the other 'part of the laboratory through the space where Cassien has fulled aside the screens. His invention is supposed to he in there, invisible to the audience. My friends, Mr. Gaunt's discovery and invention are double. He has made two discoveries, and con- ceived two practical applications of them. The first is by far the more revolutionary ; it is nothing more nor less than a disproving of the whole theory of gravitation. Consider what this means. Gravitation has been the most important and general law known in all nature. Science has been constructed on it, and our entire practical mechanics depend upon it. We have grown accustomed to think of weights and attraction as perfect truths, but in spite of this acceptance of a convenient idea, the identity of gravitation has never been explained. What is at- traction ? What is the cause of that tendency which holds the planets about the sun ? And why, if it is a general law, does it not maintain the sun and the stars at constant distances from each other ? The stars have no orbits ; each one is plunging through space unattracted by any other. Outside of simple systems of satellites, then, the law of gravitation does not hold true. Attraction states a constant behaviour of certain things, but it does not explain why they behave so. An object falls ; why does it fall ? Gravitation. What is gravitation ? No one knows, and no one knows simply because it is non-existent. There is no such thing as gravitation. We have all been grossly deceived by the ignorance of our A MATTER OF MORALS 125 predecessors. It requires faith and imagination to conceive of and believe in the theory of attraction, and mystery is not a part of science. Mr. Gaunt has strode ahead to find the truth about this most important matter, refusing to accept such a fantastic explanation as that of Newton. His labours have been rewarded. The truth is that gravitation is not in the least a question of attraction ; it is one of pressure. Realise the importance of that word. We know what pressure is ; it is due to the fact that two bodies cannot occupy the same space ; if one expands, the other must con- tract, and vice versa. The universe at present is in a state of extreme contraction and extreme expansion, but the pressures remain the same as when it was homogeneous. There is no mystery about this, and nothing marvellous or incomprehensible. The force, then, that makes things move is one of pressure, and not of attraction ; they are simply pushed from behind. In the origin of the universe, the homogeneous substance of which infinity was composed exerted equal pressures in all directions. When this substance lost its equilibrium in a single spot, the pressures immediately changed ; the weak spot was forced to contract, and aU the more compressible elements were produced from the primitive electrons by the heat of contraction. Thus was formed the matter which produced the stars. A new arrangement of the universal substance came about by the less re- sistent elements yielding to the more resistent and being compressed into solids. The ether, in other words, exerts a greater absolute pressure than does matter. Therefore, the force which draws objects 126 A MATTER OF MORALS to earth is not attraction, but the pressure of the ether. This is exposed by the action of the moon on the sea ; when it intercepts the direct line of pressure of the ether on the earth, it lessens it, and the sea mounts. Also mountain ranges are determined by the positions of the planets, which reduce the pressure on the earth and allow volcanoes to burst up. Both of these phenomena are at variance with the law of gravitation. As the question of weight was deter- mined by the quality of the attraction of an element, it is now by the quality of the pressure, and this quality is explained as a matter of concentration. For instance : it is undeniable that a magnet attracts certain objects. This is due to such an extreme concentration of energy in the magnet that the resistance is reduced on aU sides of it, and things in its neighbourhood are forced toward it by the surrounding pressure. The earth is a tremendous concentration of energy, and offers less than no resistance to all such substances as are less con- centrated than it. But this very concentration is due to the com- pressive force of the ether, and magnetism is, therefore, a manifestation of pressure. Now, Mr. Gaunt has profited by this eccentric over-concentration of energy in certain substances, to negative the pressure of the ether. He discovered how to treat metals electri- cally, so that they not only balance the normal pressure, but are able to reverse it. Consider this : by treating a sheet of metal after his system, the limit of compressibility for energy is reached. It cannot be concentrated further. This is not because it refuses to be compressed further ; it is because there is no pressure to compress it. The ether A MATTER OF MORALS 127 exerts only a certain amount of force, and once this is yielded to, it is negatived. If the compression is carried beyond that point, the forces are reversed and the metal presses on the ether. As it does not meet any resistance, the metal flies off into space. By con- structing a shell of this metal, it is thus possible to not only rise above the earth, but to traverse space in- definitely. By properly arranging shutters to direct these forces, the mastery of infinity is won. It may be said that pressure decreases as the atmos- phere thins, and that we would burst above it ; in other words, that the ether is nothing more nor less than a vacuum. If this were true, the earth would burst. No possible force of gravitation could hold it together against the power of a vacuum to disinte- grate it. The ether, consequently, is not a vacuum ; the reason we would burst in it is that we are a form of compressed energy which, on rising to less com- pressed matters, would exert exactly the same kind of force as the metal of Mr. Gaunt. Above our atmos- phere we have a tremendous power of attraction. If we were built more firmly, we could draw the ether to us instead of dispersing in it. This example explains his invention very ably. He has built a shell endowed with an exaggerated power of " attraction " as it is wrongly called, and strong enough to hold together. The only drawback was the question of how to live in the ether and in other atmospheres. This he con- trived by making air artificially from electricity. You all know that electricity contains all the elements ; by a certain process he transforms electricity into these elements, removes the ones foreign to our atmosphere, and leaves perfect air, which can be tempered at wiU. 128 A MATTER OF MORALS Even when the world's atmosphere disappears, man will therefore be able to make his own air. Mr. Gaunt's invention is in the form of a double case which he will explain to you. It is the demonstration of the latter discovery that we are to see to-day. It will help to an understanding of his first theory by observing the phenomena of lightning. Due to in- creased pressure, the energy at a given point suddenly contracts into electricity, and in so doing for a second creates a vacuum about it. This illustrates : that ether is not a vacuum, that the universe took origin similarly, and that gravitation is a false theory. With these preliminary remarks, I now leave the field to Mr. Gaunt, who will show you his instrument. Cassien. Professor Floedalson has sketched the idea of the instrument. (He goes towards the screens amidst afflause and considerable animation^ This coil {he indicates it by a gesture) is fitted with a powerful current of electricity which passes into a carburator, in the form of a spark, and is combined with rarefied air. The electricity is resolved into its elements ; the heavier of these escape by an exhaust pipe. The Hghter — those that form our atmosphere — remain and are conducted by tubes to the upper part of this compart- ment, subsequently to the lower. I have carried on my experiment with a vacuum. If one of you wiU. be so good as to collaborate with me now, I will show you how it works. Gates, will you ? Gates. Oh, I would rather not, honestly. Cassien. There is no danger at all. Ashton, you do it. Ashton. Really, Cassien, get someone else. Cassien. Julia, you are the one. Someone must help me. You do it, dear. A MATTER OF MORALS 129 Julia {paling). If no one else [She looks around on unresponsive faces. Nina. Do do it, Miss Mallard ; it wUl be an ex- perience for you. Cassien. Come on, Julia. We are keeping Doctor Kleinhell waiting. Julia (weakly) I do not want to — but if you in- sist Cassien {taking her by the hand). There is nothing to be afraid of. My dear Julia — it wiU be a prelude to our marriage. Julia. Very well. [Cassien leads her behind the screens, and can be heard opening the case. Cassien {behind the screen). There, we are all ready. {Coming out) There is now a pretty complete vacuum inside the upper compartment. That red light {he points at one) indicates the condition ; the green one shows that there is atmosphere there. See — I turn on the current, and the red light begins to fade already, as air is manufactured and allowed to enter. [A vibration is heard and a flickering light is seen. The red and green lights just protrude beyond the screen, so that they are visible to the audience. Now the red light is going out and the green one becoming strong. I stop the current {he does so, ending the noise and flare), pump out the air auto- matically, and the red light comes on again. I will now open the compartments. \He disappears. The red light fades and the green one shines. Cassien's voice is heard. If you wiU sit down inside, your head in the sphere, I will now demonstrate. I30 A MATTER OF MORALS Julia's Voice. There is no danger, is there ? Cassien's Voice. No. What happens is this : I close the sphere about your head, air is made and pumped in for you, and at the same time is with- drawn. None can enter except by the carburator, proving that my device does make air, as there would otherwise be a vacuum. You, however, will notice no change in breathing. Julia's Voice. If I make a sign you will let me out ? Cassien's Voice. Instantly. [J noise of metal. There, the sphere is locked. Are you attentive, Doctor Kleinhell ? [The sky has clouded, and it is dark in the laboratory, so that the lights are con- S'picuous. The green light wiU continue to shine throughout the experiment. [He comes out and works the switches with his left hand. There is little air in the sphere, as Julia is breath- ing it. \He turns on the current ; the buzz and flare recommertce. See ! The green light grows stronger. Air is being forced into the sphere. Now I have turned on the pump, which draws out the used air. You ob- serve ? The green light returns to its normal course. The conditions in the sphere are just like ours, although not a breath of natural air can get in. It is being manufactured and extracted in equal amounts. Floedalson. This is an epoch-maker. Gaunt. May we inspect the apparatus ? Cassien. Of course, only be careful not to touch anything. A MATTER OF MORALS 131 Floedalson. Let us examine the mechanism, Doctor. [Klein HELL and he rise and go behind the screens. Gilbert. Can this go on indefinitely ? Cassien. Quite. Julia is more comfortable than we. Gates. I do not like it. Cassien. Tut ! See, the green light stays bright and even. Floedalson's Voice. This is the man, Kleinhell, we have as president for our Institute. Cassien. Did I accept that ? Floedalson's Voice. Of course you accepted. Cassien. So much the better. Did you show the Doctor the carburator ? \He goes behind the screens. In the meantime, without anyone's noticing it, the green light has grown a little dimmer. Mrs. Gaunt. I do wish Cassien would stop talking, and would finish the experiment. It must be un- comfortable for Julia. Gates. So do I. Cassien! Do turn off the current, and let us have tea. Cassien. I want to prove that it is not a trick of any sort. One moment. Ashton. There is a horror to me about machinery. It is so powerful and half-governed, after aU. Nina. But consider the beauty of such know- ledge. Mrs. Maurlscot. Just the same, accidents do happen. Why doesn't Cassien finish ? Mrs. Gaunt. How queer it seems to think that Julia is living in a vacuum ! What will science not conquer ? Mrs. Maurlscot. How dark it is getting ! These 132 A MATTER OF MORALS things bore me to death, you know. Let us go and have tea somewhere. Gates (abruptly). Cassien ! Look at the light ! It is going out. Cassien's Voice. Nonsense. Everything is working perfectly. Gates (jumfing up). I don't care ! The green light is going out, I tell you ! [The others rise in consternation. Cassien's Voice. Be calm, Gates ; you will need- lessly alarm the women. I repeat, everything is all right. Gates. My God, no ! Come, look at it ! You do not see ! Mrs. Gaunt. Cassien ! Quick ! It is true ! Cassien's Voice {calmly). Then it is out of order. The machinery is acting superbly. Leave us alone. I am explaining the adjustments to Dr. KleinheU. You see AsHTON. Cassien, I insist on yoiu: looking. Some- thing is wrong. There is no need of running risks. Cassien's Voice. How annoying ! Floedalscai, ignorant people ought to be suppressed. [The green light is almost out. Floedalson's Voice. Cassien ! Miss Mallard is signalling. Mrs. Gaunt {hysterically). My God ! Get her out ! Get her out ! Gates {rushing out and dragging Cassien t»). You fool ! Look at that lamp. [The green light fades, and the red one begins to glow. Mrs. Maurlscot. The red light ! She is stifling 1 Save her ! A MATTER OF MORALS 133 Cass^eh (keeping his head). Keepaway! Leave it to me. [He rushes to the machine. The others stand rigidly silent, staring at him — not daring to think. Cassien can be heard rapidly but not noisily at work. Mrs. Gaunt (unable to control herself). The current ! Turn off the current ! Cassien's Voice. Prevent her. That is all that saves her. Lend me a hand. [They are heard working breathlessly. Mrs. Maurlscot and Nina sob. Cassien's Voice {after a moment, wildly). I cannot open it ! Floedalson's Voice. Break it ! [The red light grows stronger and stronger. Cassien's Voice (desperately). Cut the tubes. [A scuffle. Tools are dropped. For heaven's sake, hold her down. I can't get at them. [Mrs. Maurlscot /«j«/tj. Floedalson's Voice. Crack it. The tubes hold. [Commotion. Then a loud blow of a hammer on steel — another. Cassien's Voice. Again — no other vsray — Kleinhell, hold her down — ^Quick, Floedalson, another second and [The blows are repeated violently. Suddenly the electric spark sends out a blinding flash and goes out, leaving the room almost dark. The red light glares brilliantly. Mrs. Gaunt (terror crazed). Get her out ! Get her out ! Get her out ! [Panic seizes the others. They rush about madly while the blows continue, and Mrs. Gaunt mumbles her insane refrain. 134 A MATTER OF MORALS Floedalson's Voice. Look out ! [A tremendous blow is heard, and the metal cracks loudly. Silence. The red light goes out. The others halt, breathless. Cassien's Voice. Water — open the windows — call a doctor. [Floedalson hurries in, all -perspiring, and hurries out to find a doctor. Kleinhell appears and pulls the windows up. Nina fetches some water. Cassien works over Julia, invisible ; then he comes in, haggard and wild. Mrs. Gaunt. Is she Cassien. Too late. Gates. Not dead ? She is not dead ? Cassien. Too late. Gates. Julia ! Julia ! Oh, you murderer ! You have killed her ! You did it on purpose ! Mrs. Gaunt. My God, Cassien, what have you done ? Gates. You did it on purpose ! You planned it this morning. You plotted to murder her. It is a clear case ! You will be executed ! I can prove that you did it on purpose — I can prove it instantly. Mrs. Gaunt. Cassien ! You could not have ! Ohj no, not that. Gates. Of course he did. That explains his manner all day. There is no hope for him — ^he shall be hung for it — ^he shall be hung, I say ! Gilbert. Shut up. Mallard. Kleinhell, Maurlscot, you will swear that it was an accident, as we all will- It could have been nothing else. AsHTON. Of course it was an accident. There A MATTER OF MORALS 135 is no doubt about it ; Floedalson and I will con- firm it. Gates. It was not an accident. You do not know the circumstances that led up to it. He killed Julia to revenge himself on me. He shall hang for it. Gilbert. No circumstances can prove that this was not an accident. Men of science and of reputation witnessing it swear it was. Gates. Swear all you like. Mrs. Gaunt will back me. Gilbert. I advise you to stop yelping, Mallard. In the first place, you are going to be arrested for robbery. Gates. Liar ! Gilbert. Cassien, where are the papers of your researches ? [Cassien goes to the table, and, unlocking the drawer, opens it. Cassien. Good heavens ! They are gone ! Gone ! AsHTON. Stolen ? Gilbert. Exactly, and by Gates Mallard. Better return them, Mallard, and get out without bothering Gaunt any more. Gates. It is false. Gilbert. Help me to search him, Maurlscot. Gates. You shall not. [There is a slight struggle. Gilbert holds up the papers. Gilbert. Here you are, Cassien. (To Gates.) Now you get out. Gates (doggedly). I stay with Julia. Cassien. For heaven's sake, be human, Gilbert. He wiU be punished in due time. AsHTON. Thank God, the papers were not lost. 136 A MATTER OF MORALS Gassien. Yes, isn't it fortunate ? [He goes to the hooded sink, lifts the shutter, throws all the papers in, and taking a bottle oj acids, pours it on them. This is a matter of morals ! END OF ACT III ACT IV The same as Act I, a few minutes after the end of the third act. SCENE I Cassien, Nina Nina. Cassien, Cassien ! Why did you destroy your papers ? Why have you thrown away the results of all your life's work ? You are mad. Cassien. You believe that Julia was the victim of an accident ? She was not. Nina. She was not ? Cassien. No. I killed her ; I did it on purpose, as Gates says — I meant to kill her. Nina. You did not ! Cassien. The instrument could not do what I made it do, except by direction. Floedalson would reaUse that if he stopped to think. It could not have been out of order ; I arranged it to work that way. Nina. What are you saying ? Cassien. The truth. Remember what I told you yesterday — only yesterday afternoon — about myself. You have watched the unbaring and exposition of my entire character. You saw me in love with myself ; you saw me jealous of myself. First you and Gilbert 137 138 A MATTER OF MORALS came to steal my heart ; then Julia my body, Floedalson my energy, and Ashton my work. Between you, you represented the world plotting to rob me of every- thing I loved. Yesterday you failed ; I sent you all away not one the richer. Last night I was fool enough to go to the Mallards to hear music ; they drugged me, put me to bed. I lost the possession of my body. This morning Ashton bullied me into parting with my papers ; I lost possession of my work. Floedalson tricked me into his Institute ; I lost possession of my time. To-day you vandalised my whole personality — eloped with what you could not steal. I, prizing and loving myself, saw myself pillaged, however un- willingly, by people I hate. What is there left ? My dispossessed ego sits in a shattered ruin and shrieks over the loss of its mate. At least it did, until revenge seized it and armed it. Julia Mallard took my body — she is dead. I killed her by a horrible death — a slow, cruel torture — in revenge for her crime. My jealousy did not stand idle ; it struck as a man would strike the rival of his love. You can seek every analogy of my jealousy in that of an outraged lover, except in this — that it is more mightily pure and powerful. Maurlscot took my papers ; they are destroyed, com- pletely so. There is not a copy of a single word of them in existence, not even in my head. I would have to begin all over again to replace them. I de- stroyed my inventions. There is nothing left of my genius. Floedalson has been foiled by the same act, for I have nothing to give him now. Whatever any of you have taken you have lost, even as I have lost all of myself. Go ! Be thankful that I do not seek revenge on you too. Nina. It is horrible. You are insane. Suppose I A MATTER OF MORALS 139 denounce you ? I ought to say that I know you murdered Julia. Cassien. Go ahead ; it makes no difference to me. Nina. You think I would ? What is friendship if it wavers before circumstances ? You misunderstand me, Cassien. You might murder everyone here, and I would stiU be your friend. Cassien. Nina, my heart is the only thing that I have left. Every other part of my personality has been destroyed completely and forever. All that belongs to me is my heart ; if you try to rob me of that it will kill me. I do not even threaten you. Nina {bursting into tears). O Cassien ! You have really so great a nature ! Why could you not have made it a happy one, and gone through life in a brilliant carnival ? You might have had the con- quests of Paradise to reward you. Instead, you have acted wrongly, and have ruined it all. It breaks my heart to see a thing of beauty so destroyed. I am torn by the world's anguish as well as by your own. It has been a tragedy more profound than anyone can realise. Keep your heart, Cassien ; I will not try to take it from you. I will go away from you forever, and leave you to mourn alone with it over your disasters ; but at least realise that Nina Edgewood has loved you with all the unselfish love of a real woman, and that if you have been too jealous of your heart you need not have been, for she wanted only to give you hers. Perhaps you will never know what a real woman's love is, Cassien. Think of me if some day you do. Its joy is the sacrifice of the fruits of accomplishment, not that of the roots or of the branches. Cassien. Leave me. 140 A MATTER OF MORALS Nina. Good-bye. You have revenged yourself thoroughly for all the outrages to your jealousy, but those outrages were against the least important parts of you. Be careful of your heart, Cassien — there is no revenge for its loss. Good-bye. [She holds out her hand to him. He shakes it coldly, and she goes into the bedroom to get her hat. He walks to the balcony as Gilbert comes in from the laboratory. SCENE II Cassien. Gilbert. Nina Gilbert. Come away, Cassien. You ought not to stay here. Let us go somewhere — ^walk — ^anything. Cassien. Do not be afraid for me; I am not unstrung. Gilbert. Even so, it is not good to remain here. Come away from the balcony. Cassien. Are you afraid I will jump out ? I have not been affected by this accident. Gilbert. I have. There is no need of either of us staying any longer. Cassien. I must wait for the coroner, the police. You go, and, for Heaven's sake, take the others away — especially that suffragette Denise. Gilbert. Do not insult Denise, Cassien. Cassien. I could not. She deserves anything one could say ; she is a vixen. Gilbert. She is not ! Cassien. Take her away. Gilbert. Cassien, although I am your friend, I will not allow you to speak so of one for whom I care. A MATTER OF MORALS 141 Cassien. For whom you care ? I thought you cared only for me. Gilbert. You are a man ; I care for her in a different way. Cassien. You cared for me in that way, too. So you throw me over for her ? I am glad, Heaven knows, but it disillusions me. Now I can get rid of you for a reason even you can understand. (Sharply.) But what right have you to love Denise I Gilbert. I have a right to love anybody I want. Cassien. Oh, have you ? Suppose someone else loves her ? Gilbert. Then she must choose. Cassien. Suppose I love her ? Gilbert. You ? I do not believe you do. Cassien. If I tell you I do ? Gilbert (seriously). You do ? O Cassien ! Is it true ? Cassien. I said I did. Gilbert (looking at him firmly). So you love Denise ! You love Denise ! (Bravely) Good-bye my hopes, gone my dreams. I never have been so happy as in my love for Denise, which has only just seen light, (fuming away) Never mind ; you love her, old fellow, and I withdraw. My friendship for you is greater than my love fpr her. I did not know. You have first rights. I will give her up, Cassien — if you wish it. Cassien. Do not be sentimental. Gilbert. You are right. I never do the right thing.; I have just blundered all the time, but you see I try to learn. There is nothing I would not give up for you. That is what friendship means to me. Trust me, Cassien, I will never see Denise again. I 142 A MATTER OF MORALS wish you realised what it means to me, so that the value of my friendship would be increased. Cassien. You are womanish, Gilbert. Gilbert. Perhaps so. Good-bye. I think I will go now. [Nina comes out of the bedroom with her hat on. Cassien. Good-bye. Nina. Are you coming, Gilbert ? Gilbert. Good-bye, Cassien. \IIe -presses Cassien's hand. Then he goes to Nina and they walk out arm in arm., without another word. Cassien smiles. SCENE III Cassien. Denise Denise comes out from the laboratory. Denise. Floedalson has not returned ? J Cassien. No. Denise. Mother will need him more than poor Julia. Mr. Mallard is in an awful state. I hope you wiU not be cruel to him. Cassien. How ? Denise. About the papers. After all, this accident has been a fearful blow to him, and to put him in prison would be hard. Cassien. The law can do as it likes ; it has nothing to do with me. Denise. You might say nothing about his steaHng the papers. I am sure father would consent to be silent. A MATTER OF MORALS 143 Cassien. Floedalson would not. It is sure to be known. Denise. At least do not denounce him immediately. Cassien. If it is possible to put him in prison for what he did, I wiU see that. he is. I would put your father there, too, if I could. He meant to steal them in a different way. As to Floedalson, I will bring suit against him for using my name illicitly. Denise. You are brutal. Cassien. Not only that, but mother has been their accomplice, and has sold her interests in me. She ceases to be a relative of mine. Denise. I hate you. You are crueller than Nero, without his excuses. To hurt aU these people is degenerately bestial. I hate you. Cassien. You hate me ? Do you really hate me ? I would have them all drawn and quartered if I could. Denise. You are contemptible. You hardly de- serve the honour of hatred. Cassien. Can I beheve my ears ? You persist in saying you hate me ? Denise. There is no one I so loathe ; you are hideous. I shrink from you. Cassien. Go on — go on ! Say more. Denise. That is all I have to say. I thought you would be gentle ; I find you vicious. Cassien. Once more, say once more " I hate you." Denise, You mock me. Cassien. No, I praise you. How sweet those words sound ! What worth is in them. You hate me. Denise. I do. Cassien. You hate me ! No one has ever said before that they hated me. I am blessed at last. I 144 A MATTER OF MORALS thought I should go through life unhated and re- membered. You have saved me from despair. Denise. If you could be madder than you were, you are. You need not think to win my admiration, by talking like a fool. Cassien. You are delightful ! You are charming ! Denise. Stop it. I only think even the less of you. Cassien. Oh, dear me ! Why didn't you say all this before ? When did you first begin to hate me ? Denise. When I first heard of you. Cassien. Did you really hate me at first sight ? Denise. Oh ! You disgust me. Cassien. Better and better. Denise, you cannot imagine what enchantment there is in your words. All my life I have been petted, and loved, and admired ; not a solitary soul would object to me or find me hateable. They even respected me. The result was that I had to fight them off to save my life, not merely myself. It has been a constant war, and now at last I find someone who hates me and whom I need not oppose. With you I can trust myself and forget myself ; you are the first to open the gates. Say it again ! Denise. Idiot ! Cassien. Beautiful ! Have you ever hated before ? Denise. Of course. Cassien. Then you wiU hate all the better now. Do you hate me more than anyone you ever hated ? Denise. Assuredly. Cassien. Oh rapture ! I can never leave you ; you are invaluable to me. Now I can devote my entire forces to greater things. You will protect me from the people who love me. A MATTER OF MORALS 145 Denise. Enough of this silliness. Cassien {soberly). I mean it, Denise. You are something new to me, and something that I feel I can join forces with. I could confide in no one else. If you really hate me, I mean to hang on to you. People that hate each other and are together develop enormous personalities. They are driven to reinforcing themselves interiorly to resist each other, with the result that they go out into the world as powerful individuals. Love, on the other hand, de- stroys individuality. You know my ambitions. I ask you to reason ; you are not a sentimentalist. You are intellectual, and you have no desire to prattle about love and beauty. You, too, wish individuahty and to develop yourself. Our aims are identical. Why should we not use the same method ? I appeal to your reason. Denise. Are you serious ? Cassien. Very. Denise. You think that we would always hate each other ? Cassien. If we made an effort ; I would always try to anger you. Denise. There is something in what you say ; it is very modem, and I respect it. Cassien. Agree. It would bring about my wildest visions. Denise. But we are cousins ! Cassien. There is no need of marrying in order to live together. People only marry for love nowadays. Denise. Scandal would lessen our hatred by sym- pathy. Cassien. Then you will consent to live with me ? Let this be our only unanimous agreement. 146 A MATTER OF MORALS Denise. I will not agree until I have time to con- sider ; I must reason it out. Cassien. You can reason it out afterwards. Say now that you will. Denise. So you wish to dominate me ? No, sir ! I will take my time over it. Cassien. You little shrew ! Denise. You brute ! When I think of the way you mean to persecute your friends ! I despise you. Cassien. Your tongue is the most venomous I ever heard. I loathe you, Denise. Dog ! Cassien. Cat ! Denise. I abhor you. Cassien. I abominate you. Denise. Oh ! Cassien. You will have the last word, I see. Denise. Coward ! Cassien. Now say you are going back to your mother. Denise. I will — at least Cassien {gleefully). AVhy isn't that a perfect scene of married life ? You see, we are well fitted for it. Denise (floored). You have convinced me. I agree. Cassien. It is done. Married or unmarried, we will be an ideal couple. Here is the ring. [He takes one from his -finger and puts it on hers. A MATTER OF MORALS 147 SCENE IV Mrs. Gaunt. Cassien. Denise. Mrs. Maurlscot. ASHTON Mrs. Gaunt enters from the laboratory, supporting Mrs. Maurlscot. Asmoif follows them. AsHTON. Now, Jenny ! Do try to control yourself. Mrs. Gaunt {leading her to the couch). Take a little more whisky, dear. Mrs. Maurlscot (Jeebly). Yes, yes. \She is given a flask, salts, i^c. Cassien. Mother, I have an announcement to make. Mrs. Gaunt. Yes, Cassien. Cassien. Denise and I are to be married. \7he others are thunderstruck. Denise. I confirm Cassien for this once. Mrs. Gaunt. You — ^you are to be married ? {Laughing hysterically^ Good God ! What next ? AsHTON. You %2SA married ? [Mrs. Maurlscot sits up querulously, holding on to the whisky. Cassien. Well, why not ? Do you object to me ? Denise. It is because we are cousins, Cassien. Cassien. I do not think we are very near cousins, are we ? AsHTON. Near cousins ? Jenny, Kate — they must be told ; things have gone too far. What do you think ? Mrs. Gaunt. Tell them — for goodness' sake, tell them. \^he buries her face in her hands. Mrs. Maurlscot. O Kate ! Must they be told ? 148 A MATTER OF MORALS AsHTON. Cassien, Demise is your sister. Cassien. What ? AsHTON. She is your half-sister. Cassien (dazed). You are her father ? AsHTOK. Yes, Cassien. Cassien. And Mrs. Maurlscot her mother ? AsHTON. Yes. Cassien. That is my mother ? [He points at Mrs. Gaunt, who sobs. AsHTON, It is. Cassien. Then-r-then you are my father ! AsHTON. I am your father, Cassien. Cassien. Oh ! (He chokes.) What does it mean ? What is it all about ? AsHTON. Be charitable ! Be kind ! If joisonously). Please look at the chickens the boy brought. [She exhibits them. Junia. Why ? What is the matter with them ? Rosalie. Pullets, mere pullets, not worth singeing, and scarcely a mouthful on the two. Junia. What does he mean by bringing them ? Tell him to change them. Rosalie. He has no others. Junia. Then order something felse. Rosalie. All he has is chops. Junia. They wiU do. Rosalie. But he won't sell them, because he says they are the only ones he has left. Junia. Surely he has liver ? Rosalie. No, he has not. Mrs. Rossett. Why ? Rosalie. He says he had to give up ordering it, because it sold so fast that he could not keep it in stock. Junia. Well, Rosalie, what are we going to do ? 2o8 JUNIA ROSSETT Rosalie (retreating again into her shell). I have no idea, Miss Junia. JuNiA. You always have ideas. Is there nothing else in the house ? Rosalie. Not a scrap. Junia (j.earfully). Oh, dear, what shall I do ? Mother, suggest something. Mrs. Rossett. My dear, you know I am a dunce at inventing dishes. Junia. Will no one help me ? Gales, think of something. Gales. Such matters as food disgust me. Junia. Mr. Prune, you are a good housewife ; what would you do in my predicament ? Propose some plate to your fancy. Prune. Alas, Miss Rossett, I have but so recently eaten that I could not imagine a toothsome course. Junia {to Basil). You can. Quick ! What shall it be ? Basil. A good piece of venison. JuNiA. You make fun of me ! Now you see how hard it is to order — it requires so much thinking. Cyr, you are my last hope. Save me ! Cyr. Junia, I am in no mind to order for you. Junia. Then you can all go hungry. Cyr. Don't you think you would come to a solution more quickly if you resorted to your own reason instead of begging that of others ? I am surprised to see how lazy you are. You seem set on not thinking for yourself. Junia. I do all the thinking for the family. Cyr. Confronted with a detail, you call on the others to attack it. You attack them with even more energy than that which the detail would have needed. Come, now ; settle this for yourself. JUNIA ROSSETT 209 JuNiA. No. I do not know what to do. I should think you, a professed reasoner, would be ashamed not to tell me what is to be done. , Cyr. I could tell you this time, but how about the next, when I shall be absent ? I want you to think for yourself. JuNiA. Someone else will be here instead. Be a nice man, Cyr — order for me. Cyr. Never. JuNiA. AH these people will starve if you do not. Cyr. Let them. JuNiA. The problem is growing bigger now. It is not only one of not ordering^ but of defeating me. If you will order, I will let you defeat me later. Cyr. I will not order. JuNiA. Then you shall never defeat me. Cyr. What credit is it to you to serve meals planned by others ? JuNiA. Must I cook the meats myself in order to be a housekeeper ? Cyr. That is clever. But then those who think for you are only servants. I reject that honour. JuNiA. State Counsellors are not servants. They are the real glory of a government. Cyr. Will you accept to be outshone ? JuNiA. I hardly fear that. Cyr. Rosalie, cut the puUets into small pieces, scramble your finest eggs, and serve on bits of toast, with a decoration of tomato and parsley. JuNiA (triumphantly). Just what I had in mind. Cyr (pitterly). Junia Rossett, know that this is the last time I yield. From this moment you are going to be made to think for yourself and reason for yourself. I will prevent your family and friends from being wheedled into doing it for you, even if you 2IO JUNIA ROSSETT exert three times as much reasoning and thinking in trying to make them. You are more capable than they. It is feminine perverseness, not laziness, that rules you. JuNiA {laughing. On with the battle ! I defy you, Cyr. Rosalie. Shall I then serve the trout second, Miss Junia ? JuNiA. Ask Mr. Finchfield, Rosalie. Cyr. Serve it second. Rosalie. Yes, sir. Junia. You are beaten, Cyr. Congratulate me, Basil! Rosalie. Oh, Miss Junia, a letter — I had forgotten. ]vsix {taking ii). No harm, thank you. That is all, Rosalie. [Rosalie files out. Poor Cyr ! You know there is no use in trying to reform a woman. Cyr. It is shocking to be a mental parasite.. I am ashamed of you, and it is a dangerous position for even a woman. Junia. Even a woman ! \She laughingly opens the letter. You permit ? Cyr {to Mrs. Rossett). I call on your alliance, Mrs. Rossett. Junia (paling, and with a gesture of amazement over the letter). Good Heavens ! Mrs. Rossett {anxiously). What is it, child ? Junia {hurrying to her). O mother, what shall I do ? See, what shall I do ? \She thrusts the letter into her hand. Cyr {deftly getting possession of it). No, Mrs. Rossett, do not advise her ! Let her work it out for herself. end of the first act ACT II A CIRCULAR room of the same period as the living-room. The axis is turned to lo degrees with that of the stage, so that the door in the rear lies to the right. The door communicating with the living-room comes first on the right; in a similar position on the left is another which leads to the butler's pantry. At the opposite end of the diameter of the former door is one that opens on to a flight of steps, which leads to a gravelled path ; symmetrically between them is the door in the rear. Thus more than a semicircle of the room is represented. The treatment of the walls consists of columns bearing an entablature and cornice, in the Corinthian mode ; the columns stand at equal distances and fall at the sides of the doors, which are richly framed. In the spaces between the doors are cup- boards with glazed windows, two in number. Above the cornice is a spreading cove moulding that joins it to the ceiling. Like the door on the right, that to the pantry is of mahogany ; the other two are sash doors. The one to the steps is open, but that in the rear is closed, and is shielded by curtains of muslin. Before it is a long sideboard bearing silver and two Sheraton knife-boxes. In the cupboards are shelves of porcelain, and in front of each is a chair. A square dining-table is placed in the middle of the room, with seven chairs about it. On the floor, of polished oak, is a rectangular Oriental rug. The table is set for luncheon, and the sunlight, although opposed by striped awnings, is playing havoc with the shadows among the glass and silver. From the oak trees, seen through the doors, numerous wasps have already hurried to sample the preserves. It is now a quarter to one. 212 JUNIA ROSSETT SCENE I JuNiA. Mrs. Rossett. Gales JuNiA, her mother, and Gales come in from the living- room. JuNiA. Thank Heaven I have you alone for a moment ! Mrs. Rossett. Shov? me the letter, Junia. JuNiA. Sit down. [Mrs. Rossett fulls out a chair from the table and sinks into it. Mrs. Rossett. Life is so full of pathetic events ! Junia. He demands nothing more nor less than that I choose between mother and him. Gales. What motive does he give ? Junia. He says that he has endured an outcast's life longer than he likes ; that the reason for his difference with mother was not in the least his fault — he rather retired from his family in order to satisfy her, than to liberate himself. Mrs. Rossett. That is false ! Peter made it im- possible for us to live together, and he sought a rupture merely to get rid of me. It is I who have been wronged and who have borne all the unhappi- ness ; he no doubt has been frolicking all over Europe. Junia. That is not his version. He says he has been lonely and miserable ever since he left, and that he does not mean to be unhappy any longer, just to comply with the whims of a woman who subsists on other people's sorrows. Mrs. Rossett. The coward ! You know I have JUNIA ROSSETT 213 only with difl&culty lived in solitude in order to protect you and Gales from him. If I had not always sacri- ficed myself I might have divorced and remarried. Gales. It must be said, mother, that neither Junia nor I were ever much afraid of father. Junia. Family life might have been more animated, but not more dangerous, for us, if he had not gone away. Mrs. Rossett. Ah ! You take his part. Children, I tell you it would have ended in a tragedy, and that in assuming the responsibility of fending it off I saved you. I have had to suffer for it, but you have gained. Remember your indebtedness to me ! He has endured no sorrow. Junia. He says he has been desperate with sorrow ; Gales and I know well enough that you have not. Mrs. Rossett. You are heartless ! Gales {slightingly). What are father's conditions, Junia ? Junia. He wants me to go and live with him. He wiU keep a town house and open the manor ; he will give me command of everything, as if I were his wife instead of his daughter. I wiU be free to entertain, travel, and amuse myself as I like. Gales. And mother and I ? Junia. You will live just as before — only with a bigger income. Mrs. Rossett. He is bribing you ! Gales. And if you do not go ? Junia. He says that he will divorce mother and marry again. In that case his testament will be radically changed — especially in case of children — ^and our income would have to be cut down. Gales. What are you going to do ? 214 JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA {helplessly). How do I know ? Mrs. Rossett. Let your heart speak, dear. You would be miserable with your father. Gales. Well, Junia ? JuNiA. I do not know what to do ! I cannot decide. I wiU do whatever you tell me to do. Mrs. Rossett. You must decide for yourself, dear. It would not be fair of me to influence you. Junia. If you order me to go or to stay, I will obey. Mrs. Rossett. I cannot, child. You secretly accuse me of the responsibility I took in leaving your father, and I dare not assume such another. You must choose, as he says, and it is I who must accept the decision. JtTNiA. Gales, you tell me what to do ; I trust your judgment. Gales. If I teU you to go, it will seem interested. If I tell you to stay, it will sacrifice mother. I can't help you, Junia ; you must reason it out for yourself. To-night I will pray for you, and I advise you to seek holy counsel as weU. In the straits of life only the heavenly Pilot can guide us. Such trials are given us to teach us the weakness of human pride, and to show us the power of our Father. Junia. Then you do not care what I decide ? Mrs. Rossett. Nonsense, Junia ! You know per- fectly well that neither Gales nor I can decide for you. Junia. I never knew such a family ! It is not acting as a dutiful daughter to take the decision on myself. He is coming to-day for my answer. Mrs. Rossett. Here ? Junia. To this house. Mrs. Rossett. I will not see him ! This is a ruse 1 JUNIA ROSSETT 215 Gales. How dare he ! JuNiA. I will meet him alone. You insist on leaving me unprepared. Mrs. Rossett (rising). What unhappy situations reveal themselves day by day ! [^She dries her eyes. Gales. Cyr was right, Junia. You must reason this out for yourself. Come, mother. \She goes out into the other room. Mrs. Rossett. Alas, Junia ! [She follows Gales lachrymosely. SCENE II Junia. Basil Basil enters from the left. Basil. I am starved. Isn't luncheon nearly ready ? Junia. No, it is not. Basil. Oh, you have my favourite little cakes. How sweet of you ! \He devours one. Junia. Come away from the table. Basil. So cross ! \He joins her, munching his cake. I say, why are you so cross ? Junia. I am not cross ; I am simply worried. Throw away that cake ; you will have no appetite for lunch. Basil {defending the treasure). Oh yes, I will. I am always hungry for lunch. What are you worried about ? Junia {turning away). You could not understand. Basil. Have I done anything ? 2i6 JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA. Heavens, no. Basil. Is it that letter you had ? JuNiA. It is useless, Basil ; you have not enough brains to help me. It is a problem, not a situation. Basil. I am sure I could advise you ; I shall feel terribly unworthy of you if you do not confide in me. Junia (looking at him coolly). It is too bad you are not a little more like Mr. Finchfield. He could tell me what to do in a minute, but you might potter about for a year without enlightenment. Basil. You are joUy cruel. How do you know whether I could help you or not ? Junia. If I hoped even remotely to be aided by you I should have gone to you in the beginning. (Sadly.) I fear, dear Basil, that you are only a good fellow ; I could never lean on you. Basil. Try to lean ! Junia. To lean is a woman's instinct. She feels instantly whether the support is weak or firm. Basil. You are not square. Junia. I was until my needs bent your strength. This morning you held me up ; now I need stiffer poles. Basil. Do you mean already to go back on your promises ? Junia. Oh no ! not yet. I simply mean that what you lack I must seek elsewhere. Basil. The beginning of the end ; in a few hours you will have me lacking everything. Your conviction in my incapacities must be enormous. I believe I am the first person alive whom you have not asked to think for you. Junia. You are impertinent ; I shall be angry. Basil. Forgive me. JUNIA ROSSETT 217 JuNiA. Then go away, and let me attend to luncheon. Basil. Yes, Junia. [He starts to go. JuNiA (gloomily). You only complicate matters, Basil. Basil. What have I done ? Junia. Run away. [She strokes her forehead. He shakes himself and retreats. SCENE III Junia. Cyr Cyr enters from the living-room. Cyr. Junia, Mrs. Rossett wishes to speak with you. Junia. And I wish to speak with you. Come here. Cyr. She is impatient. Junia. So am I. Sit down. \She bullies him into a chair. Cyr. What do you want ? Junia {winningly). You know that my responsibility to-day is great. Cyr. You will bear it successfully, I am sure. Junia. The happiness of many people is in my hand. Cyr. Quite safely. Junia. Are you sure ? Would you dare to act singly when so much is at stake ? Cyr. I should be obliged to, Junia. Junia. But if you could be strengthened by another, would you refuse to be ? 21 8 JUNIA. ROSSETT Cyr. I do not believe anyone could strengthen me. JuNiA. I speak in a general sense. Cyr. In that case, I should be ashamed to ask help. JuNiA. Of course, but ought you not to sacrifice your pride for the good of others ? Cyr. I do not believe in sacrifice. JuNiA. Then if you did the wrong thing you would have to take all the blame. Cyr. That is genuine sacrifice. JuNiA. Of inferior merit. Cyr. The only way to settle the question is to decide it quickly and alone. Too much reflection makes too much perspective, and an excess of co- operation spoils the result. JuNiA. It is unintelligent to act without reflection. Cyr. Perhaps ; but the outcome is the thing to be considered. JuNiA. Therefore, you think a government working on such principles is worthy ? Cyr. a government working on intelligent prin- ciples is a failure, however noble a one. It becomes at once incapable of decision ; it lacks action. Govern- ment is not an intellectual matter ; to raise it to the level of literature or science destroys its essential Iforce : action. This is the mistake of inteUigeilt Viations such as France and, imitatively, England, bur suffrage problem is not one to be thought out; it must be worked out, and in the very beginning it ought to have been made to work itself out. Had women been given the vote at once, they would either have at once proved their incapacity or would have been of value. Before it is too late, give them the vote. They have so far proved very incapable ; perhaps that will spur them on to be very valuable. JUNIA ROSSETT 219 In the same way France has dawdled over her three years' problem like a baby — believing that such a thing can be appropriately studied. They have created an interesting paper on political sociology, but they have not moved a foot in their proper field. Governments must act, not think. JuNiA. Ah ! then you do advise me ? Cyr. To stand alone. If you cannot think for yourself, at least act for yourself. JuNiA. You intimated that I ought not to think. Cyr. a woman is hardly the same thing as a govern- ment. JuNiA. Then I wiU act, perfectly regardless of results, as circumstances bid me. Cyr. That is well enough when one understands what the circumstances bid. JuNiA. I do. Cyr. What do they ? JuNiA. I will not tell you. I will, act quite inde- pendently. Cyr. Will you, therefore, injure others in that egoism ? JuNiA. Egoism ? When one is forced to obey cir- cumstances is that a question ? Cyr. You must consider others. JuNiA. That is the injustice of destiny. Cyr. Junia, governments have moral duties, if not intellectual ones. It is that which directs their activity. Junia. A woman is so differently devised ! Besides, you insist on my thinking, which you deny govern- ments. There is no analogy. Cyr. Do you mean to do simply as your interests order ? 220 JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA. I will do what it is easiest to do, like a wise person. Cyr. Even if it causes misfortune to those who love you ? JuNiA. It will not be my fault. Cyr. Do not play with people's happiness. JuNiA. My dear, their happiness is in your hands, not in mine. Whatever they suffer is your fault. Cyr. That is absurd. JuNiA. Not at all. The responsibility has left my shoulders to settle on yours. I feel quite free of it and very light of heart. All the rest is easy for me now. Cyr. What do you mean ? JuNiA. Cyr, you have advised me to think for myself, or, if unable to, to act for myself. You have prevented me from hearing counsel, but have expected me to be moral. I am obliged to act on inspiration, without reflection, at the last moment. Whatever I do, I will not have to answer for to anyone, because I am forced to obey circumstances. But as it is you who have forced me to this, the entire culpability in case of disaster will be yours. I am sorry that you have wished to assume this responsibility . [She looks down on him victoriously. Cyr (rising, astonished). I responsible ? JuNiA. Of course. You will not advise me or allow others to do so. Being only a woman, you must not expect too much of me. They have been known to make awful mistakes. Cyr. You will blame me for everything if you make a mistake ? JuNiA. Everything ; so will the others. Cyr. Well, you seem to have cornered me. Oh ! how clever of you to have made me seem to advise JUNIA ROSSETT 221 you in trying to school you ! Junia Rossett, you have double the reasoning power that I have. It is absurd to pretend you have not, and to impose on others for just what you have most of. Junia. Is that not the secret of success ? Cyr. Now you are proclaiming your true self. I shall know how to meet you. Junia (laughing fascinatingly). Have I only two selves ? O Cyr, is any woman so poor in personality as that ? Cyr. Complexity is easier to understand than simplicity, for it is fuU of proportions. Beware, Junia ! Junia (quietly). You can, of course, release yourself still from the responsibilities you have assumed. Cyr. In telling you what to do ? In thrashing out to the last foot the road before you ? Never ! I said this morning that I would never think for you again, and I meant it. Junia. I regret the sorrow it may bring you. Cyr. Do not pity me ; you will be begging mine before long. Junia (lightly). Oh, I am quite serene. I think only of you. (Sharply.) Do stop being stubborn and childish, Cyr ; it does not become you. Cyr. Even your scorn does not weaken me. Junia. I am disappointed. I thought you so calmly wise, and I find you so feverishly silly. Cyr. My dear, you have all the airs of conquest, but they are only the airs. If you care to proceed thoughtlessly, do so ; I am ready to assume the conse- quences. It would be like you to threaten me with the worst in order to bend me, but I will not help you, and no one else shall. 222 JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA. Poor Cyr ! Such a fuss over so small a thing ! [She goes to the living-room door. I think there is no need of waiting longer for your sister. Cyr. No, do not ; she will be more at ease. [JuNiA o-pens the door and calls to Mrs. Rossett. SCENE IV JuNiA. Cyr. Mrs. Rossett. Gales. Basil. Prune. Rosalie Rosalie enters at the same time as do the others. Prune accompanies her. Mrs. Rossett. Isn't it sad that Miss Finchfield is late? I do trust no accident has occurred. Cyr. No doubt the train was delayed ; do not worry about Dora. Gales. Mr Prune, there are crumbs on your waist- coat. I presume you visited the kitchen to shake them off. Prune. How careless of me ! I — er JuNiA. He has been superintending the trout, Gales. You must tell us how you caught them, Mr. Prune. Basil. Yes, let us hear the tale, Prune. Of course the biggest ones escaped. Prune. Dear me, how did you guess ? [They seat themselves. Gales. Lord Beechdale, put down your bread. It is customary in this family to say grace. Basil {devouring a roll). A tradition I thoroughly believe in. JUNIA ROSSETT 223 Mrs. Rossett. My dears, do cease quibbling. Mr. Prune, I attend. Prune {in his best Oxford). For that which we are about to receive, dear Lord Basil. Let us thank Rosalie. Gales. Lord Beechdale ! Basil. Well, didn't she cook it ? Prune has pro- bably already thanked the Lord for having caught them. Mrs. Rossett. I am grieved, Basil. Prune {busy at his bread). Very deplorable ; I do not see what this generation is coming to. JuNiA. Serve the luncheon, Rosalie. Mr. Prune, do not pay any notice to Lord Beechdale ; it flatters him. Let us hear about the trout. [Rosalie goes out. Prune (vivaciously). Walton himself never saw finer. The stream flows through a grove of pine trees, and the fish taste of their perfume. JuNiA. How delightful ! You caught them last evening ! Prune. Yes. The dusk was falling when I pushed out into the water in a canoe. Everything was at peace, the light melted upon surfaces of green and over the images in the brook multitudes of insects hastened. Cyr. How very poetical you are, Mr. Prune ! Mrs. Rossett. Poetry is so sad ! JuNiA. Then you cast your fly ? Prune. Once, twice — then up leaped a splendid trout, all glittering. He missed and sunk. Basil. This sounds like a bathing accident. Gales. Mother, I ask you to use your authority over this person. JuNiA. You cast again ? 224 JUNIA ROSSETT Prune. Patiently. Then reward came with a merry- play along the banks, which gave me a fellow weighing a good pound and a half. Basil. Oh ! Prune. I assure you it is true. You will see him presently. Cyr. How many more did you catch ? Prune. Six. I stayed until it was quite dark. They are all nearly the same size. JuNiA. What splendid luck ! Were there no other incidents ? Prune. There was a huge fish that cut my line for me and ran off with my fly. I nearly had him in the net in spite of it, but he fought quickly and escaped. He must have been that long. {Diagram.) JuNiA. Think of that ! Prune (warmly). I am sure he weighed three pounds. I saw him again with the hook in his mouth, right under the canoe. Cyr. I envy you your luck, Mr. Prune. [Rosalie comes in with the trout. JuNiA. And here is the proof ! Rosalie. Miss Junia, the fish man wants to know if we would like some trout such as those Mr. Prune purchased of him last evening. [Horrible silence. Basil laughs chokingly. Prune {in agony). Oh yes. Those I bought for my own table — not these, not these, I assure you — not these. Junia. Of course not, who suspects it ? No, Rosahe, I have no need of fish to-day. Rosalie {serving). Very well. Miss Junia. JUNIA ROSSETT 225 SCENE V JuNiA. Cyr. Mrs. Rossett. Gales. Basil. Prune. Rosalie. Peter. Dora Steps are heard on the gravel walk, and a shadow falls into the room along the floor. Dora's Voice. Is there no bell ? [Inaudible reply, Cyr (rising). There is Dora at last. Basil {leaning back to look out). There is a fellow with her. [Dora enters. Cyr. Well, Dora, what kept you so late ? Dora. A trifle. Fortunately a gentleman was kind enough to drive me up, or I should have been later. Cyr (to Mrs. Rossett). Pardon me ; this is my sister, Mrs. Rossett — Dora. Miss Junia Rossett, Gales Rossett, Lord Beechdale, Mr. Prune. [He stops. The others have been turned into staring figures by the appearance of Dora's companion. Dora {bowing. I am sorry to have inconvenienced you, Mrs. Rossett. [Peter has nonchalantly strolled in, and is fully enjoying the consternation which he has caused. I am glad that you did not wait for me. (fuming to Peter.) This man, no doubt a relative of yours, a Rossett, will tell you my difficulties in arriving. Mrs. Rossett (collapsing). Peter ! [She instantly faints away. Gales (wrathfully). Mr. Rossett, you have no doubt come for luncheon. 226 JUNIA ROSSETT Cyr. Why ! This is a joy ! I feared I should not see my old friend at all. [He hurries to Peter and shakes his hand warmly. JuNiA. Rosalie, please set another cover. Gales. Junia, this is nonsense. What does he mean by dropping in as if nothing were the matter ? Prune. Dear me ! Junia. Rosalie, that chair near you. Thank you. [Rosalie places a chair next to Junia and lays a place before it. Gales {getting up). Is nothing to be done for my mother ? [Mrs. Rossett upon this attention faints more profoundly. Dora {conscientiously). I hope I have done nothing wrong. Junia {softly). Have you nothing to say, father ? Peter {heartily). I have just dropped in for luncheon, as Gales said. That is all. Junia. Of course. Put down your hat, and sit beside me. Cyr {tactfully). We were just enjoying some splendid trout caught by Mr. Prune. Peter {reinforced). Trout ? That interests me ! I was fishing last evening myself. [Prune coughs. Gales. Junia, there is no use in smoothing things over simply to avoid a disagreeable scene. Junia {sharply). There is no earthly reason why we should not enjoy a pleasant luncheon. Please revive mamma. Miss Finchfield, let me introduce my father. Dora. I am so pleased to have met you before, Mr. Rossett ! {To Junia.) We had a most jolly time of it together. JUNIA ROSSETT 227 Cyr. As everyone has with Peter. JuNiA. Come, the trout will be quite cold. Sit down, father. Basil. Yes, do let us eat. Will you say grace again, Mr. Prune ? [Everyone resumes his seat, and Mrs. Rossett, neglected, quickly recovers. Peter {to Junia, timidly). Are you quite well, Junia ? Nothing has gone amiss, I trust. Junia. Oh no. Since you left, everything has been very peaceful. Dora. Have you been long absent, Mr. Rossett ? Peter. Merely a trip abroad. You see I returned unexpectedly, and that always upsets the family. Junia. That is a small matter. Another trout, father ? Peter (gr^fif/w/Zy). Thank you. (To Prune.) Hello! I believe I met this gentleman last evening. Prune (sputtering). Did you ? Peter. Have you forgotten that I told you what luck I had on the brook ? Ah, these pensive men ! They have no memories. Prune. So you did ; it was after I had quitted the sport. Peter. Why, you told me you never fished ! Basil. Perhaps you had your line cut, Mr. Rossett, by a perfect monster. Peter. That's it ! He was a beauty. Basil. Yes; Mr. Prune has told us all about your adventures. Gales. This is too much ! I may sit here to bear the insult of my mother's indignity, but I will not hear Mr. Prune ridiculed. Mrs. Rossett (who has long since revived, and 228' JUNIA ROSSETT has been nibbling her bread confusedly). Life is so dismal. Gales (huffily). I will not sit at the same table with these two men. [She indicates Peter and Basil. Peter (hurt). Junia, you will find me in the garden if you wish to talk with me. [He gets up. Basil. And I will be with him. [He follows suit. Prune (coldly). If you will excuse me, Mrs. Rossett, I will invite Miss Finchfield to visit the chapel with me. Junia. Oh, do not go ! [In strained silence the company breaks up, Rosalie retiring at the same time as Peter, Basil, Dora, and Prune depart. SCENE VI Junia. Cyr. Mrs. Rossett. Gales Mrs. Rossett. What shall we do, Junia? Junia. For Heaven's sake, give me your opinion. Gales. If you go, it will either show that mother is in the wrong, or that you care more for money than for honour. Junia. Yes ; but if I do not we will all be ruined. Gales. What does that matter ? To go to him for either of the two reasons I stated will disgrace us all. Mother depends utterly on you. Cyr. Do not influence her, do not help her. Gales. Gales. She asked my opinion ; there it is. Junia. We cannot live without money. Gales. I wiU work. Cyr. Look here, Junia, do not be ruled by Gales. JUNIA ROSSETT 229 You know you have had as many sorts of advice as people you have consulted. Mrs. Rossett. I don't think I could earn my living. Cyr. Do not influence her, Mrs. Rossett. Junia, what do you honestly think ? Junia. I am not sure. Cyr. Have you any affection for your father ? Junia. No — ^yes ; that is, I do not find him disagree- able. Cyr. Would you be unhappy with him ? Junia. No. Mrs. Rossett. Oh, my dear ! Junia. What shall I do ? Cyr. Follow Dora's example. She would scorn to seek help. Gales. Yes, Miss Finchfield is admirable. Junia. I know it ! I admire her, and would like to be like her, but I cannot. Cyr. WTiy ? You have always been looked upon as the head, literally, of the family. Junia. I am the head ; none of the others is able to tell me what to do now. Cyr. And you cannot tell yourself, because before they have done it for you ; you have made them. But you are well able to analyse the situation. Junia. There are love, duty, and money to compare. Cyr. The last two negative each other. Consider the first. Do you love your father more than your mother ? Junia. I do not know. Gales. It is your duty to stay with mother. Junia. Then must I make her sacrifice more f Cyr. Be silent. Gales ! May I ask, Mrs. Rossett, why it was that your husband left ? 230 JUNIA ROSSETT Mrs. Rossett. Oh, no, do not ask. Cyr. Do you know, Junia ? JUNIA. No. Mrs. Rossett. Stop ! I must tell you ! It has been my fault, I suppose. Junia, you shall know, and then you can choose between us. (In great tribula- tion.) I must — I will. Cyr, I made Peter go away because — because Cyr. Well ? Mrs. Rossett. Because it was so sad ! {Convulsions. Cyr. What does this mean ? Mrs. Rossett (choking. I thought and thought how pathetic life was, until nothing would calm me but to go through sorrows myself. I was too unhappy without it. Don't you understand ? The only way to be happy is to hope for happiness while in sorrow — and I was not very miserable. Other people's suffering only heightened the humdrumness of my life, and I was driven to find a sad event to give me peace. I quarrelled with Peter, and he abandoned me — ^left me in desolation, left me helpless and alone. [Weeping bitterly. And so I was deserted. [Floods oj tears. Cyr. And this is the only difference between you ? Mrs. Rossett (inaudibly). Life is so melancholy. Junia. Gales, did you realise this ? Gales. No. Junia. It seems to me that duty is now playing a smaller part and affection a larger — for him. Gales. Will you be so mean as to make up your mind after another's fault ? Junia. I will make up my mind as I see fit, now that I am forced to it. Cyr. Bravo ! What are you going to do ? JUNIA ROSSETT 231 JuNiA. You will see. Cyr {to Gales). Your mother is perfectly in her ele- ment. Come, let us leave them alone. Peter is coming. Gales. You are right. I am beginning to lose patience. \They make for the living-room door. JuNiA. Where are you going ? [Cyr foints at the other door, in which Peter has a-p feared, and goes out with Gales. JuNiA turns. SCENE VII JuNiA. Peter. Mrs. Rossett Peter. Well, Junia ? JuNiA. Come in. \She fingers the back of a chair, as he walks questioningly toward her. Mrs. Rossett sniffles. Peter. Have you a word for me ? Junia. I want you to talk with mother. You must settle the matter together. Mrs. Rossett. Do as you said, and do not make us think for you. Peter. I have nothing to settle with your mother. Junia. Do you conscientiously think it right to ask what you have of me ? Peter. I have nothing to blame myself for. Junia. You know I ought not to leave mother. Peter. Very well. I have given my proposition ; do as you like. Mrs. Rossett. He will tyrannise over you. Peter. She shall be perfectly free. 232 JUNIA ROSSETT Mrs. Rossett. You want me to be helpless. That is your purpose — to spite me. Peter. I could do that very easily in another way. Mrs. Rossett. You wish to vex me ; you hate me. Peter. Nonsense. Mrs. Rossett. You have always made my life a burden. You always schemed unhappy situations, and delighted in them. Peter. The same character as ever, I see. Mrs. Rossett. Peter, I am beginning to hate you. Peter. Be sensible ! Mrs. Rossett. I will not ! JuNiA. Mother, you are betraying yourself. I commence to see the real state of things. It is you who made this scene unhappy, I believe on purpose; and you are beginning to disgust me. Mrs. Rossett. Hear my child ! JuNiA. Enough. Will you settle it between you who is to have me ? Mrs. Rossett. I do not want you to go. Peter. I do not want you to stay. Mrs. Rossett. I said he was a tyrant. JuNiA. Very well, if you will not help me, I will act exactly as my reason directs me. Peter. Then what will you do ? JuNiA. You, father, are entirely deserving of my choice, and I will go with you. Peter. Junia ! My dear little daughter ! JuNiA. I wUl go with you directly. Peter (catching her in his arms and kissing her). My sweet little Junia, you shall not regret it, Mrs. Rossett {rising. Stop ! This scene is terribly sad. Junia. Come, father, I will only fetch my sack. JUNIA ROSSETT 233 Mrs. Rossett. Will you not even say good-bye ? JuNiA {compassionately embracing her). Poor mother ! Do not be such a fool. There, I will see you often. You have made me reason in spite of all, and so you must accept my decision. [Mrs. Rossett sinks into her chair with a bottle of ammonia salts, which rattles against the jet trimmings of her gown. Peter and JuNiA go away. END OF ACT II ACT III A nightingale's rhapsody threads the shadows and the crisp lightness of the park. It is a night of passive yearning. The trees exhale wraiths of clinging dampness which pulverise into bands of pearl the illumination of the stars. A sheet of water cuts across the mist and sinks into deep obscurity. A pale marble stands against the turbulent stillness of the foliage, and above, the sky quivers under nervous flames. Restraint and languor, passion and voluptuousness, blur together with incensed abandonment the forms of nature. Such a background as this occupies the stage. On the left is the Duke of Oldcastle's " farm," of which two French windows leading to a drawing-room are alone visible. From a bank before them the lawn drops away into the park, which presents such a romantic appearance as above hinted. On the right is a stone exedra. Two bands of light proceed from the windows nearly across the stage, and from a ballroom beyond the drawing- room, music is heard. It is eleven o'clock. SCENE I JuNiA. Peter Peter comes out from the house, dragging two chairs. ]viiiA follows. Peter. Let us sit here and talk. JuNiA. What a lovely contrast to the glare and tumult within ! «34 JUNIA ROSSETT 235 Peter. There ; sit down, my dear. [He places the chairs beside each other before the windows. They both seat themselves. At last I am happy ; my heart no longer contracts painfully at the thought of my loneliness. I wanted very terribly to be loved, Junia dear, and to be loved by those who had loved me — not by others. One can always find new people to love one, but it is only the old who can give that love that they have taken from one, that love which is one's peculiar love. New love is rapturous, but old love calms, and when one is troubled, calmness is sweeter than rapture. I have been very alone. Junia. I understand that, father. Peter. I will never sacrifice again. It was a sacrifice to impose so much unhappiness on myself simply to please your mother's extravagance. Junia. And what an extravagance ! Peter. To find her pleasure, she did not hesitate to destroy ours. You have missed me, haven't you, Junia ? Junia. Not a great deal, because I was quite young when you left. I missed your joviality and fun, but you never sat upon me in severity, and that is what one most misses. Peter. Then I must be jovial and gay again, or you wiU be bored. I have not lost it, you know ; only this moment is a sentimental one for me. Ah ! let us be less moody. You are not going to regret your step ? Junia. I ? Not at all. I was confined before within the artifices of form, and never thought of breaking through to something else. Thanks to Mr. Finchfield, and to his sister's example — ^and to you — 236 JUNIA ROSSETT I have awakened to my own force, and am given new health. Before, I was only a woman. Now I am a human being, worthy of the title. Peter. You did not reaUse the truth? JuNiA. Like most people, I had a point of view or convictions or feelings about everything. Equally like them, I seldom if ever studied a single subject from all points of view, and hence I was as poor in understand- ing as in knowledge. Nobody studies nowadays ; they form prejudices. Viewing the exterior of a theatre, they care nothing at all about what is being played within, because they would rather stick to their " point of view " at all costs. Peter. That is a keen observation. Truth meets a great enemy in egoism. JuNiA. So it is that, once shown my failings, I shattered them, and that is why I am going to stay with you. \She puts her hands into his. You are intelligent ; mother is not. Also she does not deserve to be wheedled. Gales, with her religion, may be able to stand it, but I wish to go on to higher things; I wish to learn. \She lifts her head proudly. I am ashamed to have wasted so much time in being feminine. Peter. But, my dear, do not spoil the lovely feminine thing that you are, for that is why we love you. JuNiA. I am tired of love and admiration. I wish to really live. Peter. You shall. I am proud to help you to it. But we are still serious. Come and dance ; they are playing the Rosenkavalier. JuNiA (rising). Ah ! How good it is to live and to know why one lives ! Come Peter (Jollotoing her). How jealous I am of you ! JUNIA ROSSETT 237 SCENE II Peter. Junia. Basil They run into Basil on their way in. Basil. Hello ! What in the devil are you doing here ? Junia. Does your presence obviate my absence ? Basil. No — but — ^why I thought you were miles away ! Peter. We are visiting here. Basil. Oh ! Mrs. Rossett will be so glad to see you. Peter. What do you mean ? Basil. I invited her to the ball, you see. Being a warm friend of Oldcastle, I took the liberty, because she was so depressed. I thought it would cheer her. Peter. You indiscreet puppy ! Come, Junia ; we had better retire. Basil. I say, Junia, don't go yet. I want to speak to you. Junia. Another time. Lord Beechdale. Basil. No, now. Junia. Very well. Father, I will find you in the smoking-room. You will be safe there. [Peter goes in. Junia. Now, sir, have you done this on purpose ? Basil. Of course not. We all thought you had gone to London. Honestly. Junia. Oh. Basil. Why did you leave without even saying good-bye to me ? What has driven you to this brutal separation ? Your mother is in despair. 238 JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA, My dear Basil, you all of you denied me advice on this matter, and I was obliged to make up my mind for myself. Do not complain if you find yourself displeased. Basil. I am displeased. You ought to have left less precipitantly. JuNiA. There was no other way. Basil. At least be frank with me. JuNiA. I have been frank with everybody. I left my London address in a perfectly honest way. Basil. But for me ? JuNiA. I had nothing to say to you. Basil. Junia, have you forgotten your promise of this morning ? Junia. No. I have, however, changed my mind. Basil. I knew it ! I predicted it ! Junia. I am glad that you do not protest. Basil. Junia, you gave me your word, and I hold you to it. Junia. Is this manly ? I have changed my mind. I do not wish to marry you. Basil. Why not ? . Junia. Because I do not wish to. It is I who have changed. This morning I cared for nothing but attention, social position, money, clothes, and flattery. Those are the things that a typical woman most wants. If she desires love it is only in order to be a mother — ^not to have a lover. Basil. Yes ; I see that women do not want love merely for itself. Unhappily, men want nothing else in all this world, and are vmling to give everything for it. Junia. Do not interrupt me. This evening I have awakened to the fact that women can be intelligently intellectual — that they ought to be. JUNTA ROSSETT 239 Basil. Yes, and they try to be that simply to gain the rights of men, notoriety and the power to govern, so that they will not have to give even love to man who craves it. This is clever of you. He toils out his soul to buy love. He gives everything in exchange for an embrace grudgingly permitted, and now you aim to deny him his only need. I dislike you for it. JuNiA. So much the better. In that case I will not defend myself, as I have carried my point with you. Basil. Junia ! In spite of all, I want your love. I live for it. It is the aim and end of my every action. Do not empty my life of its only motive force. Junia. Nonsense. If, as you say, women do not desire love, men need not. Try to be as reasonable as I am. Basil (passionately). Reason ! That is nothing but an implement. Junia. Enough. I have finished ; I will not marry you. Basil. Take me — use me as a slave. Junia. I do not want slaves. I want an equal to tou with me. Basil. I will toil. Junia. No, you are incapable of it, Basil. You are hopelessly stupid. I know you are a dear fellow, and all that, but I cannot afford to waste any more time playing. Do not annoy me. Basil {bitterly). As you like. Forgive me. Good- bye. \He turns quickly and strides off into the -park. Junia {remorsefully). Basil ! 240 JUNIA ROSSETT SCENE III JUNIA. CyR Cyr comes out from the house. Cyr. I passed your father, Junk. How odd to meet you here. JuNiA {turning. Unfortunate, rather. Cyr. I think not. You did not give me time to congratulate you. JuNiA. Ought you not sooner to pity me ? Cyr. I am sorry if you think you need it. JuNiA. It is true, I do not. Why should I resist you ? Let us sit down over there. [They stroll to the exeira. Cyr. Are you not happier ? JuNiA. Yes, I believe, in everything. Father is a dear. Cyr. Your mother is making the best of her grief. JuNiA. I think no one has lost anything. I am so much less feminine, Cyr, that I can admit the lesson you taught me and be grateful for it. I want to know Dora better. Perhaps I can study with her. Cyr. I am full of admiration for you. I admire you so much that I am going to declare my weakness to you, as you displayed yours to me. JuNiA. Have you one ? Cyr. a big one. JuNiA. What ? Cyr. I love you. JuNiA. Oh! Cyr. I have always loved you. Only you were of JUNIA ROSSETT 241 such a different character that I knew it was folly to think of it. We could never have lived togemer. You cared nothing for simple habits and plain pleasures. I knew, however, that if I could only- startle you into ingenuousness you would be honest. That is why I fought you. JuNiA. That was your object ? Cyr. To broaden you, age you, soften you ; to give you understanding of and sympathy with all things, however mean. That is the best use of reason. I wanted you to take into account even so mean a thing as I. JuNiA. Do not pose. Cyr. I do not. No man who thinks can find himself anything but mean. No man that sees can find that all men love him, and lacking any man's love he is mean. JuNiA. It is the others who are mean. Cyr. Then I love mean things, and must also be mean. They are brothers ; it comes to the same thing. You do not realise what it is to desire the love of everyone. JuNiA. No ; I think I have seen enough of love. Cyr. Do not say so. It is the only grace of a woman. It is what men live and die for. JuNiA. Just what Basil said. Cyr. He is wiser than I thought. (Pause) Now that I have done as I wish for you, it is I who desire you to help me. JuNiA. How can I ? Cyr. I love you. You do not know how I have beaten myself down until now. I say I love you, Junia. What are you going to say to me ? JuNiA. I — I do not know. Cyr. For shame ! The old cry. Q 242 JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA. In spite of myself. Oh yes — I know what I wish to say, but habit is so strong ! That has been said so often to me. Cyr. Let this be the last time. JuNiA (giving him her hands). This shaU be the last time. Cyr (pressing her hands to his heart). Say more. JuNiA. I love you. \He folds her in his arms, and they remain silent for a moment. Cyr. Junia ! JuNiA. You have made me love you as you made me think. Cyr. You made me love you, and you made me think to forget you. We are even. JuNiA. I owe you more than you owe me. Cyr. Not since you love me, for there is no equi- valent to love, even with infinity in the balance. JuNiA. Love has been called a panacea. Cyr. Love, Junia, is the only reward for living. If we live well we must live for love. If we do not live for love, we do not live well — I mean in the records of evolution. It is impossible to be moral without love. No man is strong enough. Junia. How beautiful the night is ! How happy I am to be so conscious and so loved. Cyr. Listen to the water dripping across the rocks. \The moon has begun to swim up over the trees, starting the pool into a fever of light and mellowing the mists. The sky assumes sharp designs between small clouds. Junia. Let us go into the park. [They rise hand in hand and wander toward the trees. JUNIA ROSSETT 243 SCENE IV Dora. Junia Dora comes out from the drawing-room. Dora. O Junia, I am so glad to see you again ! \She advances toward them ; they turn to her. Junia. Ah ! Dora ! Dora. Where are you going ? Junia. Nowhere. Cyr, go and play in the park, I wUl jpin you in a moment. I wish to talk with Dora. Cyr. Do not be too long. {He goes away. Junia. I am so happy that you came as you did to Boxhill. Dora. It was unfortunate that I precipitated matters. Junia. They were inevitable. Come, sit down. \She leads her to the chairs by the windows, and they sit down. Dora. Cyr has given me very lovely descriptions of you. You do not suffer by them. Junia. Those descriptions must have been very frivolous ones. I have always been frivolous until now. Dora. Frivolity is a joy in the appropriate people. Junia. Call it a vice to enjoy it. I am quite changed. \ Dora. You know, I really prefer charm to parts, in other people. I am so buckled to my learning that nature is irresistible to me. Junia. Are women a part of nature ? Dora. The essential part. Men cultivate a little 244 JUNIA ROSSETT of nature, but the bulk of it remains natural — ^just as women remain savages. JuNiA. I thought civilisation was created by women. Dora. Not at all. Women substantiated it, but men created it, as they created gardens. JuNiA. Are men so powerful as that ? Dora. Call it power or skill, as you like. Their mistake has been to so cultivate their flowers that these are ready to live alone. JuNiA. You mean ? Dora. Women no longer need the gardener. They are able to live on aside from and beside him. In other words, we can direct our own cultivation, JuNiA. Do you believe in equal suffrage ^ Dora. Mary Wollstonecraft wrote her Rights of Woman over a hundred years ago. Is it possible to think ourselves not primed ? JuNiA. But the militants ? Dora. An error. JuNiA. I wonder if that is not my mission ? I am sure I feel as able as any man. Dora. Why not ? It is sure to come. JuNiA. I had thought of placing myself under your tutorship. Dora. Do not. Philosophy, my dear, is as dead as art. The silliness of idealism is as clear as that of beauty — so far as evolution is concerned. We are to-day too enlightened by science to relapse into such luxuries. JuNiA. Then why do you lecture ? Dora. I am not clever enough to learn anything more. JuNiA. Do you think the value of man's past activities has been lessened by the truth ? JUNIA ROSSETT 245 Dora. No. His future activities, however, must not be devoted to their cult. Inherited knowledge has retained what is good of past activity. Present activity ought to be perfectly spontaneous and devoted to the exactions of present needs. JuNiA. Which are ? Dora. The furthering of universal growth. JuNiA. A tremendous phrase, or a petty one. Dora. It is real. Your part may be small, but that of 54,000,000,000 individuals is not. JuNiA. What do you think my part is ? Dora. I think that your work lies in procuring space for nearly a half of the world's population to develop into real factors of life. JuNiA. You fire me. I suppose that I could be valuable for the cause of women. I believe that, like me, they are only waiting for an opportunity to push at the wheels of evolution shoulder to shoulder with man. Dora. Take up the idea. You are made for it. JuNiA. That is what I zoill do ! You have shown me the way. My dear Dora, you can never know how much I owe to you and to Cyr. You have in a day made a superior woman of me. Dora. It has been very easy, Junia. JuNiA (troubled). Of course, it means that I renounce marriage. Dora. It would be best. That state is so soon to pass that it is quibbling to cling to it. Besides, it makes us dependent on men — a thing we aim to escape from. Junia. No, I will not marry. I have no desire to. {Rising.) I am towering in strength to-night. Dora. That is the essential thing in the career you 246 JUNIA ROSSETT have chosen. Be thankful, my dear, that you have such youth and health. JuNiA (taking her hands). My dear friend ! May I call you that ? Dora (standing. Junia ! How glad I am to love you and to be loved by you ! \They embrace each other warmly. SCENE y Junia. Cyr Cyr reaf fears. Cyr. Are you never coming, Junia ? Junia. No; I am tired of walking. Stay here with me. Dora. I think I will cool my head a little in the gardens. We can say good night later. \^he goes away into the park. Cyr (approaching Junia). You are tired ? Junia. Yes. I think I have a headache. Cyr. Sit down. Do you want anything ? Junia. No, no. Cyr. How unresponsive you are ! Does anything worry you ? Junia. No. [She turns discontentedly away. Cyr. Are you angry with me ? Junia. Not at all. [He takes her hand ; she withdraws it. Do not do that. Cyr. Why, what is the matter with you ? Junia. Cyr, I am sorry for what passed between us just now. Already I am sorry. JUNIA ROSSETT 247 Cyr. Junia ! JuNiA. Yes ; I ought not to have gone so far. I find now that I must retract. Cyr. Break your word to me ? Junia. Yes ; I cannot marry. Cyr. Why J Junia. Because my mission in life forbids it. Cyr. What mission in life ? Junia. I have become an advocate of women's rights. It was you who revealed me to myself, but Dora just now revealed to me my function. I am destined to fulfil it, and in so doing marriage is im- possible for me. Cyr. How on earth can your career forbid your marrying ? Junia. No sincere suffragist marries. It is a com- promise which makes the cause absurd. Besides, I cannot be bothered by a husband when such labour confronts me. Cyr. Junia Rossett ! My astonishment surpasses my grief. Little does one know what will be the fruits of the seeds one sows. You are not even the same person whom I asked to marry me. You are as far removed as you were before. Must I begin all over again to bring you back where I want you ? Junia. I do not think your part in my growth is so mighty as that. Cyr. Be your old self of twenty minutes ago ! Do not so cause me pain ! I was so happy. AJl that I cherish is in you, and if you refuse me I shall be desperate. Junia. Something higher than myself directs me. Do not blame me for your unhappiness ; you know I would not cause it if I could help it. 248 JUNIA ROSSETT Cyr. At least give me hope that you may change your mind again. JuNiA. I never change my mind, Cyr, but hope is the right of everybody. Try to forget me. It has been hard for me to say this, but it was my duty. Good-bye. May you find the joy in your work which I will in mine. Cyr. Junia, not yet — stay a little. Let me plead with you. Junia. What is the use ? Good night. We will always be friends. [Peter af'pears in the doorway. Cyr. Friends ? Who wants friends ? [He -perceives Peter. Let me see you later. I am turned upside down. In a quarter of an hour. \He goes into the house by the farther door. SCENE VI Peter. Junia Peter. What keeps you so long, my dear ? ■ Junia. I have been thinking. Come here a moment. Peter {going to her). Have you seen Cornelia ? Junia. No, but I have seen Dora and Cyr, and I have something to say to you. Peter. Yes, speak of it. Junia. Father, when I left mother for you, I did so more as a matter of justice than anything else. Peter. I am glad for that. Junia. The situation was one to be balanced and weighed; I did so, I think, with wisdoni. Peter. I am sure you did, Junia. JUNIA ROSSETT 249 JtJNiA. I need hardly add that I am happier with you, and that I like you better. Peter. Bless you ! JuNiA. But, now that that problem has been re- solved, another confronts me. Peter. You are not going to marry and leave me ? JuNiA. Not marry, father, but I am going to leave you. Peter. You must not ; I cannot live alone ! JuNiA. / must live alone. Until this evening I had no realisation of the stagnant way in which I had existed. I have been treated by you, by mother, by Cyt, and everybody as a mere woman, perhaps a lovely woman, but nothing more. I have had no in- dividuality. I have been a thing, not a vital factor. Now I am aware of the artificial trend of all my life, and I have been forced to see that I am somebody — that I owe to myself a firm conviction as to what I am, what I need, what I ought to do. Already I have discovered what I am. It has been shown to me what I ought to do, and I am learning what it is that I need. I am not your daughter, nor mother's, nor am I a member of your society. I am an individual, and I am going to free myself from the circumstances which made me only a woman. I am going away alone, to discover myself and to develop myself. I am going to devote myself to the emancipation of all women, so that they too may become individuals. That is my resolution, and I thank God that I have come to it. Peter. My dear, all this that you propose is not a reason for leaving me. I second you in it warmly ; you shall be as free as the wind to do as you like, and I win further every one of your interests. Do not fear that I will disapprove of anything. 2SO JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA. It is not that. I appreciate your goodness ; but no good work has ever been done except in utter solitude. Then, again, I know your character ; you are gay and light, you need happy companions and plenty of amusement. Did you not bring me to a ball the very first thing ? Is that not what you sought me for ? You could not live with a serious worker any more than you could live with mother. I am disgusted with frivolity ; I never wish to laugh again. You see you would be bored to death with me. Peter. I would not. Whatever you do will please me and make me happy. JuNiA. Even so, it is not altogether a question of your happiness. It is more one of my survival. I say I must live alone, to learn myself and to turn myself to good ends. I simply cannot live with anyone. Peter. You are breaking my heart ! JuNiA. It appears that I am breaking many people's hearts, but the duty to one's own individuality is greater than that to other people. My head exacts what I claim ; my heart listens to you with anguish, but I know that it has wronged me all my life. Peter. Where are you going .? JuNiA. In the morning I will go to town and stay with Mary Jasseth in her studio until I find a place for myself. Peter. Are you resolute, Junia ? Are you not prey to an idea that will seem absurd in the morning f At least let it mature ; you may be mortified later to find that you must live up to a momentary idea all your life. Junia. It is not an idea ; it is a discovery. Peter {resigned). If you will go, I entreat you not to let your pride hinder you from returning if you find you are mistaken. That is all I can say ; I am in JUNIA ROSSETT 251 despair. I thought everything was propitious for a joyful future. JuNiA. Poor father ! Why not divorce and remarry as you threatened ? Peter. Nothing appeals to me. JuNiA. Do not take it so to heart. My conscience compels me. Good night, dear ; and try to resign yourself. [She kisses him. I am going to pack up my things. [She goes to the door. Peter {tragically). Good night. \She disappears. SCENE VII Dora. Basil Dora and Basil stroll upfront the park. Dora. Has Junia gone in ? Peter. Gone in ! Gone for good ! Basil. What do you mean ? Peter. She is going to London to live all alone. There is no arguing with her ; I am abandoned by her. \He turns and strides rapidly into the house. Basil. So this is the result of your influence on her. Dora. I seem to cause nothing but trouble. I am ashamed of myself. Basil. You need not be. It is her fault. Dora. I am tired of myself. Do you know that that girl has disintegrated my character ? Basil. How ? Dora. The force of her feminism has destroyed the respect I had for the mind. After all, that is a real power, and this an intangible one. 252 JUNIA ROSSETT Basil. Do you think she is sincere ? Dora. Anyone can acquire knowledge, but no one can personality. Basil. Is that why you value the latter ? Dora. One reason ; another is that I cannot see what worth knowledge has. No one is willing to pay for it ; and once acquired, it is useful only to hand on to others. Basil. That is a laudable service. Dora. Perhaps so, but it is fearfully unsatisfactory. I am worn out with it, and have not a single reward from without. There is a limit to self-sacrifice. Basil. Why do you sacrifice, then ? Dora. I am tempted not to any more. When I see what returns are had for personality, I ask myself if I have not a little of it, too. Basil. Miss Finchfield, if you allowed your per- sonality to shine, it would dim Junia's. I am sure of it. Dora. Oh, not that ! Basil. You are as lovely, as young, and as attractive. If you dressed as she does and cultivated a few mannerisms, you might excel her. Besides that, you are really intelligent — the only thing I honestly admire — and she is only artificially so. Dora. You encourage me. Why should I not recreate myself by the change ? Basil. I wish you would. Dora. Perhaps it is inevitable. A terrible unrest sits on me since I saw her. I feel that I am missing everything good in life. What are philosophy and religion but idle arguments ? To be a vital element is the great duty in life. Basil. Well spoken ! Make up your mind to have a good time. JUNIA ROSSETT 253 Dora. I should like to resemble her ; I have seldom admired anyone more. She has awakened me to a know- ledge of myself I never before had. Perhaps I have always been wrong. I mean to try to be more like her. Basil. Do not praise her like that ; she does not deserve it. I have been awfully disappointed in her. You know, I find you much more — much more Dora. What ? Basil. More likeable — especially now that you are going to be more human. Dora. Thank you, sir. Basil. I mean it. Do you know, I almost made the mistake of asking her to marry me ? Dora. Really ? Why " mistake " ? Basil. Damn it — excuse me — ^because — oh, there are some things awfuUy hard to say. Dora. No doubt. Basil. You don't help me. Dora. You were going to say why Basil. Yes, because if I had, I shouldn't have been able to ask you. Dora. Oh! Basil. Now you are angry. Dora. Not at aU. May I be permitted to show a little surprise ? I have only knovm you a few hours, you know. Basil. That is so. Still, it seems a long time. Dora. Thank you again. Basil. You know what I mean. You see, I had my mind all made up to marry Junia, and then she ran away. Now I am quite at sea. Dora. Poor Lord Beechdale ! Do you expect me to be her substitute ? Basil. That is not what I mean. I should like you 254 JUNIA ROSSETT to be what she would be ideally— what you are. Why don't you say something to the point ? Dora. You haven't said anything to the point yet. Basil (seizing her hand). Let me hope. I cannot ask you to love me so soon, and it isn't honest to say I love you yet, or to ask you to marry me. Only let me hope. Dora. I will let you hope. That inaugurates the transition of my old to my new life. A feminine woman would let you hope ; therefore I do. Basil. Dora ! I am the most happy of men ! You are an angel. How long must I wait to ask you to love me ? Dora. You must say you love me first. Basil (excitedly). But I do ! Do you think I am playing ? Dora. Are you going to ask me to marry you ? Basil. Ask ? I beseech you to. Dora (walking toward the house). As I am only a woman, I will take my time about confessing myself. You may hope. Basil (ecstatically). Dora ! \She goes in, and he disappears in the garden. SCENE VIII Prune. Rosalie Prune and Rosalie arrive. They are both dressed for the occasion. Prune. Come, my dear, let us contemplate the beauties of the night. Rosalie. I wonder if the refreshments are ready ? JUNIA ROSSETT 255 Prune. Are you hungry ? Rosalie. Certainly not ; only I can't help worrying about it. These town caterers are not to be trusted. Now, if I had arranged it, there would have been no trouble. Prune. I expect none. Rosalie {scornfully). There is sure to be. Prune. Do not be angry. Observe, Rosalie, how the moon lingers for us. Is this not a night for lovers — a night propitious for the unfolding of our hearts ? Come, let us seat ourselves on yonder bench and profit by the hour. Rosalie. It is sure to be wet. Prune {leading her). You shall sit upon my handker- chief. {He spreads it on the seat.). There ! Rosalie. I wish I had not come. The mice are no doubt in every one of my cupboards. Prune. Did the Duke enchant you ? Rosalie. He is a nice old man ; but you had no right to say that I was a cousin of Mrs. Pankhurst. Prune. You saw how he respected you. Rosalie. He was afraid of me. Besides, I betrayed myself instantly by dusting the sofa. No suffragist ever did that. Prune. He admired you the more ; it makes me admire you the more, my dear. I am a very happy man. Rosalie. We shall pay for this adventure. Prune. See how the trees stand out like sentinels. The shades of night are falling, and the paths wind like rivers among the trees. Here is the hour of romance and of love. Rosalie. That is pretty ; go on. Prune. The stars twinkle kindly at us, and the forest 2s6 JUNIA ROSSETT bows compassionately. All are ruled by one power, each worships one things and as we now possess it, so they kneel to us. Rosalie. O Prune ! You quite upset me. What is that power ? Prune. Love ! Rosalie {overcome). I can't stand it — I really can't. It is as if I were drunk. What have you done to me ? Prune, Prune, support me ! [She toffies into his arms. Prune. My little snowbud ! Nestle to my manly breast. SCENE IX Prune. Rosalie. Mrs. Rossett Mrs. Rossett suddenly sails out from the house. She stiffens with horror at sight of the lovers. Mrs. Rossett. Rosalie! \They stumble to their feet. What are you doing here ! Rosalie. Forgive me, Mrs. Rossett. Mr. Prune invited me to the ball. Prune. It has been quite proper ; the Duke dallied a half hour with her. Mrs. Rossett. Quite proper ! Do you think this scene was quite proper ? What does it mean ? Prune {stammering. A slight vertigo. Rosalie is subject to vertigo. Mrs. Rossett. Ah, yes, and your little snowbud nestled to your manly breast for relief. Bah ! Rosalie, I do not know how you came here, but I command you to return home this instant. To- morrow you may prepare to leave my house. JUNIA ROSSETT 257 Rosalie. Do not be cruel, Mrs. Rossett ! Prune. It was my fault. I will accompany her home at once. Mrs. Rossett. Not until I have a word with you. Rosalie, leave me. [Rosalie humbly departs. Prune. Mrs. Rossett ! Mrs. Rossett. This morning it was Cornelia. Oh, the deceiver, the Don Juan, the wrecker of hearts ! It is thus that you have played with me. [She bursts into tears. Prune. Cornelia, you misjudge me ! I am still your faithful Prune. Mrs. Rossett. Enough ! I realise now my folly, only soon enough have I realised it. No, go away, go to your Rosalie — do not apologise. It is I who have been an idiot. Prune. Cornelia ! Mrs. Rossett. Stop ! I am an old fool. Prune. Be calm. Mrs. Rossett. What is now left to me ? Alas ! Junia has gone, you have deceived me, Gales is cold. I am deserted ; there is nothing more in life for me. I am undone. Oh, what a truly miserable woman I am ! Prune. It is sad, very sad. Mrs. Rossett. No, it is not sad ! It is maddening. I have never been pained like this before ; all my old sufferings held in themselves their reward, but this is barren. Prune. There, my dear, let me console you. Mrs. Rossett (angrily). No, go away ! Leave me this instant. I hate the sight of you ! [Prune prudently retreats. Go to your mistress and be happy. Leave me ! R 258 JUNIA ROSSETT Prune. But^ Mrs. Rossett. Go ! [He turns tail and slinks into the house. Mrs. Rossett sinks exhausted upon one of the chairs. SCENE X Peter. Mrs. Rossett Peter comes out at the same time. He does not see Mrs. Rossett. Peter {calling. Junia ! \He advances. Mrs. Rossett sits up. Junia ! Mrs. Rossett. Oh ! Peter (startle^. Is that you, Junia ? Mrs. Rossett. Peter ! Peter. Cornelia ! [They observe each other, on their guard. Mrs. Rossett. O Peter, why do you frown at me so ? Peter. Frown ? I did not mean to. Why are you here alone ? Mrs. Rossett. Alas ! I am alone. I always shall be now. Peter. Why ? Mrs. Rossett. Everyone has deserted me. Peter. Are you really unhappy ? Mrs. Rossett. For the first time in my life. I am desperately unhappy, and I hate it, Peter. Cornelia, did you know that Junia has left me ? JUNIA ROSSETT 259 Mrs. Rossett. Already ? Why ? Peter. Some silly idea about her individuality. She is going to be a suffragist. Mrs. Rossett. Then you are as unhappy as I ? Peter {moved). I think there is no one so unhappy as I alive. Mrs. Rossett. Yes, there is ; I am — ^and, Peter, do you know that seeing you, for the first time, unhappy, makes me — makes me — it opens my whole heart to you. Peter. And seeing you for the first time a genuine, .simple woman — it pleases me. Mrs. Rossett. Forgive me for all my faults. I have been very wicked, very thoughtless, very selfish. I am no longer so, Peter. Forgive me, I beg of you ! Peter. Now you are double to me what you were before. Why should we not support each other in our loneliness and find our happiness together once more ? Mrs. Rossett. If you can pardon me, if you can forget what a wicked Woman I have been — I will promise to make up to you for all that I have wronged you. Peter. My Cornelia ! Come ! \He opens his arms wide and clasps them about her as she throws her arms around his neck. Mrs. Rossett. Peter ! END of the third ACT ACT IV The studio windows are on the right, running along the whole width of the wall at the height of a door from the floor, and cutting into the roof generously. The studio is high studded, and the roof comes to a ridge in the middle, the other half being flat. In the centre of the right wall, under the lights, is a door that leads to a balcony. The entrance is opposite to it in the left wall. Built out broadly into the room from the left, and supported by posts, is a wooden balcony. The stairs to it come down under it against the rear wall. A door opening from it serves an apartment. Against the railing lean quantities of canvases, frames, &c. ; a dressmaker's form, a step-ladder, and several trunks are also there. In the back of the studio is a movable platform covered by a rug ; against the right wall are two heavy tables, and a sofa and a bureau occupy the spaces of the left wall. The studio is thickly hung with paintings and tapestries, and the floor is crowded with chairs, easels, and tables, being also rich with rugs. In fact, the usual disorder and ugliness prevail that is appropriate in a workroom. Under the stairs is a sink and a cupboard- It is about eleven o'clock in the morning subsequent to the evening in the last act. SCENE I JuNiA. Dora JuNiA is perched on a stool before an easel, with a -palette in one hand, and a brush in the other. She is 260 JUNIA ROSSETT 261 amusing herself by drawing schoolboys' graffiti on the canvas. A bell rings. She puts the finishing touch to an artlessly cubic figure, and, climbing down, goes to open the door. Dora comes in with a newspaper in her hand. JuNiA. Why, Dora ! You are all out of breath. Dora {dropping into a chair). Have you seen the papers this morning ? JuNiA. No. Dora. Then look. • [She holds out the sheet. JuNiA. The divorce of the Due d'Orleans ? Dora. No, on the left. JuNiA. Westminster Abbey in ruins ? That ? Dora. That ? Yes, isn't that enough ? Are you not horrified ? JuNiA {calmly). Why should I be? Dora. Read! Read! JuNiA {reading). " This morning, shortly after the opening of the Abbey, a fearful explosion odcurred in the choir. At the same time the tracery and glass of the windows fell outwards, and the walls cracHng, caused the vaulting and roof to collapse. The entire apse and its chapels are destroyed ; the transepts are badly mutUated, and the interior of the nave has suffered from the explosion. " What language can give expression to the national grief thus caused ? A need for passionate super- latives imposes greater restraint, however, and it is only to be stated in cold words that the coronation chair, the tomb of the Confessor, and the foyer of all England's history in that holy building are no more." Dora {impatiently). How can you go on reading so calmly as that ? Are you not overwhelmed ? JuNiA. I suppose it is too bad. 262 JUNIA ROSSETT Dora. Junia ! Are you not even shocked, sur- prised—interested ? Think what it means ! Think what Westminster Abbey means to an Englishman. It is the treasure of the nation — treasure from every point of view to each and all of us. The destruction of the Parthenon could not have caused such horror, for the race that built it was gone, but the race that built the Abbey with its blood and fire and glory is still living. It represented our history, our fame, and our pride. We are half expatriated by its loss. It was morally the home of our people. Junia {wearily). I know all that, Dora. Dora. Then you do not care ? Junia. Is it really hopelessly destroyed ? Dora. Hopelessly. Junia. Do they know how it happened ? Dora. Of course it is laid to the suffragists — there can be no doubt about that. The vandals ! Junia. Why ? Dora. Could any but the crudest criminals destroy a beautiful or sacred thing wantonly ? No. It never has been done. Humanity has never stooped so low as that. Depravity has its limits. If to-day reveals such cowardly viciousness in the very hearts of our homes, what is to become of our nation ? It is horrible to think that any man, much more a woman, is capable of a degree of criminality to which no tyrant of Rome or Florence ever fell. Junia. My dear, was this act wanton ? Dora. Would a thief destroy objects he had no desire to steal ? Junia. The value of this act will be in its results. Dora. You call that honest thieving ? Junia. Quite. JUNIA ROSSETT 263 Dora. Oh ! Can you tolerate women's demands when they prove themselves criminals ? What differ- ence does it make if they have an end to gain ? The assassin has an end to gain by his crimes — theirs is as selfish. JuNiA. They were warned. Dora. So are we against bandits. No, my dear, nothing bad was ever justified by the hope that it might do good, and this can do no good, if only for the simple reason that the cause of women is lost, lost from this day on — ^utterly and irrevocably lost. JuNiA. Why ? Dora. Because the public will put up with no more outrages, and it is the public who elect the legislators. The entire nation, women included, is revolted by the devastation and havoc that the militant suffragists have caused. It will stand not another event from that quarter, and it will never, never give a single right to women. We will be the more restricted from now on. The person who blew up the Abbey has lost the cause of women and put them back a century in progress. JuNiA. Do you really thmk that is true ? Dora. True ? My dear child, it is a fact accom- plished. JuNiA. I cannot believe it. The indignation wiU blow over ! [The bell rings. 264 JUNIA ROSSETT SCENE II JuNiA. Dora. Peter JuNiA ofens the door. Peter hurries in. Peter. Thank the Lord you are here, Junia. How are you, my dear ? \He takes her head in his hands and scrutinises her. Junia. I ? Perfectly well. What brings you here so soon ? Peter. Very serious business. [He advances and meets Dora. Good morning, Miss Finchfield. Dora. Good morning. Peter. Junia, have you seen what your suffragists have done ? Do you know that the Abbey has been blown up by them ? ' Junia. You, too ? What a fuss you all make over it. Peter. Fuss ! Such a thing has never been recorded in the annals of history. It is the blackest crime ever committed. Dora. As I have told Junia ; but, strange to say, she approves of the outrage. Peter. Ah ! She will not approve when they catch the villains. Junia (paling). Do they know who did it ? Peter. There are suspicions against a very well- known society woman. They are following up their clues. Junta (disdainfully). Let them; she will be a martyr. JUNIA ROSSETT 265 Dora. Martyrs are in very ill repute nowadays. That pose is altogether too selfish a one. JuNiA. Selfish, to sacrifice one's self ? Dora. Not one's self, but one's followers. That is what martyrs do. JuNiA. Oh, I will sacrifice no one. Peter. How could you ? JuNiA. Do you want to know who blew up the Abbey ? Dora. Do you know ? JuNiA. I did ! [Peter and Dora are aghast. There is a silence. It was I ! Peter. Go on, say more. JuNiA. The first thing I did on arriving in town this morning was to buy some paper. I went directly to the Abbey and paid for permission to rub several brasses. Behind the reredos next to the coronation chair is a very old brass, covered, as is all the floor, by a carpet. With the aid of one of the vergers whom I know, I pulled back the carpet and prepared to take the impression of the engraving. When no one was there, I hid a bottle of nitro-glycerine, to v^hich was attached a long fuse, under the canopy of the Con- fessor's tomb. After finishing my rubbing, I lit the fuse and went away. I suppose not long afterward the explosion occurred. I hope no one was hurt. Peter {in a frenzy). Is this my daughter ? Is this Junia Rossett ? How dare you even confess such a piece of work ? Junia. Do not lose your head. I did it for my cause. Dora. For what cause ? Junia. The cause of women ! 266 JUNIA ROSSETT Peter. You are mad, raving mad ! Who instigated, you ? JuNiA. No one. Peter. You conceived the whole plan alone ? JuNiA. I did. I knew the tactics that women were following now, and I acted according to them. It was my duty. Peter. I shall have apoplexy ! [He stamps back and forth. Dora. I simply cannot comprehend. JuNiA. I see nothing very incomprehensible about it. Dora. Only twelve hours ago you were a calm, sane woman — now you are a lunatic. JuNiA {tearfully). Don't ; you know I am not. Dora. So this is what Cyr and I have done to you. Mr. Rossett, I am to blame for Junia's act. Peter. Tut ! Dora. It was I who spoke to her of women's rights, and it was Cyr who put the idea into her head to think independently. I am struck to the ground. JuNiA. No ! No one is to blame but I. Let me bear the heroine's persecution alone. Peter. Come out of that attitude, Junia. What you have done is rotten, hideous. There is nothing beautiful in it. Dora. You are a little fool, Junia. Junia {in tears). No ! I did what I thought was right. Peter. What difference does that make ? You will have to pay for it just the same. In a few hours you will be in prison. Junia {wildly). In prison ! No, no ! They cannot put me in prison ! JUNIA ROSSETT 267 Peter. They not only can, but will. Do you think they ignore who did this ? They may be here any moment to carry you off. JuNiA {throzaing herself on her knees). Father ! Do not let them arrest me ! Save me ! I could not go to prison. Peter. Get up, Junia. You are beginning to re- alise the seriousness of what you have done. [He lifts her into a chair. Junia. Take me away, hide me, kill me — but do not let them put me in prison ! Dora. Poor child ! Peter. You do not deserve it. Junia. I thought that to begin my new life I ought to do something big and win glory at once. I thought I was inspired. Dora. You see now what a terrible thing you have done ? Junia {shivering. Yes, yes. Only it was not my fault. Oh, take me away, let me go away. Peter. Poor Junia ! Now that you are yourself again, we will see what can be done. Junia. It was Cyr who forced me to think out all alone what I should do in regard to you. When I had done so I found it amusing to think, and I thought about everything. What have I done ? What have I done ? Peter. There, dear ; do not cry. As far as we are concerned, nothing may happen, although, of course, the Abbey is lost for ever. Come, we must make the best of it. Dora. Junia, I am miserable. Junia (sobbing). No, Dora, it was not your fault. Listen ! [She starts up. 268 JUNIA ROSSETT It is they ! They are coming to arrest me ! Do not let them in ! Save me ! [The bell rings. Junia screams. Dora. Hush, come upstairs with me. [She draws her toward the balcony, and Peter goes to the door. SCENE III Dora. Junia. Peter. Cyr. Gales Cyr and Gales come in. Peter. Ah, it is only you. Cyr. Only we ? Peter. It is Cyr and Gales, Junia ! QuNiA and Dora return. Gales. What is the matter ? Junia has been crying. Dora. Have you not heard about the explosion ? Cyr. a terrible affair ; it is enough to make any- one cry. Gales. But they are on the track of the perpetrator, and she will soon suffer for it. [Junia laughs hysterically. Dora. Junia, you are all tired out. Go upstairs and lie down for a moment. Junia {opening the door to the balcony). A little air will freshen me. [She leans against the door. Gales. Oh, what a lovely view there is ! [She goes toward the balcony. Dora. Yes; the river is fascinating with its boats. Come and look at them. \She and Gales go out. JUNIA ROSSETT 269 JuNiA. I think I will go out. I am not tired. Peter. You cannot do that ! That will throw you into their hands instantly. You must stay here all day. JuNiA. Without going out at all ? Cyr. What is all this mystery ? Peter (turning away). Nothing, nothing of interest. [He goes out on to the balcony. SCENE IV JuNiA. Cyr Cyr. What does he mean ? JuNiA. Never mind. It does not concern you. Cyr. Oh ! Qunia sits down. I say, Junia, have you not changed your mind about what you said last night ? Junia. What did I say ? Cyr. You know perfectly well. You cast me aside ten minutes after accepting me. Junia. Do not talk of that. Cyr. You still refuse me ? Junia. More than ever. Cyr. Why ? Junia. You are my worst enemy, Cyr ; that is all. Cyr. You hate me ? Junia. I fear you. Cyr. For what reason ? Junia. Because you have played havoc with me. You have ruined my life. {She sobs. ' Cyr. Speak more plainly. Junia. You found me a sane, healthy woman, and 270 JUNIA ROSSETT you changed me into a neurasthenic crank. Whatever I have done is your fault ! You tried to make a man of me ; you made a fool. Cyr. It is not too late to be again wrhat you were. JuNiA. It is too late, for I have done irretrievable things. I can never again be either my old self or my ideal self. Cyr. What have you done ? JuNiA (sharply). Do not ask. It is horrible, horrible, and you drove me on to do it. Oh, I fear you ! Do not speak to me. Cyr. At least let me defend myself. JuNiA. Leave me alone. I vpiU never marry you. I never vpant to see you again. Let me try to be myself. I will go back to Boxhill and be as silly as before. I will marry Basil ; that is my sphere in life. You passed me into a whirlwind, hoping to match me to yourself, but I lost my head instead of finding it. You have lost me. Go away. Cyr (sorrowfully). I am sorry. You do not know how miserable I am. If it is my fault, as you say, I will never regain my self-esteem. JuNiA. It is your fault — ^all of it. May this teach you not to meddle with people. They are not like machines. Cyr. Forgive me, Junia ! If I have wronged you, at least I pay to myself the consequences. Be kind to me. Junia. I pity you, Cyr ; that is all. [She rises. But I do not dare see you again. [She goes to the balcony. Cyr (sinking into a chair). A\^at an ass I have been to try to change a woman ! [Junia disappears. JUNIA ROSSETT 271 SCENE V Gales. Cyr Gales returns from outside. Gales. You seem in the depths, Cyr ; what is it ? Cyr (gloomily). I am not happy. Gales. What rubbish ! If you had a little religion you would tide over such periods. Cyr. Nonsense ! Gales. Only the very young are without religion. Those who have sounded a little of life soon form one of some sort or other. I do not prescribe Christianity to you, but there are many others, Cyr. I have a religion, but it is one I choose to support rather than be supported by- Gales. It is impossible to be supported by a moral. Cyr. And you ? Gales. My fervour is particular, not borrowed. Cyr. Your fervour, my dear Gales, is a substitute for something else. Gales. May I ask what ? Cyr. Love. Gales. Fiddlesticks ! Cyr. Has anyone ever loved you — I mean pas- sionately ? Gales. Not to my knowledge. Cyr. There you are ! I know you ; your whole spirit yearns for love — not affection — ^and you have found a channel for your energy in religion. We aU have a certain amount of energy. Some put it into art, some into labour, some into vice, but all with the 272 JUNIA ROSSETT same desire : to be fatigued, to be tired, and therefore at peace. Energy unspent is a fomenter of fever ; dispensed, it gives calm joy and health. Those who do nothing are in a turmoil ; those who move are broadly at rest. It does not matter how one gets rid of this energy, so long as one does so ; no two people need the same means. For all of us, however, love unburdens us and exults us with tranquillity. So does death. The whole aim in life is to become tired ; when we are we have done all we are capable of. Some people need a thousand occupations for their energy ; some but one. This is the secret of genius, for genius is a great concentration of energy. The labourer and the scientist unconsciously do one and the same thing : empty themselves of energy. But nothing quite relieves us except love — ^love physical, moral, and spiritual. You have not found love, and have apprenticed faith ; but it is well known that the religious instinct is exactly the same thing as physical passion. Hence you are only provisionally religious ; as soon as love speaks to you, you will love instead. Personally, I prefer death. Gales. I wonder if you are right ? The quality of energy, therefore, determines intelligence — not the quantity. Cyr. Concentration means both quality and quantity. Gales. One must find, then, the outlet for one's energy — the poet in verse, the peasant at the plough. And I ? I thought I had found mine. Cyr. I tell you religion is only a substitute for love. Gales. I thought it was a servant. Cyr. It is love's worst enemy. War may kiU, but religion robs. No religious person ever sincerely loved. Gales. Christ ? JUNIA ROSSETT 273 Cyr. Christ was not religious. Gales. But I do love ! Cyr. Gales, if one pours one's energy into music or toil or thought, there is very little of that energy left for anything else. I said each person has a given amount ; devote it to labour, and it is gone — ^fatigue proves it ; devote it to writing, and it passes — ^fatigue proves it ; what is left is needed for mere mechanics : eating and breathing. It is impossible for a hard worker to do anything but his work. Therefore, only idle people can love. You can love because you are only replacing love by something else. I can love be- cause I have too much energy to use it all up in my work. Gales. I believe you are right. Mr. Prune, I think, first showed me the comfort of religion. I was very unhappy before ; it quieted me. Cyr. It tired you. Gales. Perhaps. Then I lost all perspective ; re- ligion seemed to me to be the supreme thing because it gave me peace. Cyr. Love gives greater. Gales. To tell the truth, I do not know how much I believe. I only fed on it ; it was a stimulant. Basil is right ; I have been a hypocrite, but not consciously. I saw that as soon as I met Dora. She made me study the case. Cyr. Look here, don't do that ! Gales. I already have. I admired Dora. Junia has changed before me, but now I am going to use my reason and be independent, even of ideas. Cyr {alarmed). Don't do it, Gales. Junia has already regretted it. Women are best as they are. Stay religious, I beg of you. Gales. It is too late. I know Junia ; she is not serious. But you must admit that I am. 274 JUNIA ROSSETT Cyr. That is true. Gales. Dora is serious. There is no reason why I should not grow out of my old superstitions to enter a free existence. I am becoming an intelligent woman. Cyr. By Jove, Gales, I believe you ! Why did I not see these possibilities sooner ? I believe you have become without aid what I tried to make Junia. Gales. Have you failed ? Cyr. Miserably. She overshot my mark, and has now relapsed into her former state. I was a fool ; she hates me for it as I hate myself. Gales. Do not hate yourself, for it is due to you that I am a little wiser. Cyr. You are worth two of Junia. Why have I been so blind ? Tell me, are you my friend ? Gales. I owe everything to you. Cyr. Wait ! Now that you are not going to be religious, how are you going to spend your energy ? Gales. I shall have to devote myself to work, unless — unless Cyr. Unless the great giver of peace calls to you ? Gales. I think that is it. Cyr. Gales, he is calling — calling us both ! Gales. You see, I do not know his voice yet. Cyr. This is his voice — Glisten, and learn it by heart : I love you — I love you irresistibly ; I want you. Gales. You see how quickly I learn ? The answer is an echo. I believe there are only three words in the vocabulary of love. Cyr. Tell them to me ! On every lip they are of a different language. Gales. I love you, Cyr. Cyr. Gales ! \He draws her to him. JUNIA ROSSETT 275 SCENE VI JuNiA. Dora. Peter. Cyr. Gales JuNiA, Dora, and Peter come in from the balcony. JuNiA. WeU ! [Cyr and Gales return to earth ; the drop con- siderably shakes them. Peter (teasingly). I see no need of my asking you your intentions, sir. JuNiA. So this is how men need love ! My dear Cyr, I hoped that you would jump into the Thames. It would have been so romantic. Cyr. Laugh at me if you will, but do not scorn me for knowing when I have found what I want. JuNiA. I am not what you wanted ? Cyr. It appears not. JuNiA. Thank you for the release. My only regret is that you took so long about it, and played me from one end of the board to the other. Cyr. Then it is to the liking of everybody. Junia, you need no longer fear me. Mr. Rossett, I petition for the hand of Gales. Peter. My dear boy, women's hands to-day reach out and pluck their spoil without the parental wing to shadow them. What is Gales' decision ? Gales. My will is Cyr's, if Junia and you have no objections. Junia. I am greatly relieved, Gales. AH I pray for is that you may resist the elevating influence of that man. Peter. Bless you, my children ! 276 JUNIA ROSSETT Dora. My congratulations, Cyr. (Going to Gales.) I am very happy, dear. \^he bell rings. JuNiA. Father ! What — ^what is it ? Peter. Don't be alarmed. [He goes to the door and opens it. SCENE VII JuNiA. Cyr. Gales. Peter. Dora. Basil Basil comes in. Basil. Hello ! I say, what a hole to hide in. It was all I could do to find it. JuNiA. To hide in ? Basil. So out of the way. Good morning, Dor — Miss Finchfield. Gales. Good morning, Basil. Basil. Why, how you have changed ! Junia, don't you find Gales improved ? What is it ? Cyr. Gales and I are to be married, Basil. Basil. Truly ? That must be it ; I congratulate you both on it. I am surprised — never imagined it, you know. Peter {throwing himself on the sofa under the balcony) . Imagination is not your greatest quality, Basil. Basil. But what will Prune say ? Gales (blushing). Do not let us quarrel, Peter. Why, Prijne, you know, turned up this morn- ing with Rosalie, bound as tight as the law in marriage. Junia. No ! Is it true ? Peter. It appears that he had the licence ready weeks ago. JUNIA ROSSETT 277 Basil. The sly old fox ! JuNiA. So Rosalie also has yielded to the inevitable. No hope remains to woman now that such a monument of common sense is gone. Rosalie, Prune — Gales, Cyr ; Dora, it is now your turn. Dora. And you, my dear ? [She joins Peter on the soja. JuNiA. I do not think I shall ever marry. [Cyr and Gales have retired to the hack of the studio, where they examine canvases to- gether. Junia and Basil remain in the foreground, forgotten by the others. Basil. Why not ? Junia. No one wants me. Basil. You know I once did. Junia. Basil, it is hard for a woman to apologise, but I want to do so for the way I have treated you. I have gone through a very trying metamorphosis ; my whole point of view has been distorted, and I have done things 1 now look upon as mad. But lam normal again,and the same person that Iwas yesterday morning. Basil. I forgive you for everything. Junia. But — to go further; if you can also forget that I broke off our engagement, if you care to resume it exactly as before, I — I will be only too happy, Basil, because I have been a fool. I know that I insiilted you and hurt you ; it is for that now that I am willing to humble myself. I hardly know what entered my head to fly off as I did ; forgive me, and let us make every- thmg up. Basil. Why did you not speak sooner ? Junia. Why, what is the matter ? Basil. You see — I am — ^why, I am engaged to Dora ! Junia. O Basil ! 278 JUNIA ROSSETT Basil. After last night I lost all hope of ever re- gaining you. Junta. You men waste no time in replacing what you lose. Basil. What do you mean ? JuNiA. There is Cyr ; he was engaged to me last night, and now he is to Gales. You were also, and now are to Dora. Basil. You can hardly criticise us if you were engaged to both of us at once. JuNiA. Perhaps not — I do not care. I have very little interest in life now. It seems to me my whole future is horribly black. Basil. Do not be so discouraged. JuNiA. It is not on account of you. I might as well commit suicide at once. What a wreck I have made of my life ! Basil. Do not talk so. Dora (rising and afproaching them). What are you so serious about ? JuNiA (turning away). It is nothing. [She joins Cyr and Gales ; Peter walks to the balcony door. Basil. Junia is becoming neurasthenic. Dora. Her nervous system has been too much tampered with by Cyr's doctrines. Basil. Poor Junia ! Dora (glancing at the others). Basil, I must talk with you seriously. Basil. What is the use ? Dora. I mean about last night. Basil. Yes ? Dora. You do not think I meant all I said ? Basil. You told me to hope JUNIA ROSSETT 279 Dora. Yes ; but the rest. Basil. Do you withdraw even the hope ? Dora. I also have been tampered with, as was Junia. When I said I wanted to live, I thought I did, but now that I have had a good night's sleep, it all seems absurd. One cannot change one's character like that. I am a snuffy old scholar, and I always shall be. To flit is not my nature. I was taken off my feet by enthusiasm for Junia ; she, however, has regained hers already, and I can do no better than to follow suit. Therefore, I beg of you to forget what passed between us last night. I am really not at all the person you want ; don't you think it best ? Basil. Are you speaking really sincerely ? Dora. Quite. Basil. Then I will speak sincerely, and tell you that I am glad ; you really cannot forgive me for what I said, but if you care to free me from my declaration, I will be relieved, because it was an unwise one. Dora (shaking his hand). We are very sensible people. After all, it has been a lark, hasn't it ? It will freshen the hours when I browse over my books. I am glad we are friends. [The bell rings. Junia smothers a scream. SCENE VIII Junia. Cyr. Gales. Peter. Dora. Basil. Mrs. Rossett Basil goes to the door ; Mrs. Rossett appears. Mrs. Rossett. Ah, Basil ! Is Peter here ? Peter (hurrying to her). He is, Cornelia. Mrs. Rossett (embracing him). Peter ! 28o JUNIA ROSSETT JuNiA. Why, what is this ? Gales. Mother ! Mrs. Rossett. My- dears, you see another woman in your old mother. Peter and I are now on the best terms with each other. I have reformed. Peter. It is well, for your children are all deserting their home. Mrs. Rossett. Not Gales also ? Peter. Gales is to be Cyr's wife. Mrs. Rossett. This is my greatest joy. JuNiA. But Junia returns to her home, mother. Father and I will keep you from being lonely. Mrs. Rossett. I really cannot follow the course of events. Prune and Rosalie as much as eloping under my nose ; Gales marrying Cyr, whom I intended for Junia — and I on good terms with Peter, all within twenty-foiu: hours. Basil. Nor is the action yet stopped. Mr. Rossett, yesterday morning Junia and I became engaged. I wish it known to everybody that she is mine. Junia. But, Basil ! Basil. Junia, I am perfectly free to announce this. Junia. But you said — — Basil. That has been arranged. Dora. I hope you will be happy, dear. Junia. You are not — not going to Dora. No. Peter. Another joyful surprise ! Have you nothing to say, Cornelia ? Mrs. Rossett (preathlessly). This is really too wonderful. Peter. Look at them. One would say they were just now making their declarations. [Basil and Junia have exchanged a kiss. JUNIA ROSSETT 281 JuNiA. Only, Basil, I really cannot marry you. You do not know what sort of a woman I am, and what persecutions may be your lot on account of me. Basil (laughing). Let me meet them. JuNiA. Oh no. When I think of what I have done, it is too horrible, too criminal — and I am sure to be found out and punished. Let me pay for it alone. Basil. What does she mean ? JuNiA. Believe me, I am unworthy of you, and I cannot marry you. Mrs. Rossett. Junia, what are you saying ? Do not mar this hour of happiness ! Dora. The child is tired out ; let her rest now. Junia. I am not tired ! It is nonsense to shield me. Father and Dora know all about what I have done, and you all are sure to learn in a few hours. I am a criminal. Basil. Junia ! Junia. Yes, I am a criminal, worse than a murderer — a vile criminal. Mrs. Rossett. My child, are you mad ? Cyr. Do you know what she has done, Dora ? Junia. I wiU tell you. You shall see what a wretch I am, and you wiU hate me for ever. Good-bye, Basil ; while you still respect me, let us say good-bye. Basil. No matter what you do, I will always be your lover. [He takes her hand. Junia (retreating). Do not touch me. Listen ; you aU know that the Abbey — ^Westminster Abbey — ^has been blown up ? That there is only left a mutilated nave ? Well, the person who blew up Westminster Abbey was Mrs. Rossett. Westminster Abbey ? It was not the Abbey at all ; it was Westminster Cathedral. 282 JUNIA ROSSETT Peter. Are you sure ? Mrs. Rossett. I swear it. It was Westminster Cathedral, not the Abbey, which is as intact as ever. Peter. Junia, do you hear ? Do you hear ? JuNiA. Then — then I did not do it ? Peter. Of course not. Junia. But the bottle — I lit the fuse, Peter. We will go and get it immediately. West- minster Cathedral ! That is a blot removed from London's landscape. Junia (laughing hysterically). So I am not a criminal after all ? Peter. Not in any sense, my poor little girl. Junia {still laughing. Basil ! I am not a criminal. [She falls into his arms, sobbing. Peter. Come, Cornelia. Let us leave them alone. Duty calls us to Boxhill, if only to reprimand Rosalie. [They walk to the door, arrn in arm. Gales. May we go with you, father ? Cyr. Yes, if only for luncheon. Peter. By all means. Come. [He opens the door. Mrs. Rossett {shaking her head). See those children. [She looks back at Basil and Junia, who are comforting each other. Come, Peter. [She and Peter go out. Gales. Au revoir, Junia. We will see you later. Cyr. Follow our example, old chap, and take it more calmly. [Gales and he go out, chattering gaily. Basil and Junia smile at each other, and then, laughing joyously at themselves, move after the others. Basil. I say, Cyr, wait a minute ! We will all go together. JUNIA ROSSETT 283 Peter's Voice. Hurry ! JuNiA. We are coming. {They go out and dose the door. During this scene Dora has watched everything from the obscurity in the rear of the studio. She has been so quiet that the others have forgotten all about her, and have left her there without realising it. She now rises from her chair, and, smiling softly, walks toward a table in the centre of the stage. Still smiling, she ficks up a book, and settling into an arm- chair with it, starts to read, with always the same soft smile on her lips. the end THE POWER OF MEMORIES A PLAY IN ONE ACT TO MRS. S. REED ANTHONY THOSE IN THE PLAY MORLATH ESBLY Jeanne Esbly, his wife Vivian Gable, his friend A Porter THE SCENE Morlath Esbly's rooms in a lodging-house on Gloucester Street. The action occurs in the evening of a day in September, The year is the present one. THE POWER OF MEMORIES On the nearer side of the left wall is a fireplace, the mantel of which is of gray marble formed after the mid- Victorian conceit of Louis XV. It is wizened, however, to the proportions of a grate, and it boasts no mirror. Beyond it is a door that leads to a bedroom. Against the left side of the rear wall stands a bureau upon which is placed a bookshelf full of volumes on law. In the middle of the rear wall is a window over which hang long curtains of a nondescript texture and design, rusty stripes and fibrous lines being confused untidily upon a heavy and flabby material. The right-hand corner is crossed diagon- ally by a wall, in the middle of which is the door to the hall. Against the right wall is a bookcase with glazed doors, also filled with law books, one shelf being given over to china. In the centre of the room is a square table covered with a green felt cloth and weighted with piles of books and papers. A gas lamp is set on it beside a large ink-well, and is attached to a chandelier that hangs from an excrescence of plaster resembling a medallion, in the ceiling. Beside the table, before the grate, is a couch adorned by an old portiere of plush. Next to the fireplace is a small table. There are chairs, armed and armless, around the larger table and beside the bookcase, as well as at the window. They are of black walnut, and are done in red plush. The walls are papered with faded red paper on which are marshalled troops of wreaths in gold and black. A coarsely- moulded cornice collaborates with the exuberant relief in the centre of the ceiling, and sits heavily upon a conventional frieze that tops the wall paper, with which, however, it has no parent- age. Two or three enlarged photograph portraits in gilt frames 1&7 288 THE POWER OF MEMORIES hang on the walls in company with some paintings done in grease. On the floor is a rug enlivened with images of dogs and monstrous roses. The room is graced at the same time with some very beautiful things, such as a Chinese vase and two silver candlesticks on the chimney shelf, which belong to Esbly. The furniture, chandelier, &c., are, on the other hand, of the most atrocious Eastlake period. The woodwork is of black walnut. SCENE I MoRLATH. Vivian It is a quarter to eleven, the curtains are drawn over the window, and the lam-p on the table is lighted. Ufon the couch is a basket full of packages envelo-ped in fa-per. Morlath is removing the things from the table and -placing them upon the bureau. When the former is quite cleared he takes a tablecloth from the upper drawer in the bureau and spreads it on the table. Then he chooses several pieces of china and glass from those in the bookcase, finds silver, and, having set two covers carefully if clumsily, folds napkins on the plates. He steps back to survey the efect. Considering the silver candlesticks on the chimney- piece, he takes them and arranges them on the table, after which he lights them, and, extinguish- ing the lamp, disconnects it from the chandelier, to place it with the books. He brings a bunch of enormous scarlet peonies from the next room, and sets them toppling over the Chinese vase upon the table. From the basket he draws fruit that he piles on a dish, and the other things he carries THE POWER OF MEMORIES 289 aviay into the bedroom. He returns with a bottle of wine. After setting two chairs at the table he looks again at the result, and then busies him- self with tidying the room. A knock is heard on the door. MoRLATH. Come in ! \7he door opens, and Vivian Gable enters. Vivian. Hello, Morlath ! \He stops, astonished at sight of the table. I say ! What are you doing ? Morlath {nervously). Oh — a supper — ^just a supper for a friend. Vivian. I am discreet ; say no more. [He inspects the table. By Jove ! You have done it well. Am I in the way ? Morlath. Not yet. Vivian. Although uninquisitive, do allow me to express my astonishment, dear Morlath. I never imagined you stirring outside the boundaries of a prerogative office. However, I marvel with deference. Tact urges me to withdraw. Morlath. Don't go. Vivian. Tell me when ; I only came to " foil the hour with words." \He walks to the fireplace, lights a cigarette, and leans on the mantelpiece, watching Morlath, who moves slowly to the couch and sits down to stare into the fire. There is not a man who is not a hedonist, and I am beginning to think that there is not an art that is not founded on hatred. There are two pretty convictions. When the hedonists weary, art at least does not fail. Well-possessed, it is the most faithful of friends ; it 290 THE POWER OF MEMORIES is a refuge from all the banalities, stupidities, and brutalities of life. It is a solitude peopled by oneself with smiling creations which are a consolation for the human grimace. It makes one independent. That is a bitter pride, if a strong one, which has need of no one on earth. Do you realise how little one can expect from people ? Not that I dislike the human race MoRLATH. There is only one greater enemy to man than nature, and that is the human race. To court either is death. Vivian. But to need nothing of them, after all, is death. MoRLATH. Take what you need, but do not ask for it ; so Atropos may be foiled. [He gets up and walks about nervously. Vivian. You are strong ; I am not strong. I love beauty too much to be strong. Nordau would call me de- generate in that I care so little for truth. Perhaps I am, yet thought seems so much less real to me than beauty. MoRLATH (who has paid no attention at all to Vivian). Vivian, I have something to tell you. Vivian. Yes ? MoRLATH. I am married. Vivian {deserting his contemplative attitude). What ? MoRLATH. Married — a wife — simply married. Vivian. When did this happen ? MoRLATH. Nine months ago. Vivian. Are you mad, or am I ? Why in the devil have you been so silent about it ? MoRLATH. There was no need of your knowing it. Vivian. And now that you divulge it, is it indiscreet of me to congratulate you ? [He goes to Morlath and shakes his hand. THE POWER OF MEMORIES 291 MoRLATH. It is the first thing, my dear Vivian, that you have had the chance to congratulate me for. Vivian. Then you are happy ? MoRLATH. Infinitely. Vivian. But, dear fellow, where on earth is she, and why all this mystery ? It is not flattering me to have denied me your confidence for so long. I am dizzy with the suddenness of your disclosure ; you of all people married ! I did not think you would ever be so sensible. I am overjoyed ! To think that we have been inseparable for seven months, and you never hinted a thing. I admire that power. Tell me more about it, Morlath. MoRLATH. The table is for her. She is coming on the 10.45 train. Vivian. From Paris ? Morlath. I married her when I was there last January. Vivian. What is her name ? How did you meet her ? Morlath (sitting down on the sofa and talking to the f.ri). Her name is Jeanne. \7here is a pause. Vivian takes up his place at the mantelpiece again. You have known me for seven months. Except for Jeanne, you are the only person who has known me for so long. I do not make friends. I wanted to become a musician ; my father wanted me to be a solicitor. He was one. I was obliged to study law, for I was too young to assert myself, and I had no independence. Before, my hours of joy were at the piano ; then aU my hours were at books. When he died he did not leave a penny, in spite of the zeal he showed for his profession in forcing me into it. My only resource was to develop the studies I had begun. 292 THE POWER OF MEMORIES I did so, bitterly and with hatred in my heart ; I com- pleted my course and took up practice. Since then I have laboured brutishly and I have not succeeded. That is, I have kept alive — colliers do that — but I have won no distinction. Success is impossible in a hated field. I had one desire ; I saved money enough to take me to Paris for two months to study. Last December I went. I took two tiny rooms on the ground floor in a pavilion behind an apartment house. There was a scrap of a garden there and a closet of a kitchen. I took lessons at the Schola Cantorum, and stayed there until the end of February. When I came back I became acquainted with you. Those months on the rue d'Assas were the most beautiful in my life. But for them I have never been happy ; life before was hell to me. I knew nothing but hatred and despair and suffering. Vivian {softly). I did not know you loved beauty. MoRLATH. It is my soul. I was born a poet and hammered into a cynic ; but the poet dwells secretly within, although I have mutilated him in self-defence. Vivian. I knew that your hard exterior covered some truer personality, yet I had never guessed that you suffered. It would kill me to suppress my real nature — ^you trust my understanding ? MoRLATH. Yes. Vivian. Tell me of your life in Paris. MoRLATH. Contrast it with London ; picture a life here in this bricky, unarranged, opaque city. Then glance through a camera as the shutter snaps over a circle of fire in which heroic architecture dominates dramatic sites. People the glancing atmosphere with fresh trees. See a race of such intelligence that it minds its own affairs. Imagine a life where utter THE POWER OF MEMORIES 293 solitude or complete society are equally at command. Individual liberty and universal possession are there. For me to enter this state and unfold my cramped soul in music was the flight of a butterfly from its cocoon toward the sun. I became beautiful. My face grew lovely. The glamour, the illusion, the romance of that rebirth were those of a youthful idealist, and the knowledge of my limited time flashed lightning into my heart. The contrast with my vile life here in this Ugly city, among ugly people who led ugly existences, made me extravagant. Vivian. And Jeanne ? MoRLATH (rising moodishly). Why should I bore you with aU this talk ? \He walks to the table and lights a cigarette. Vivian. Do you realise, Morlath, that you have known more intense, if less lasting happiness than I, with all my freedom ? Morlath. Realise ? That happiness is and always will be my life. I shall remember nothing else. [He sits down by the table. Vivian goes to the couch. It was the 23rd of December — a Friday — Christmas was on Sunday. We walked aU the way to Sevres together. It was a beautiful night. We talked of ourselves, but in building the framework of our acquaintanceship we scarcely looked at each other. She lived at Sevres. I left her at her door, and we shook each other's hands. Christmas Day we wandered in the sunlight along the river, and at noon we lunched high in the Eiffel Tower. Sunset found us on the terrace of Meudon, where the warmth had given us an hour to play on the ground. A few days later we were married. 294 THE POWER OF MEMORIES Vivian. And so at last she is coming ! MoRLATH. She should be here now. Vivian {taking Morlath's hand). My dear fellow, I think you are the most enviable man alive. MoRLATH. I believe you, Vivian, for I am the happiest man alive. We went to Chalons one day after we were married. There is architecture there, clean cut in a striving toward strength through purity. Each part is so spiritually suflBcient that the whole is instinct with blood. It is only on such still forms of passion that green things consent to grow and about which rooks quibble. I remember the canals, the gardens, and the extravagant herbs among which we found wild onions. Another day we went to Meaux. I shall never forget the quality of the sunlight in the nave. In thirteenth-century cathedrals the sun ever-entering never escapes, so that its force is that of the deposits of seven hundred years of sun- shine. The structure seems to be moulded about it. The river there fawns on its banks in a luxurious sweep, and dips beneath two mills of the Middle Ages. Once we went to Barbizon. We dined at the Gare de Lyon, and arrived at Fontainebleau late at night. We walked across the forest without a spoken word, but we kissed each other at the head of the Gorge d'Apremont, where a despairing moonlight invoked the phantoms of a panorama. There is a brigands' cave farther on. At the inn we rested with the joy of those who toil together, and in the morning snow had covered the buds. The tramp to Fontainebleau was keen with it. We pelted each other. Spring began in January, giving hot days to the cherry trees, but slipping away behind sheets of rain when Nature attended her resting. It was a constant re-experience of spring THE POWER OF MEMORIES 295 without the lassitude ,of its accomplishment. I think man's idea of paradise has been based on the enchant- ment of life reliving — calmly, omnipotently, sweetly. Vivian. You have treasured deathless possessions. My art seems feeble in comparison with your "words, which are inspired by life. MoRLATH. Life and its inspirations are not art, Vivian. [He looks at his watch. Vivian. I don't know whether to be overcome by astonishment or by joy. At least the passing of the former is permitting greater scope to the latter. We have been so close to each other lately that I felt a certain sense of possession of you and your life, although intimacy never threatened us. Still, your reticence has not ended in an unpleasant revelation. Believe me, my dear Morlath, my happiness for you is as intense as the circumstances allow. I wish you everything. Once accustomed to the idea, I shall partake of your joy myself. Is there anything I can do to help you ? Morlath. Thank you. Vivian. Shall I see you to-morrow ? Not to-night, of course. Morlath. Not to-night, Vivian ; I shall forget you to-night. To-morrow if you like. We can all go to the country. Vivian. You must not continue these surprises, you know ! My constitution is too feeble to receive frequent shocks. \He -puts his hand on Morlath's shoulder. I am awfully fond of you ! Morlath. I am too happy — too happy, Vivian. [Vivian shakes his hand warmly., and with no further words, leaves. 296 THE POWER OF MEMORIES SCENE II MoRLATH. A Porter. Jeanne MoRLATH bestows a few more scrupulous touches upon the order of the room, and arrests his steps before a photograph on the bureau, which he takes and brings to the light. MoRLATH. We were at Robinson the day I took that photograph. It was after luncheon. Later we hired two saddle-horses and galloped through the forest. Do you remember the view ? And how we played at tag until the horses grew dizzy ? Mine almost escaped control when we raced back and were cheered by a party of picnickers. Then we had tea in the trees, and I played a little flute that I had brought. I took another picture of you in the train — oh, I forget nothing — I remember every second, Jeanne. My souvenirs are deathless. \H.e kisses the photograph passionately. Then he stands with his fist against his heart. I love you ! I love you ! I am mad with love of you ! I would die for our memories. I am your slave, Jeanne — come to me ! You will see how I love you ! Come-^do not make me wait ! I have been so alone, so alone ! [His mood suddenly changes to anxiety. Suppose she lost the train, or were ill, or — No, no, I could not endure another day without her. She will come ; it would kill me to have her late. Each moment without her is horrible. I have waited so long ! \He kisses the photograph again and puts it on THE POWER OF MEMORIES 297 the mantelpiece. Then he lights a cigarette and sits down on the couch. In an instant he throws the cigarette into the fire and starts up. He walks nervously back and forth, stopping at the bookcase to drink a cocktail which he mixes, and then he pushes the curtains aside to glance out of the window. With an exclamation of impatience he re- sumes pacing the floor. The noise of traffic is audible. After an oppressive moment a door below is heard to close. His attention is concentrated on listening. A flash of delight in his features announces the arrival of Jeanne. He stands nervously facing the door, and waits as steps are heard on the stairs. A knock follows. With a trembling hand he opens the door. A burly porter shambles in with a trunk on his back. Jeanne enters after him. MoRLATH. Jeanne ! Jeanne. My Morlath ! \They run to each other's arms and embrace each other. The porter stands indignantly patient under the trunk. At length they become aware of him. Morlath {to the porter). In there ! \He points to the bedroom door ; the man goes toward it. You have come ! You were not ill — I thought you had lost the train. Jeanne. No, no ; I am not even late. Morlath. It seemed as if you were hours late. Are you very tired ? Jeanne. I am too happy to know. 298 THE POWER OF MEMORIES MoRLATH. Jeanne ! My little Jeanne ! \He kisses her again as the porter comes out of the bedroom after having left the trunk. The man coughs, Jeanne. There are some valises. \She hurries from Morlath to the door. The forter fetches the valises and leaves them by the bookcase. Jeanne fays him, and he goes. Morlath in the meantime has been staring at Jeanne sedrchingly. His emotion for the moment has been cut o-ff by the analytical instinct insistent on note-taking. He is f robing a strange discovery, and from this instant of watching Jeanne his whole attitude gradually changes. Jeanne closes the door behind the porter and turns ; she holds out her hands toward him, awaiting, now that they are alone, a realisation of their long-denied love. Morlath sup- presses his train of thought for the instant and runs to take her hands. Morlath. You must rest and eat ! There is so much to tell each other. Come, take off your things, bathe your face and hands. Then we wiU talk. \He leads her toward the other door. She looks at him questioningly, but unsuspecting of the changes going on in him. Jeanne. Morlath, I am so happy ! \They go out into the next room. In a few moments they return. Jeanne has removed her hat and coat and has freshened her appearance. Morlath carries the supper ; his manner has rapidly become cold in con- trast to that in the beginning, but Jeanne THE POWER OF MEMORIES 299 is hardly aware of it. He watches her narrowly during the following scene. Jeanne. I love these rooms. They are already mine, i^he notices the table) Dear, you have arranged it just as we used to have it. MoRLATH. You remember ? \He seats her at the table and then takes the other chair. Even the wine is the same. Jeanne. But the peonies are more gorgeous than our French ones. Oh ! You remembered to get pheasant. \7hey busy themselves with serving the supper. Morlath. So he died at last. I thought he would for ever refuse to grow well or to die ; eight months of illness ! Jeanne. Poor father ! He had a fourth stroke. Morlath. A fourth ? Jeanne. The last. I have never seen such obstinate vitahty. His mind went in the very beginning, but his physical strength was incredible. It was aU we could do to hold him in bed when he had convulsions. [She turns her head aside. Morlath. It has been a horrible experience for you. Jeanne. He did not know me. Directly you left Paris I went, but when I arrived at Chalons he was unconscious. You must realise how hard it was for me, longing to come here to you, feeling each day more deprived, when I might have left with you. That aU this separation has been due merely to suffering ! Morlath. If I could have left my work Jeanne. I know ; it could not be helped. How- ever, that is aU past now, and we can stretch the end of our first two months to rivet to the beginning of 300 THE POWER OF MEMORIES our endless months, forgetting the gap. I have been unhappy, but I am now so happy, and I shall always, always be happy. The future is aglow with hope and desire and dreams. The future is mine, and you are mine. Where our memories end our aspirations take wing. MoRLATH {more warmly). Those hours ! Have you forgotten the boat sliding between the quays toward Meudon ? How, in the afternoon, the masonry yielded to banks where real air played through real foliage and people took breath ? I long for La Peche Miraculeuse. There the dusk crept out from the bases of the hills to peep over their crests at the de- parting sun and to unroll seductively on their slopes. It courted smoke vapours and mist veils to rise from bossy woods or drag sluggishly their heavy ghosts across the city. Then from the painted sky would float down a star, to sit like a petal on the river where groves shimmered. Jeanne. I have not forgotten, and we wiU duplicate those memories here. MoRLATH. There are no such settings here. Where is Versailles but in France ? Where does the air so serve as a background as in France ? It is a part of the texture. The French race know how to handle air ; they combine it with nature. Do you remember the fields behind the park, where no one but horsemen ever came, and the country toward Poissy, which might have been a hundred miles from Paris, so quaint had the landscape remained ? Versailles was ours, for winter frightened all others away while treacherously showing us her concessions to spring. At sunset on the plateau before the palace one is in the presence of the elements at peace. Eternity dwells there. THE POWER OF MEMORIES 301 Few have looked out on to the forbidden park at night when the crisp moonlight infants caverns of shade under the branches ; we have. We have seen the same moonlight dancing with dead leaves in the marble-floored court whose walls resemble those of a ballroom unroofed to receive the guest. We have seen a great silence over that marvellous relic ; its domain belongs to night and the moon and winter. Jeanne. I remember also the Restaurant Chinois in the Bois where we dined, and then we kissed each other wandering among the trees. MoRLATH. The Luxembourg was ours, too. No one has ever been in the Luxembourg gardens ; it belongs to us, because no one ever saw it as did we. Jeanne. The Cafe in the rue d'Hauteville — but why do we reminisce, Morlath ? [She rises and goes to put her arms about him. Those are adornments of our life which we will wear inwardly for, ever. During this interim I also have played only with them, but now we are to recom- mence everything, and it will be doubly brilliant. So this wiU be our home. {She looks around the room) And here we will know the full glory of life — and of love. Morlath {she bends over him), let me hear you say-T-you have hardly said it yet. You have not changed ? Morlath {earnestly). Jeanne, I love you ! I love you as I did at first. {With sincerity.) I love you ! Jeanne {moving away with a sigh). If father had only waited. {Brightening) Do not let us think any more of the past, for the joy of it is as sharp-edged as its pain. Say with me, " Now it is going to begin again and continue for ever, as before." Renewal is 302 THE POWER OF MEMORIES true bliss ; it is expectant of new experiences. Memory of past pleasures dims the present ; of past sorrow, saddens it. MoRLATH. Intuition gains this over reason : that it is more fearless. Jeanne. What do you mean ? MoRLATH (rising). Nothing, nothing. Have you finished ? Jeanne. Quite. It was very good. Come and sit with me before the fire as we used to sit. [She sits down on the couch ; Morlath remains near the table, however. It seemed so strange when I came through Paris, on my way here from Chalons, to be no longer at Sevres — to be an English subject. I shall never want to go back. You will succeed now in your work, and I intend to work, too, so that we can be independent some day. Then we can go to the country, and you can resume your music. Perhaps you will want to go to Paris. We will have children then. To-morrow will be my first morning here. I am going to make this room much prettier if you like. [Morlath grows more and more moody. Morlath. That wiU be difficult. Jeanne. You will see. (Turning to look at him.) Come here beside me. Morlath ! Have I done any- thing ? Why are you so quiet and cold all of a sudden ? I must have displeased you. Morlath. Displeased me ? Do not be silly, Jeanne. Who could be rhapsodic in a room like this ? Jeanne. Then we must find a more genial one, where I can offer hospitality to your friends. I want you to be able to see a great deal of your friends. THE POWER OF MEMORIES 303 MoRLATH {quickly). That reminds me that I want you to meet one of them now — Vivian Gable, y^ou remember I wrote you about him ? Jeanne. But, Morlath, our first night together ! Do not let us infringe upon it by acknowledging even the existence of other people. Let me have you for myself to-night ! Let us be alone as we used to be on the rue d'Assas. Morlath. I promised to call him in for a moment ; his room is just across the hall. He will not stay long. Jeanne (rising and going to him). Morlath, there is something the matter. I have offended you in some way ; you have never been like this before. Do not let us start out with a misunderstanding ; if I am to blame, you must tell me, so that I can retrieve the fault. Morlath. Let the matter lie, Jeanne. Explana- tions only aggravate matters. I say I love you ; I love you more deeply than ever before. Jeanne. Then why do you act so strangely ? Why have you suddenly retired into yourself ? Do you no longer trust me ? Morlath. We cannot always go on as we did at first. The solidity of our relations demands temper- ance. Jeanne. You are evading me ; tell me the truth, Morlath. [There is a pause. Morlath (brutally). Very well ; you wish to know the truth ? You will be none the happier for it. Jeanne (in alarm). You frighten me ! Morlath. I said I loved you more deeply than ever, and it is true. But I hate you as I never hated before in all my life of hatred. 304 THE POWER OF MEMORIES Jeanne. Morlath ! MoRLATH. I love you simply because my love was and is true ; it will grow stronger every day. I hate you because you are destroying — ^have already half destroyed — the only happiness in my life. You know what it has been : a venomous resistance against circumstances. Those months with you in Paris were a taste of paradise which flared blindingly across my soul in contrast to the murky stagnation which had inhabited it. Neither art nor thought nor life had ever given me what I received then. To an intelligent spirit which always searches for love and expression, memories are the only life. Souvenirs of existed moments print themselves red-hot on the quivering consciousness and grow into marvellous structures which encase the soul with pavilions of marble and gold. The world becomes imbued with mystic qualities when it stages those moments that become souvenirs, and its aspect is rich with details that fatten the sensibilities. In memory is the only true life, for memories are the test of the true moments of life. To gather them into an organic form renders one master of one's own existence, and founds the base of individuality. Memories are a refuge from the tortures of the present ; they alone are intense with significance. They alone belong utterly to one and are incapable of giving disillusionment ; on the con- trary their power increases with time. They never disappoint. They offer unfailing glamour to a process which is only too ready to inspire ennui and despair. They are tried realities, not untried phantoms which under the guise of idealism come to make life hideous with a mockery of life. Idealism constructs a lie to hide the ugliness of life and in so doing neglects to THE POWER OF MEMORIES 305 make life itself lovely. You speak of hope and desire. In the very words you are a coward, for you slur over the present with false dreams, druggishly — dreams which evaporate and are not, in the manner of opium worlds. Instead of this weak doping of oneself with hope and idealism, one should be working valiantly to make life more lovely, so that it may become a solid thing of beauty which may grow. The idealist de- stroys the beauty of life. The power of memories creates it. We do not know what is to come, but we possess the past, and only the beautiful past has the power to endure. I have forgotten the details of the bitter part of my life, but each fibre of the lovely part is known to me. I tell you memories are all ; they are pain and joy and beauty and truth. Everything else is ephemeral. Jeanne. Morlath, Morlath ! This may be true ! Yet how — ^how am I destroying your happiness ? Morlath. You are destroying my memories. You are the only person who could do so, because you made them for me. You created those months in Paris for me, and about you have formed my memories — the only memories I possess, the only happiness that is mine. Jeanne. Then Morlath. How are you doing it ? Do you suppose that you are the same person as she who glorified my life ? Can you believe that you, Jeanne Esbly, crouching on that chair, are the same being who wanders through the chambers of my memories clothed in violet mists ? No, I have not idealised you in my mind. I have not formed a falsely-divine image of you in my thoughts ; you were divine then, and since then my memories have built a divine u 3o6 THE POWER OF MEMORIES setting for you to inhabit. For eight months you have lived in that setting where I left you ; my souvenirs of you have kept you fresh. I stood before that door half an hour ago, expecting you to step out of the setting ; when you appeared you were stripped of it, not alive with it. I was not disillusioned or disappointed or shocked ; you simply were not the same person who lived in my memories. You are the same Jeanne ; I love you doubly for the symbolism you are of my memories, but I cannot confound you with them ! Jeanne. Then let me Hve aside from them — ^below them ! MoRLATH. You do Kve aside from them, and my love for you insists on your living beside them, because you symbolise them ; but, by Heaven, you are de- stroying those memories, and you cannot help destroy- ing them. It is inevitable ; every hour that you hve kills one of them. If I did not love you, you could not destroy them, but the things you do and are now obliterate them by mere force. I said my memories were my only happiness ; they are greater than my love for you. I hate you. I cannot rid myself of you although you torture me. Before me is the death of all my happiness ; you will make my Hfe as hideous as it was before simply because I am weak enough to allow your power of love to give you a weapon. Do you see how I hate you ? Jeanne. But our love will act to form new memories ; in building a new past you will learn to hope ! MoRLATH. What will that new past be, vntb. all our love, when it watches over the destruction of the old ? I tell you nothing can replace my old memories. Jeanne. O Morlath ! The golden future is to me THE POWER OF MEMORIES 307 so much more dazzling than the gilded past ! Let me destroy it all with a single blow, so that we may begin again to build our memories and to find happiness in love rather than in ghosts of love. You are wrong — you are wrong ! It is love, not hope or memory, that is happiness ! Love is the only thing of beauty. You say that existence of our love formed your memories ; then those memories are but a faint reflection of that love, and they have died while our love has lived, and will for ever live. Your souvenirs are of things that have happened, but love never happened any more than infinity happened. It is not bound by such limits ; it is eternal and ever- growing. Your souvenirs are ephemeral and for ever shrinking. Let me destroy them totally — I ask nothing more. Let me crush them, for they are dangerous, and will hurt us. Let me show you that love is supreme, and that as it gave you happiness it can give you divineness. MoRLATH. Like all women, you believe that love is the greatest power on earth. Perhaps it is because it is your only power ; but men have other forces than love, and most men have greater forces than love. It is very pretty to talk about. Love is only one of the actors in evolution, however, and in my evolution it is less than memory. Jeanne. You are wrong. There is no greater force in the mind than love. A year ago you had no memories ; that power in you then cannot be very great. You are deceived by the novelty of it. Be- lieve me, Morlath, love is the enduring power, and it is more beautiful than any other. Morlath. A year ago I had no love. • Jeanne. But the love came before the memories. 3o8 THE POWER OF MEMORIES and is stronger for it. I cannot let you wound yourself, Morlath. I love you ; I want you to love me, so that there is nothing else but love in you. Look at me ! Take my hands ; see, I am real. I love you, and there is no place for such things as thought in love. Do not think, do not remember ; there is no evolution in them any more than there is in blind faith or in blinded hope. The only evolution is through love, Morlath ; everything else stands still. Love me ! You are made to love and to be loved. You have need of it ; we all have need of it. We become degenerate if we are not loved. Those who do not love are vmfit, and in their abnormal erring are cut down to give room for healthy species. I have not expatriated myself easily. I have not reposed the future of my life entirely on yours without having had an utter love for you. My life is yours ; do not maim it. I yielded all ; I have given everything of me to you ; I am your possession; my whole existence has flown into yours. I do not want to order anything of your life, but I beg you to treasure it, and to treasure me, and to value my love. I came here to love you ; I came here to make you love me, and I will die sooner than to allow any rival to my love, much less an intellectual rival, nourishing itself at the expense of my love. I mean to kill those memories, Morlath, for they are my rivals. I will not tolerate them. It may cause you pain and destroy your happiness, but I am a woman, and my first desire is love at any cost. If you suffer it will not decrease the power of your love, and I mean to fight for that alone. Morlath. So it is war ? Then my hatred of you is met by your hatred of me ? You call that love ! You sing the praise of something that is going to THE POWER OF MEMORIES 309 torture us both and leave us weak with battling, empty of joy. So this is the creed of Christianity ! You have taught me to despise this thing you call love. You imagine that any good is to come of killing whole parts of each other when science proclaims that through pain there is no growth ? Christianity in- sists on pain ; it also insists on love. Well, you can preach both of these principles until you are dumb ; I will not listen to you. I have no desire to suffer, and no longing to replace the glories of my memories with some turbulent, unstable emotion. You say you are going to destroy my memories ; a moment ago my love for you would have given you the opportunity, but now that you are becoming my confessed enemy, my love is crushed. You will not be able to meet your rivals ; I will protect them and live with them and be happy. I have come horribly near to a fatal mistake, but, thank God, I have seen my folly before it was too late. You can go back to Paris, to Sevres, to whatever you like, and I wiU see that you lack nothing, but you shall not live with me. My memories are dearer than my love, and now that you force me to choose between them, I make my choice. I do not care to offer combat to you. Go away from me ! Jeanne {screaming^. Morlath ! [She falls on the ground, sobbing hysterically, and clasps his knees. Morlath ! No, no, no ! I did not mean it ! I only meant to offer the proper tactics to bring you to your senses. No ! I do not want to fight you ; I do not want to destroy a thing. I wiU not even destroy your memories, as you feared I wo\ald unconsciously. I will only give you the love you demand of me to 3IO THE POWER OF MEMORIES meet your love. I will not exist even beside or aside from your memories. I will be a thing touching only one little surface of your life. I will not be an individual — only you cannot send me away — ^you cannot banish me ! It would kill me ! I cannot leave you, Morlath. Let me be your dog, your slave, only you must let me be near you. Morlath. It is too late. You have used too many tactics. What you said before Was said with the same conviction as what you say now. I do not want you ; I do not want even the servility which your lack of self-respect allows you to offer. Unless I have you the natural Jeanne who came in at that door, I want you in no other form ; and I have said that I have seen the madness of wanting even the natural Jeanne. I do not want you ! I hate you ! Jeanne. I will not go — I will not go — I will not gal Let me be near you. O Morlath, I love you ! Let me be always near you. Morlath. WiU you go ? Jeanne. No, no — never ! You can kiU me if you like, or whip me, or torture me, but I wiU not go. Morlath. Very well ; if you wiU not go, I wiU. Jeanne (clinging to him). Oh ! Do you wish to murder me ? Listen to me — stay with me — ^you are killing me ! Morlath (throwing her off violently). I am going ! I loathe you ! I would kill you ! \He -picks up his hat and goes toward the door. Jeanne (fialf rising and pulling herself toward him). Morlath ! Morlath ! (She laughs.) Come ! Let us go to the P6che Miraculeuse ! The sunset is waiting for us ! THE POWER OF MEMORIES 311 MoRLATH {laughing scornfully). Good-bye ! \He of ens the door and goes out. Jeanne stares at the door for a moment, and then falls unconscious along the -floor. There is a long -pause. The fire splutters, and the petals drop from one of the peonies. Outside a bell strikes. The night has sickened, and rain can be heard pattering against the window panes. Footsteps pass in the street below. Then Jeanne slowly rises. She passes her hand over her brow dazedly, looks about the still room, and seeing the table, approaches it. She sets to work, mechanically clearing away the service. {Curtain) END OF THE PLAY Printed by Baixantyne, Hanson 6* Go. at Paul's Work, Edinburgh BY THE SAME AUTHOR DRIFTWOOD Crown 8vo. Cloth, 3s. 6d net. Under the heading of Driftwood, Mr. Kenneth Weeks has gathered together more than a score of short stories, fables, and essays, and " An Historical Sketch." The last-named deals with the discovery and colonisation of North America — the story of which is familiar to few except such as have studied the Icelandic sagas. In 1000 Leif Ericson landed in New England ; seven years later Greenland was again deserted. Mr. Weeks traces in a masterly way the amazing growth of the United States. Of the American plutocracy his criticism is severe. " Millionaires are modern. Men with millions are not. From the dregs of Europe a race has swarmed in the west, gathering huge fortunes and returning in one generation to assume a false position in the east and in Europe, which they are unable to maintain with money alone. Ostentation, combined with poor manners, has been their weapon. Seconded by Jews and the Irish, they have successfully obscured what small proportion of gentlemen still live on the continent of America." " The Inca's Seal " might have been written by E. A. Poe. With the rest of the collection, by reason of its miscellaneous nature, we are unable to deal in detail. Drift- wood is certainly a book worth buying and putting on one's shelf for reperusal. The Westminster Review.