6 H l,,j 
 
 
 
 l-t t \/«U . fi/hJ 
 
Dialogues of the Day 
 
 Edited by OSWALD CRAWFURD 
 
 AND WRITTEN BY 
 
 Anthony Hope, Mrs. Alfred Hunt, Mrs. Crackanthorpe, 
 
 Miss Marion Hepworth Dixon, Mrs. Hugh Bell, 
 
 Luke Miller, Mrs. Ernest Leverson, Miss Gertrude Kingston, 
 
 A. N. Stainer, Mrs. Fogg-Elliott, 
 
 Miss Clara Savile Clarke, Mr. Squire Sprigge, 
 
 Miss Violet Hunt, 
 
 and the Editor. 
 
 Mitb numerous full*page illustrations. 
 
 LONDON: CHAPMAN & HALL, Ld. 
 
 All Bights "Reserved. 
 
 0^] 
 
PRINTED IN HOLLAND. 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 Of the many literary methods of fiction which have 
 been popular in this country, the method which takes 
 the form of written speech — of dialogue, without admix- 
 ture of description or of narrative — is at present the 
 least in vogue and certainly the least popular. 
 
 Such a work is of course nothing more nor less than 
 a play, and a play in its ordinary established form is 
 not, as a rule, intended to be literature: it is not meant 
 to be read for mere pleasure. It is only a convenient 
 stage document published for the use of the actor, the 
 prompter and the stage-manager. When a play is ad- 
 dressed to the reader, the reader has usually a heavy 
 half hour before him. 
 
 Everyone knows that play reading is an art acquired 
 with difficulty and practised without pleasure, so beset 
 is the path of the reader with interruptions in the way 
 of stage directions expressed in dry and technical terms. 
 
 
II PREFACE. 
 
 Nevertheless those of our grandmothers who died 
 full of years in the sixties, have told us that when they 
 were girls, plays were the light literature of their day. 
 The age of prudery (which we have since so entirely 
 survived) had not begun, and the good, innocent girls 
 of the period — our grandmothers and grand aunts, con- 
 temporaries of Pitt, Nelson and Wellington — read the 
 Restoration comedies of Wycherly and Farquhar, and 
 of even plainer writers, and talked with their partners 
 at routs and assemblies quite unblushingly of the doings 
 of Mr. Limberham, Captain Plume and Sergeant Kite, 
 and of the Ladies Froth and Pliable. 
 
 The comedies which contain these Dramatis Personam, 
 and less worthy and witty plays than these, were sold 
 in little sixpenny volumes and were the light reading 
 of eighty years ago. Happy the bride who among her 
 wedding presents got a complete set of Bell's British 
 Theatre. 
 
 The beaux and belles of that time had learnt to read 
 between the lines in their play books. They knew by 
 long practice how to play the literary accompaniment 
 which the composer, in the shorthand of playwriting, 
 
PREFACE. Ill 
 
 intentionally omits. They were such constant playgoers 
 that they were able, no doubt, to use the written play 
 less as literature than as an interpretation to them ol 
 what the play might be when it should come to them 
 across the footlights. 
 
 They seem too to have appreciated and apprehended 
 downright wit and humour more keenly than their 
 descendants. Now, wit and fun in a written play are 
 revealed even to the most cursory reader who cares 
 for these things. 
 
 These various considerations were before me three 
 or four years ago when, having literary charge of an 
 important newspaper, it was thought desirable to hit 
 upon some untried way of making fiction, in its shorter 
 and lighter forms, attractive to our readers. I remem- 
 bered how the simple girls and their lovers of a pre- 
 vious generation had loved to read good plays with 
 nothing but neat speeching and pleasantry and wit and 
 the story of the piece to recommend them, and I de- 
 termined to see what could be done with modern 
 readers in the same way. In the untried sea of poten- 
 tial English authorship there are always good fish to 
 
IV PREFACE. 
 
 be caught and I resolved to angle for them with a 
 prospectus. Several very fine captures were made al- 
 most immediately, whose names will be found on the 
 title page of this volume. Without their co-operation 
 the scheme would have ended badly. As it was, it 
 was most successfully carried out. 
 
 Our prospectus asked for a very short story which 
 was to be told in dialogue, virtually a very short play 
 which should be without the drawback of technical 
 stage directions, which should do without narrative, 
 description, or reflection from the author, and should 
 possess an attractive setting forth, due development of 
 character and incident, embroidered upon a ground of 
 true comedy, and a final satisfactory culmination and 
 solution. The piece moreover was to be set forth lumi- 
 nously and pleasantly, without hitch and with all possible 
 literary art. This was the simple, easy literary task 
 proposed to half a dozen young writers on 'Black and 
 White' some two or three years ago, and if the casual 
 reader thinks the words 'simple and easy' are not 
 used above in an ironical sense, let him try his hand 
 at a dialogue on these lines himself. 
 
PREFACE. V 
 
 On behalf of the writers of the pieces contained in 
 this volume I should like to say something more. No 
 practised writer will really think that to tell a short 
 story in dialogue, and to make it interesting and dra- 
 matic without any help from narrative, analysis of 
 character, or description, is an easy thing. It is an 
 extremely hard thing to do, but the particular hardship 
 upon the author of this kind of work is, that he meets 
 with a good deal more than his just share of criticism. 
 
 A poem, an article, a sermon, or a three volume 
 novel may pass without every reader pulling it to pieces 
 and exposing its weak points, for all readers are not 
 brought up to achieve these various forms of literary 
 art; but we compose our first dialogue usually before 
 we are three years of age, and are all of us well 
 practised authors of voluminous unpublished works in 
 this style before we come to our teens and to discretion. 
 
 What everyone has practised all his life long everyone 
 thinks he can criticise, and the point I want to make 
 in favour of the dialogue- writer is that what seems often 
 very good talk when it is spoken with all the advan- 
 tages coming from intonation and gesture and expression, 
 
VI PREFACE. 
 
 may as likely, when it comes to be plainly set down in 
 print and has lost all these aforesaid aids to eloquence, 
 to be very poor stuff indeed. 
 
 The author therefore has to be a good deal cleverer 
 when he addresses a blank sheet of paper than when 
 he is talking to a sympathetic companion over the 
 dinner table or across a fan. 
 
 The poor dialogue-author, then, should be borne with 
 rather than over-criticised, for the accessories of written 
 dialogues, an author's pens, his inkstand and his 
 blotting pad, are not inspiriting companions and do 
 nothing at all to help him to be wise or witty. 
 
 Almost all the dialogues in this volume have been 
 selected from those that have appeared in the series, 
 still continuing and entitled 'The World we Live in', 
 in that excellent illustrated paper, ' Black and White \ 
 
 A second series of pieces from the same source and 
 with the same title of 'Dialogues of the Day' will 
 follow the present volume. 
 
 Oswald Crawfurd. 
 
WJ ! 
 Mrs. Murray: "It seems only yesterday that we paid them. Doesn't it, Harry?' 
 
A DAY OF RECKONING. 
 
 By Anthony Hope. 
 
 HENRY MURRAY. MRS. HENRY MURRAY. 
 
 Scene : — Mr. Murray's study. Mr. Murray sits at the writing-table ; 
 Mrs. Murray sits by him. She holds a file of papers in her lap. 
 Time : after breakfast. 
 
 Mrs. Murray {sighing) : It seems only yesterday 
 that we paid them before, doesn't it, Harry? How the 
 months come round! 
 
 Mr. Murray: Come, Nellie, let's get to work. Are 
 they all there — yours and mine? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Yes, dear — all mine are, anyhow. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Well, you know, you kept back 
 Madame Chiffon's last time. 
 
 Mrs. Murray {with dignity) : I overlooked Chiffon's 
 account, Henry; you deliberately concealed Snaffle's. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Oh, nonsense; it was a mere trifle, 
 and — anyhow, Nellie, we agreed to say nothing more 
 about it. 
 
4 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: About either of them, Harry. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Well, all right. I'm on the square 
 this time. Fire away, Nellie! 
 
 Mrs. Murray {taking first bill off file): Mr. Bull, 
 butcher, thirty-seven — eleven — six. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Hum. Good appetites in this house. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Sands, grocer, nine — three — five and 
 a ha'penny. I'm sure that's low enough, Harry. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Let's see. {Inspects it) One hundred 
 and thirty-two cakes blacklead! Now, what on earth — 
 
 Mrs. Murray: If you don't wish the stoves black- 
 leaded, Henry, of course I can 
 
 Mr. Murray: Oh, all right; 132 cakes blacklead — 
 Next, Nellie. 
 
 Mrs. Murray : Chiffon— thirty-two — fifteen — six. 
 
 Mr. Murray {throwing down his pen): I paid her 
 last week. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Last quarter dear. This is this 
 quarter's. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Thirty-two pounds in three months! 
 Well, if I spent that on my tailor I should be 
 ashamed- — 
 
A Day of Reckoning. 5 
 
 Mrs. Murray {hastily)-. Is that down, Harry? What's 
 the next? Oh, here! Wilson — thirty -two — seventeen — 
 Who's Wilson, Harry? It's one of yours. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Oh, that's all right. Wilson's very 
 reasonable. Go on! 
 
 Mrs. Murray: But who is Wilson? 
 
 Mr. Murray: Hang it, I can't go about in fturis — ■ 
 Wilson's the tailor. Do let us go on. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: [smiling triumphantly): I don't want 
 to stop, dear. Does a coat cost ? 
 
 Mr. Murray: I must be in the City by twelve. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Well then! Tucker and Frills — nine- 
 teen — three — and tenpence. 
 
 Mr. Murray: That's a stiff item, what's that for? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Oh, lace and trimmings, and things. 
 
 Mr. Murray (gravely) : Once for all, Nellie, I must 
 impress on you that I am a man of moderate means, 
 and 
 
 Mrs. Murray (gently): It's all for the children — at 
 least, almost all, Harry. 
 
 Mr. Murray: The children! You could clothe 'em 
 in buttons for half the money. 
 
6 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: How you talk, Harry! The poor 
 things must be decently dressed. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Well, we must pray for a move in 
 the City. What's next, Nellie? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Oates and Grain 
 
 Mr. Murray: Oh, that's all right — that's for the 
 horses. How much? 
 
 Mrs. Murray {solemnly) : Fifty-nine — nineteen — eleven. 
 Henry, how do you suppose ? 
 
 Mr. Murray: Glad it's not more; I've got that down. 
 What next? 
 
 Mrs. Murray (resignedly): If it had been only the 
 
 children now! But the horses of course ! Oh, I 
 
 don't complain. (Takes next bill.) Healy and Sons — 
 eleven pounds, six shillings. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Healy? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: My boots, dear — three pair and one 
 of evening shoes. 
 
 Mr. Murray (with affected anxiety): I hope your 
 boots are comfortable, Nellie? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Oh, he fits me capitally. 
 
A Day of Reckoning. 7 
 
 Mr. Murray: I mean, if he doesn't, go to some one 
 who isn't so ridiculously cheap. 
 
 Mrs. Murray {coldly)'. I don't see any fun in that, 
 Henry. Shall we go on? 
 
 Mr. Murray: By all means. 
 
 Mrs. Murray : Boozle Brothers — a hundred and three 
 pounds. A hundred and three ! 
 
 Mr. Murray: Well, it was about time we laid down 
 a little wine. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: A hundred and three pounds for ! 
 
 One hundred and ! 
 
 Mr. Murray: Really, Ellen, if you are not a little 
 reasonable 
 
 Mrs. Murray : How you can reconcile it to your 
 conscience, Henry, to spend so much on wine and 
 whisky when I and the children 
 
 Mr. Murray: You forget yourself, my dear! 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Oh, I know it's no use! Here's the 
 next — Bloomer and Roots — twenty-five — thirteen — nine. 
 
 Mr. Murray: What for? 
 
 Mrs. Murray {shortly)-. Flowers. 
 
8 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mr. Murray : Waste of money. Go on. 
 
 Mrs. Murray : You might be civil, Henry. Nicotine 
 Freres — seventeen pounds. I don't know that name. 
 
 Mr. Murray: That's correct; they're very respectable 
 people. 
 
 Mrs. Murray {scanning the bill) : Hum ! Importers 
 of cigars. I thought so. How selfish men are! 
 
 Mr. Murray: Anything else? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Bonbon and Co., forty-one pounds, 
 three and six; suppers, dear, and ices, and so on. 
 Oh, and here's Blasts for the band — fifteen guineas 
 
 Mr. Murray {ostentatiously adding up): Forty-one 
 and fifteen — fifty-six. Fifty-six pounds for feeding and 
 amusing a set of idiots for one evening! 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Two evenings, Henry. You might 
 at least be accurate. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Idiots of men and frights of women! 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Your friends chiefly and their wives. 
 I try to maintain your position in society, Henry, at 
 the smallest possible expense; and all the thanks I 
 receive 
 
 Mr. Murray: Oh, do go on, there's a good woman* 
 
A Day of Reckoning. 9 
 
 Mrs. Murray: The rest are just sundries — little trifles. 
 
 Mr. Murray {suspiciously)-. Trifles? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Yes, dear. There's no use going- 
 through them. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Well, what do they come to? 
 
 Mrs. Murray : Oh, well — you know, Harry, how 
 little things mount up — they 
 
 Mr. Murray: Well, how much? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: In a house one wants so many things, 
 nothings in themselves, but — Yes, I've added them up, 
 dear. 
 
 Mr. Murray : Do come to the point, Nellie. How much ? 
 
 Mrs. Murray {timidly)-. Well, Harry dear, as near 
 as I bring it, it's — it's ninety-seven — six and three. 
 
 Mr. Murray {with decisio7i } shutting the inkstand) : I 
 don't pay that, Ellen. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: I'm very sorry, dear, but 
 
 Mr. Murray: I don't pay it! Hang it! We must 
 draw the line somewhere. 
 
 Mrs. Murray : The things have been ordered. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Can't help that. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: And supplied, dear. 
 
io Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mr. Murray: I don't care! 
 
 Mrs. Murray {feeling for her pocket handkerchief) : 
 I suppose I shall have to go to prison! Oh, I wish — 
 how I wish I'd married a nice man ! 
 
 {Mr. Murray whistles a fezv bars of a popular tune.) 
 
 Mrs. Murray: You don't seem to care what your 
 wife suffers, Henry? 
 
 Mr. Murray: Haven't got the money — that's all. 
 Lo ok here, Nellie ! I — I practise every kind of economy. 
 I cut down the stable bill 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Fifty-nine. 
 
 Mr. Murray : And the wine bill 
 
 Mrs. Murray: A hundred and three. 
 
 Mr. Murray : Women have no more head for business 
 than an owl. Give them votes, indeed ! I think I see 
 myself! 
 
 Mrs. Murray: I don't want a vote, Harry, but {a 
 sod) I don't want to go to prison either, and — why, 
 here's another bill! 
 
 Mr. Murray {with the calm of desperation): Oh, go on. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: The Restaurant Magnifique — to dinner 
 for seventeen persons and wine — thirty-eight pounds, 
 
A Day of Reckoning. 1 1 
 
 seventeen. Oh, there's some mistake. I've never been 
 to the place. I never heard of it. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Then that's all, is it? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: But this, Harry! Surely this is wrong? 
 Henry, you do not mean to tell me that you have 
 spent thirty-eight pounds at a — tavern? 
 
 Mr. Murray {feebly)-. Well, you see, Nellie dear, 
 when you went to your mother's I wanted a little 
 cheering up, so I asked a few fellows to drop in 
 
 Mrs. Murray: A few fellows? A few pigs! 
 
 Mr. Murray: Come, Nellie, when a fellow's wife 
 deserts 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Oh, nonsense, Henry. 
 
 Mr. Murray: I was so jolly lonely without you, 
 Nellie. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: I am not to be persuaded like that. 
 
 Mr. Murray: Honour bright I was, Nellie. {Mrs. 
 Murray shakes her head?) Oh, I say, Nellie, what was 
 that — er — that little item for — you know? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Sundries, Harry? 
 
 Mr. Murray: Yes, dear. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Ninety-seven — six 
 
i 2 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mr. Murray : Oh, call it ninety-eight. That's the lot. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Oh, Harry, you are a dear! Harry 
 I'm so sorry I was disagreeable. Of course, you were 
 right to have a few friends to cheer you up, dear. 
 There! I'm so glad the horrid things are done. 
 
 Mr. Murray: By Jove, so am I! After all, we don't 
 manage badly — do we? 
 
 Mrs. Murray : I think we are rather economical — at 
 least, I am! 
 
 Mr. Murray: Well, / never spend sixpence without 
 looking twice at it. Hullo! I must be off — five-and- 
 twenty past. 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Good-bye, dear. You will be a little 
 more careful in future, won't you? 
 
 Mr. Murray: I like that! If you were half 
 
 Mrs. Murray: There's the half-hour. Kiss me and 
 run! And, Harry, even if I do spend a little money 
 on dress, don't you think I look ? 
 
 Mr. Murray: And if I do give a dinner or two, 
 don't you think, Nellie ? 
 
 Mrs. Murray: Yes, dear, I do. (Mr. Murray departs 
 to catch his train.) 
 
A Day of Reckoning. 1 3 
 
 Mrs. Murray {gazing reflectively after him): Well, 
 I think I can manage a man. 
 
 Mr. Murray (as he gets into the train): With a 
 woman, you only want a little tact — that's all! 
 
Lady A. {to herself): "I didn't know Algy gambled.. How shocking of him! 
 I wish I could see more." 
 
THE BEAR AND THE LADY. 
 
 By Gertrude Kingston. 
 
 Scene : The private office of Messrs. Cameron, Cameron, and Co., 
 "outside" stockbrokers in the vicinity of the Temple. Messrs. Cameron, 
 Cameron, and Co., more properly speaking Mr. MacIvor, discovered 
 at the speaking-tube. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Who did you say wanted to see me? 
 
 Voice: A lady, sir; Mrs. White. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Show her up. 
 {Enter: Lady'Algy' Hassard, small, fair-haired, violet- 
 eyed, half-worldly, half-saintly expi'essio?t.) 
 
 Clerk {announces)'. Mrs. White! 
 
 Mr. MacIvor {advancing, bows her into chair by desk) : 
 You wish to open an account with us? 
 
 Lady A. {shyly): Yes — no — I mean — I'm not sure. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: To whose introduction do we owe the 
 pleasure of your visit, Mrs. White? 
 
 Lady A.: To no one. I came of my own accord. 
 
1 8 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 It is the first time I have ever been to an office of 
 this kind {looks round). 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Of course. I understand. 
 
 Lady A.: I saw a pamphlet of yours, "How to make 
 Money without Risk," and I 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: {anxious to help her embarrassment)-. 
 Of course. I understand. A great many ladies come 
 to us on the strength of that pamphlet. Times are 
 hard, and — husbands are — {hesitates for a word). 
 
 Lady A. {smiling)-. Hard-fisted. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Every transaction here is perfectly 
 confidential. You may depend upon that. Of course 
 you must not look for a very great profit. We do 
 not undertake to make hundreds into thousands, but 
 whether you confide £ 20 or £ 2,000 we will guarantee 
 to send you a little cheque each month through careful 
 speculation, and to keep you informed of these by 
 letter. 
 
 Lady A. {terrified): Oh, please don't! My husband 
 must not know he does not dream 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Precisely; and your dressmaker is 
 inexorable. Come, Mrs. White, look upon me as your 
 
The Bear and the Lady. 19 
 
 father confessor, who will show you a pleasant and 
 easy way out of your difficulty. 
 
 Lady A.: I wish you could! You see we get our 
 rents, or rather we dorDt get our rents from Ireland, 
 and so it is save, save, save! Al — . My husband wanted 
 all our ready money to start him as a bookmaker a 
 few months ago. ... I don't know that I ought to tell 
 you all this, but I want you to help me make some 
 money, for it isn't easy {the violet eyes filling with 
 tears) to dress myself and two growing boys on one 
 hundred pounds a year, and go everywhere properly 
 dressed. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor {moved by beauty in tears): Then the 
 bookmaking does not pay ? 
 
 Lady A.: I'm afraid not. Not yet. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Of course not! but "pulling" jockeys 
 and slippery courses do not enter into our system of 
 gambling, and if you will trust me with, say, a hundred 
 pounds to start — 
 
 Lady A.: A hundred pounds? I have only saved 
 £41 7s. 6d. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Well then, we will begin with £41 
 
20 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 ys. 6d. Believe me, it is safer in our hands than in 
 your husband's. 
 
 Lady A.: But you see he has only been at book- 
 making six months, and I could not expect him to make 
 any business pay the first year or two, could I? 
 
 Mr. MacIvor (shakes his head pityingly). 
 
 Lady A. : I suppose I must have patience, yet it does 
 seem such hard work for him, poor dear! He rarely 
 gets home before three or four in the morning. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor {looks at her sharply. To himself aside)'. 
 Four A.M. is uncommonly late for a club to close when 
 a man has a pretty wife at home. 
 
 Lady A. : He has still to make his connection, so he 
 meets the men he wants to see at the clubs 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Humph! 
 
 Lady A. : I thought if you showed me how to make 
 money without risk I need not ask Lord — Mr. White 
 when he is harassed and overworked. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: My dear Mrs. White, you were quite 
 right to come to us. Of course we shall not risk 
 everything trying to force a "coup" — a chance that 
 occurs once in many months 
 
The Bear and the Lady. 2 1 
 
 Lady A.: You won't lose it all, will you? 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Certainly not. You must therefore 
 be satisfied with small returns — for instance, to-day we 
 should advise you to sell Mexican railways. 
 
 Lady A. : Sell Mexican Railways ? But I have not 
 got any! 
 
 Mr. MacIvor : Precisely, you will acquire them next 
 week. They are falling. 
 
 Lady A.: I remember, though, my father lost a lot 
 of money, quite a fortune, in Mexico. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Indeed, but you will be a "Bear." 
 
 Lady A. (offended)'. I do not understand you. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: With your permission I will show you 
 our books. You will then more readily master our 
 simple system of profits. 
 
 Lady A. (pacified)-. Pray do not trouble. I rely im- 
 plicitly on your judgment. (Aside) I wonder if I ought 
 to trust him with all or only half? 
 
 Mr. MacIvor (returns with ledger)-. You will observe 
 we have many ladies' accounts here — need I tell you 
 we keep their secrets? Here, Mrs. White (running his 
 finger down a column with a foreign name at the top) 
 
22 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 we have a lady who on January last, the 13th, sent 
 us £ 150. On the 27th of that same month we sent 
 her a cheque for £ 15, clear profit on our operations. 
 She was "a bear" in "Berthas," you know. 
 
 Lady A. {bored but affecting interest) : Ye-e-s. {Catches 
 sight of a familiar name on opposite page. She reads. 
 Aside). 
 
 "Lord Algernon Hassard, In account with Cameron, 
 Cameron, and Co." I didn't know Algy gambled. 
 How shocking of him! I wish I could see a little 
 more. "Lord A. H. sold £20,000 Berthas at 162? 
 £ 32,450." " Lord A. H. bought £ 20,000 Berthas at 159 
 £31,800." I suppose Algy is a "bear" too — if I only 
 knew what that meant. And "Berthas" too? 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: Here the Comtesse had a little run 
 of bad luck, but by delicate handling we managed to 
 send her a little 
 
 Lady A. (aside. Still reading): I wish I could under- 
 stand those horrid figures. Oh, here it is! "November 
 24th. Cheque sent Lord A. H. £ 2862 10s." 
 
 Mr. MacIvor: (closing the booh): So you see for 
 yourself, my dear Mrs. White, the Comtesse has in a 
 
The Bear and the Lady. 23 
 
 short time doubled her capital! {Telephone rings. Mr. 
 Maclvor is called to the telephoned) What? Really! I'll 
 see. (Goes to tape.) 
 
 Lady A. (aside): Why, in September Algy had 
 actually £ 500 of his own, and he refused to pay Ma- 
 dame Felix for my drawing-room gown, when he him- 
 self made me go to present that horrid American 
 woman. Why was he so anxious the American woman 
 should be presented? In October he said he couldn't 
 pay the doctor's bill for Hughie's measles, and when 
 he dined out at the club, I took tea with the children 
 in order to save up for it, and all the time I had not 
 gone to Royat because he wanted to go to Folkestone 
 with its horrid old Leas and Stock Exchange crowd, 
 and that dull American woman for company. Dull! he 
 doesn't think her dull though. I — begin — to see. 
 
 Mr. MacIvor (returns from reading tape): Then we 
 are to have the pleasure of seeing your name amongst 
 our clients. I fear (with a sweet smile) that it must 
 be a ready money transaction, as you would, I know, 
 prefer not to give references, owing to its confidential 
 nature. Upon our discretion as I have said, you can 
 
24 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 absolutely rely. No questions are answered, no secrets 
 divulged. 
 
 Lady A. {risi?ig with determination)'. Thank you, Mr. 
 Cameron, but I think, after all, I will first ask my 
 husband about — {hesitates) — about the money. "No 
 secrets divulged." {Aside.) I am not so sure about 
 that {Exit Lady ' Algy ' with a set look on her face.) 
 
 Mr. MacIvor {looking after her) : Pretty woman, but 
 no pluck. Wants to ask her husband after all. Of 
 course, she didn't give her right name! 
 
THE END OF THE BEGINNING. 
 
 By Violet Hunt. 
 
 MAURICE PALMER. MAISIE PALMER. MRS. SEPTIMUS LATHAM. 
 
 Drawing-room in Mrs. Palmer's house. Five o'clock. Enter Mrs. Septimus 
 
 Latham brusquely. 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Only a moment, Maisie! Look here, 
 what arrangements have you made for Henley? 
 
 Maisie {languidly')'. None; except not to go. 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Nonsense. Why? 
 
 Maisie: I'm tired of the noise and the glare if it's 
 fine, and the mackintoshes and umbrellas if it isn't. 
 I have got invitations for the "Isthmian" and for 
 Phillis Court, and I have declined them both. Maurice 
 is going one day, I think, in his American canoe. He 
 has arranged to take a man. 
 
 Mrs. Latham (with a sigh of relief) : That's all right ; 
 he's provided for, then. Now, listen, Maisie, I want 
 you to come on our house boat for the three days. 
 You will, won't you, dear? 
 
28 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Maisie: But why are you glad my husband is pro- 
 vided for? 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Because if not I should have been 
 obliged to invite him, and frankly, I don't want to. 
 You must forgive me, dear, for saying so, but you are 
 ever so much nicer without your husband. Every 
 woman is, except me, and mine is in such excellent 
 training it doesn't matter. Maurice would look after 
 you — and tell you you were catching cold — and spoil 
 your stories; in short, he would be there! We want 
 to be jolly, and impromptu, and informal, don't you see? 
 A woman's husband, however charming — and yours is 
 delightful — ought always to be "in the other boat" or 
 not there at all. Husbands should be like State car- 
 riages, produced on State occasions only. 
 
 Maisie: Who is your party? 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Very small. The Marsdens, and little 
 Edie Gray and the man she wants to marry, and Mrs. 
 Colville, the pretty widow, and St. John Lascelles, and 
 Jimmy, and me and you — and my husband. 
 
 Maisie: There are two husbands there — Mrs Marsden's 
 and yours. 
 
The End of the Beginning. 29 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Oh, poor Marsden, he's the husband 
 of her youth, she just takes him about for the sake 
 of old times, and as for Seppy — he doesn't count. He 
 is not a great talker at any time, and the best hand 
 at brewing claret-cup and American drinks I know. I 
 couldn't fancy a Henley without him. 
 
 Maisie {laughing): Like the Lord Mayor's State 
 Coach, you take him out once a year. Let me see, 
 Polly — ahem! — I don't care much for St. John 
 Lascelles. 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Don't you? Then you can have Jimmy, 
 and the widow will hate you. Not admire Mr. Las- 
 celles! Everybody wants him for Henley, and he 
 admires you tremendously. 
 
 Maisie: Oh, that's why you want me, dear. But I 
 have not the least intention of flirting with him, so I 
 had better not come and spoil your party, and it isn't 
 Mrs. Colville who would object to my flirting with 
 Jimmy — would she? 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Goose! Nobody wants you to flirt, 
 only to " rain influence with your bright eyes, " and 
 make Lascelles tell his best stories and sing to us in 
 
30 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 the evening's. Why should you flirt with him, he's 
 not half so good-looking as Maurice? 
 
 Maisie: Do you admire Maurice? 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Of course I do; and so did you when 
 you first married. There never was such a pair of 
 love-birds. You were so devoted to each other, it was 
 quite ridiculous. 
 
 Maisie (with conviction)'. Too ridiculous! 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Oh, you're all right now. The worst 
 cases settle down soonest. . . . Well, you'll come — 
 how prettily you've done your hair! 
 
 Maisie: Do you like it like this? 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Yes. (Jerking her head in the di- 
 rection of Mr. Palmers study). Do you think Maurice 
 will mind — really? 
 
 Maisie: No — yes — I daresay he will — a little. 
 
 Mrs. Latham: Oh, my dear, it's too absurd! He 
 ought not to want to deprive you of a little innocent 
 pleasure. It isn't as if he never went anywhere by 
 himself. I saw him last night at the Savoy Restaur- 
 ant, supping after the play, with the Bonds, enjoying 
 himself hugely, and the life of the party. 
 
The End of the Beginning. 31 
 
 Maisie: I know; I made him go alone. I had a 
 headache. 
 
 Mrs. Latham : Well, don't have a headache on Tuesday. 
 Good-bye. I've no time. Give my love to Maurice. 
 Do you know, he came and had a quiet cup of tea 
 with me a day or two ago, and was perfectly charming ? 
 
 Maisie {sarcastically): He is nicer without his wife, 
 too! Good-bye, dear, and thank you; I won't come 
 for three days, but I'll come for two. 
 
 Mrs. Latham: And save your soul alive? Nonsense, 
 have the courage of your opinions. Come all three. (Goes.) 
 {Enter Maurice) 
 
 Maurice: By Jove, Maisie, you are actually in to 
 tea. Give me some, please. 
 
 Maisie (langziidly) : Have some fresh made ? 
 
 Maurice: No, thank you; this will do. 
 
 Maisie: Sugar? 
 
 Maurice : Two lumps, please. Well ? You look tired ; 
 what have you been doing? I have not seen you since 
 yesterday morning. Literally, the meanest of your 
 friends sees more of you than your husband. You're 
 always out. 
 
32 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Maisie: I am there every morning at breakfast. 
 
 Maurice: Ah, but I am in a hurry then. 
 
 Maisie (a little qziertdoiisly): I can't help it, Maurice, 
 if my tastes are not domestic. You knew that when 
 you married me. And I'm sure we should quarrel 
 abominably if we were always together, I get so tired 
 of people if I see too much of them. I wish you 
 agreed with me. Perhaps you do. ... I ought, I 
 think, to have been a soldier's wife, and studied the 
 Gazette; or a sailor's, and lived in a seaport town, in 
 a house overlooking the sea; and you would have 
 blown a horn loudly as your ship passed the windows, 
 and I should have waved the white table-cloth on the 
 lawn in front, as a salute. 
 
 Maurice: And is that all we should have seen of 
 each other? 
 
 Maisie: You would have had six weeks or so on 
 shore now and then, and I should have come to meet 
 you when you landed, and we would have gone off 
 somewhere together. I should have had delicious qualms 
 of anxiety when the wind roared in the chimneys, and 
 spent my days consulting barometers and storm signals 
 
The EjicL of the Beginning. 33 
 
 and cones at the coastguard stations. But when you 
 come home safe every day from the Stock Exchange 
 at four o'clock — Pshaw! 
 
 Maurice: If that is all, (smiling) there are more 
 people killed by street accidents every day in the 
 London streets than at sea or in battle. The figures 
 are 
 
 Maisie: Please don't bother me with figures ! The 
 insurance covers all those minor perils. A wife can't 
 be expected to work herself up for anything short of 
 a battle or a cyclone. . . . I'm not afraid of the 
 water myself. Indeed, I am contemplating a voyage — 
 next week — of three days! 
 
 Maurice: Where to? {carelessly). 
 
 Maisie: Mrs. Latham has been here and she wants 
 
 . . she has got up a party for Henley on their 
 house boat — 10th, nth, and 12th 
 
 Maurice: But I thought you simply hated Henley. 
 
 Maisie: So I do, but I like Polly — and Polly's people. 
 
 Maurice: I think old Seppy's worth a hundred of 
 the people she gets together to laugh at him, and 
 
 drink his champagne Well, I daresay we 
 
 3 
 
34 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 can manage it. I'll put off Bryce. I rather like Polly 
 Latham. 
 
 Maisie: And she likes you, I know — but — she likes 
 you best by yourself! Unfortunately, she did not in- 
 clude you in her invitation, and as I thought you were 
 going to take Bryce 
 
 Maurice: Oh Bryce has twenty people to go with, 
 he doesn't matter. I'd better go {laughing). It would 
 seem such a silly arrangement, "that wife should dine 
 at Edmonton and I should dine at Ware!" 
 
 Maisie : Don't be so dreadfully old-fashioned, Maurice. 
 Let me tell you, Mr. and Mrs. Gilpin have both been 
 left behind long ago. Nowadays, figuratively speakings 
 "wife" always does dine at Edmonton, while "hus- 
 band" — dines at Ware— or where he likes. It's the 
 proper distribution of forces. You and I are far too 
 good to be wasted on each other; we shine best 
 apart .... Don't be stupid, Maurice, and make diffi- 
 culties. Besides you really oughtn't to talk, you dined 
 at 'Ware' last night. 
 
 Maurice: Where? At 'Ware' Did I? 
 
 Maisie: Well, at the Savoy. 
 
The End of the Beginning. 35 
 
 Maurice: You made me go; and I was home very 
 early. 
 
 Maisie: No you weren't. 
 
 Maurice : How can you know ? I looked in, and you 
 were fast asleep. 
 
 Maisie: I wasn't; I was only pretending. 
 
 Maurice : How could I tell you were only pretending ? 
 
 Maisie {vaguely) : Ah, there it is ; you see .... 
 
 Maurice : [after a pause, rising) : Well, . accept Polly's 
 invitation. Of course, I don't want to put any restraint 
 on your actions. 
 
 Maisie : I have, dear. I knew you would be an angel 
 and not make a fuss. I only wish she had asked you ; 
 
 but as she hasn't You see, really it would spoil 
 
 her party if I refused, and it is all so neatly arranged. 
 You would put it out dreadfully if you insisted on going 
 now, for {laughing) she would not have provided anyone 
 for you to flirt with. 
 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Maurice {slowly) : And has she provided some one 
 for you? 
 
36 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Maisie {struck)-. How you say that! As if you didn't 
 care a pin if I flirted or no! 
 
 Maurice: Well, Maisie, I can bear it. We have been 
 married a year, a whole year (going). 
 
 Maisie {impulsively) : Stop, Maurice. Do you mean 
 to say that you regret our marriage? 
 
 Maurice {corning back to her) : No — a thousand times 
 no ! Nor, I think, do you ? {Sits down on the causeuse 
 beside her, and takes her hand). I make you happy, 
 don't I, Maisie ? I give you the life you care for — I do 
 what I can. I gave you love — passionate love! — when 
 you wanted it ; now, when you want something else — 
 something different 
 
 Maisie {in a low voice) : What do I want now ? 
 
 Maurice: It is not love you want now — the tireless 
 devotion of one. You are tired of that. You want — 
 don't be angry, dear — admiration, position, ease, the 
 envy, the approbation of other women in your circle — 
 you want to feel round you the incense of popularity — 
 the coming and going of many admirers — of the men 
 who flock like moths round a pretty woman whose 
 husband trusts her, and leaves her alone. You have 
 
The End of the Beginning. 37 
 
 all that, and the consolation besides of knowing that 
 the husband you regard as a necessary adjunct of this 
 state of things loves no other woman — better than he 
 does you ! . . . . Regret our marriage ! Why should I ? 
 You are gay, good-tempered, and pretty to look at, 
 you sit at the head of my table and dispense my hos- 
 pitalities like a queen. You are admirably discreet, 
 you do not flirt outrageously, or give people occasion 
 to talk of you. ... I am content. . . . But I close my eyes 
 sometimes and wonder if it is the same woman I used 
 to pet and tease and yearn for when she was out of 
 my sight — the woman who, I remember, at the first 
 little dinners we gave, used to lay her pretty, weary 
 head on my shoulder as the last carriage rolled away, 
 and the lights were put out all over the house, and 
 ask me if she had looked nice? 
 
 Maisie: Maurice! Maurice! 
 
 Maurice (unheeding): I look at you now and I see 
 that you have done your hair in the way I have always 
 told you I thought detestable 
 
 Maisie: It's the fashion! 
 
 Maurice : I know that, but in the old days you would 
 
38 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 have trodden twenty fashions under foot for my sake. 
 I don't blame you dear, I only mention it as a sign 
 of the times. You have altered your focus, that is all. 
 You dress now to please my friends, not me, and you 
 do it very well, and I measure your triumph in their 
 eyes and value you in proportion to their admiration 
 of you. You are as pretty as heart of man could 
 desire, and you use your beauty to make the sunshine 
 of other homes, and only occasionally condescend to 
 come home in time to pour out my tea for me! You 
 don't naturally care to waste your sweetness on the 
 desert air of a husband whom you conquered and put 
 by long ago. You are happier when he is not there. 
 You have made arrangements to go to Henley without 
 him, and flirt with Mr.- Mr. Anybody 
 
 Maisie: Oh, Maurice, you're not vexed about that? 
 Don't be angry about that! 
 
 Maurice: Angry! I don't care enough to be angry. 
 Observe, I have not even asked of whom your party 
 is to consist. 1 know, of course, that you will never 
 disgrace me, and for the rest 
 
The End of the Beginning. 39 
 
 Maisie: But this is dreadful! Be angry then — I'd almost 
 rather ! 
 
 Maurice: No "dear, you can't have it all ways. You 
 must choose. You have chosen, and wisely, no doubt. 
 You have made me your friend only — your useful friend ; 
 you might have kept me as a lover if you had liked 
 — a devoted lover, but I should perhaps, on the other 
 hand, have plagued your life out by jealousies, and 
 fears, and misunderstandings. I should have made you 
 ridiculous by devouring you with my eyes, and following 
 you about like a dog all day. Now, I look at you 
 with the eyes of reason, and see what a sweet, good 
 little woman you are, and am grateful for so much of 
 your company as you choose to give me. Tt is best 
 as it is. 
 
 Maisie: But why are we so tragic about it all, then? 
 {crying?) 
 
 Maurice: Tragedy? No! Drawing-room comedy, at 
 the most ! Don't let us flatter ourselves. (Hastily.) Come, 
 it's all right; I'm not angry with you. (Goes to a table, 
 and vaguely looks at a photograph.) 
 
40 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Maisie: But, somehow, you make me feel as if we 
 had — had — quarrelled, and really, if that's all, I can 
 easily give it up. I don't care about it. 
 
 Maurice: What? Oh, Henley. Nonsense, I am not 
 thinking of Henley. I only took it as an instance of 
 what we have drifted to. Don't cry; don't spoil your 
 eyes. Go to Henley and have a good time, and don't 
 "cut" the "harmless, necessary" husband when you 
 come across him in his humble canoe on the course. 
 That would look bad, wouldn't it? 
 
 Maisie {thoughtfully)-. You might come on board to 
 lunch .... And, Maurice, we haven't quarrelled, have 
 we? I always vowed we never would. 
 
 Maurice: No, dear, we never will, why should we? 
 As far as that goes, we are two extinct volcanoes. 
 I am talking nonsense! Where are we dining? It must 
 be time to dress. 
 
 Maisie {rising)-. Indeed, it must. Come and help me 
 do my hair. Justine shall do it exactly as you like. 
 Kiss me! {He does so, coldly.) You do love me, don't 
 you, Maurice? 
 
 Maurice: Yes — moderately, as you love me. 
 
The End of the Beginning. 41 
 
 (A Paused) 
 
 Maisie {very low) : Is it — the beginning of the end, 
 then ? 
 
 Maurice (sadly) : No, but I am afraid it is the End 
 of the Beginning! 
 
" Engaged ! Oh, I say ! 
 
ENGAGED. 
 
 By Mrs. Ernest Leverson. 
 
 MRS. RAYMOND MR. SAVILE MASTER TEDDY REID 
 
 Scene: Drawing-room in Mrs. Raymond's Flat. Mrs. Raymond, young 
 widow, working. Enter Teddy Reid, small boy of twelve in Eton jacket. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Well, Teddy, it was very good of 
 you to come and see me. What have you been doing 
 during the holidays?" 
 
 Teddy: "Oh, nothing much. Hoofing about." 
 Mrs. R. : "What strange expressions you use?" 
 Teddy: "There is nothing strange in hoofing — 
 everybody says it. It means walking, or loafing, or 
 humbugging about — anything. Have you any sweets? 
 Nuts will do if you haven't. {Mrs. R. passes him 
 donbonniere.) Thanks. They told me to go for a 
 walk. They are busy. They have a swell dinner- 
 
46 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 party to-morrow night. Oh, I say, I oughtn't to have 
 told you!" 
 
 Mrs. R.: "Why not?" 
 
 Teddy: "Oh, because you're not asked; on account 
 of Mr. Savile's coming. Mother said you would distract 
 his attention from Lottie." 
 
 Mrs. R.: "Indeed!" 
 
 Teddy: "Well, they're bound to give her a chance, 
 you see. Lottie's getting on, and you're very pretty, 
 and they would like her to marry Savile. ... I 
 say, you won't go and say I said so? Now, will you? 
 I should get into such a row. And Lottie's a good 
 sort; she gave me this knife." (Takes ozit knife?) 
 
 Mrs. R.: "What nonsense! As if Mr. Savile " 
 
 {stitches angrily?) 
 
 Teddy: "Oh, I say, I wish I hadn't told you." 
 \Enter servant with note?\ 
 
 Mrs. R. {reading)-. "'Dearest Maud, — Hope you'll 
 excuse short invitation — little informal dinner — got up 
 in a hurry — for Uncle Julius — to-morrow at eight — 
 bring your music' What does this mean, from your 
 mother?" 
 
Engaged. ■ 47 
 
 Teddy: "Oh, that's good! 'Informal dinner indeed! 
 Why the invitations were sent out a fortnight ago! 
 They only asked you because Uncle Julius wired to 
 say he was coming to stay with us, and he hates 
 thirteen to dinner." {Eats more sweets?) 
 
 Mrs. R.: "Oh, well, I shall accept." 
 
 Teddy: "I'm glad you're coming. I like dinner par- 
 ties, because I can lean over the banisters with a stick 
 and a piece of string and a hook, and fish. I got a 
 bunch of grapes once, and I often spoil the jelly and 
 the cream before it goes in. The day before a dinner- 
 party is beastly. I always go out to lunch. The day 
 after I stay at home." 
 
 Mrs. R.: "You don't happen to know what Lottie's 
 going to wear, by any chance ? " {Gives him more 
 sweets?) 
 
 Teddy: "I just do happen to know. I heard her 
 say she was going to wear an old dress. 'Mother, I 
 shall wear my vieux rose? she said; and I know that 
 means her old pink. I learn French at school." 
 
 Mrs. R. : "A brand-new ball dress! I hope I shan't 
 be taken down by your old Uncle Julius." 
 
48 Dialogiies of the Day. 
 
 Teddy: "Indeed you won't. Rather not; they don't 
 want him to marry again. Oh, no! I expect they'll 
 give you Mr. Martin." 
 
 Mrs. R. : u Oh, that thought-reading bore!" 
 
 Teddy: "Or Ally Sloper. I call him Ally Sloper 
 because his name is Quentin Roper. He writes in 
 newspapers. It's awfully smart to have him to dinner! 
 Father says he's a great author. Father reads his 
 articles in the Contemporary when he can't sleep at 
 nights. I say, I'd better go now. I'm going to see 
 a great friend of mine. I hate him; but I want to 
 see a new terrier he's got. Good-bye." 
 
 Mrs. R.: " Good-bye, Teddy dear. Don't let that 
 hook of yours catch in my hair to-morrow! And give 
 this note to your mother — tell her I shall be very 
 glad to come. Can I trust you with it ? " 
 
 Teddy: "Oh! yes! Rather. I shan't forget." {Goes 
 out, comes back again, saying:} U I say, you won't say 
 I told you about Mr. Savile, will you? Because, mind 
 you, I don't blame my people. They're quite right. 
 Lottie's a good sort, but she's no beauty. And you've 
 been married once, you know." {Exit Mrs. Raymond, 
 
Engaged. 49 
 
 puts down work, walks up and down the room, looks 
 out of the window" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Why, there he is — in a hansom, 
 coming here." {Sits down, with her back to the win- 
 dow, begins working. Mr. Savile is announced?) 
 
 Mrs. Raymond {looking surprised)-. "Oh, Mr. Savile! 
 How are you? I had an idea you were out of town. 
 What have you been doing all this time?" 
 
 Savile : " Wondering how soon I might decently call 
 here again." 
 
 Mrs. R. : "Is that all? I've had rather a dull 
 Christmas — very few gaieties. Are you going to the 
 Lovegrove's ball, by the way?" 
 
 Savile: "I was thinking of it — if you're going." 
 
 Mrs. R. : "Oh, of course I shall go. It will be 
 very pretty-^all the women are to wear powder, you 
 know." 
 
 Savile: "Is that unusual?" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "In their hair. You don't happen 
 to be dining at the Reids' to-morrow by any chance ? " 
 
 Savile : " I was just going to ask you that. In a 
 rash moment I accepted. Knowing they were great 
 
50 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 friends of yours, I fancied you might have been asked. 
 vSince then I have been suffering agonies of remorse 
 and dread. For their dinners certainly are " 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Very dull — I know they are. But 
 what would that matter? You would see Miss Reid." 
 
 Saville: u Miss Reid? She has one of those 
 characteristic British faces which, as somebody says, 
 when once seen are never remembered. She does 
 not interest me." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: " Indeed! You must think me very 
 silly, Mr. Savile." 
 
 Savile: "I think you are perfectly charming, but I 
 don't quite understand " 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Why don't you make these pretty 
 speeches to Miss Reid instead of to me?" 
 
 Savile {nettled): "I certainly won't make them to 
 you, if it bores you, but I scarcely see what Miss 
 Reid has to do with it — nor why you are always 
 referring to her." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: " Nonsense! Why do you pretend? 
 I know perfectly well that you flirt with her. Why, 
 that boy, Teddy, let out by chance that they didn't 
 
E?igaged. 5 1 
 
 want to invite me for fear of my interfering with her." 
 {Laughs ironically?) 
 
 Savile: "I really can't account for that boy's irre- 
 sponsible indiscretions. I scarcely ever speak to Miss 
 Reid, and have certainly never thought about her. 
 Why are you so unkind to me to-day?" 
 Mrs. R.: "Unkind! As if you cared!" 
 Savile {after a moments pause): "Mrs. Raymond, 
 for the last three months I have been behaving like a 
 lunatic. Neglecting my work, astonishing people I had 
 dropped for years by suddenly paying them long visits, 
 because I found they knew you: rushing about to 
 dances, having singing lessons, calling on your 'day,' 
 until I've made myself an object of disgust to your 
 other visitors, of contempt to myself, and of pity to the 
 very servants — trying to meet you in the park by 
 accident, and committing I don't know what other im- 
 becilities, and then you say I don't care! I have been 
 trying to cheat myself into the belief that you understood 
 — and did not dislike me. But it is over now. I will 
 relieve you of my presence, and can only ask you to 
 try and forgive me for having bored you so long." {Rises.) 
 
5 2 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Don't be in such a hurry. Is it 
 really true?" 
 
 Savile: "You know it." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond : " That you don't care for Miss Reid, 
 I mean?" 
 
 Savile: "Oh, that doesn't matter. The misfortune is 
 my caring for you. But I see now that you have only 
 been playing with me, and that I'm perfectly indifferent 
 to you." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Then why was I so much annoyed 
 at thinking you liked Miss Reid? . . ." 
 
 Savile: "Is it possible?" (Takes her hand?) 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Yes, of course. I always have!" 
 
 Savile: "I can hardly believe it. It is too wonderful. 
 Are you really serious?" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "I've been dreadfully serious lately — 
 quite miserable!" 
 
 Savile: "But you're so much too good for me!" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "I don't mind that!" 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Promise me, Arthur, never to flirt 
 with Miss Reid again?" 
 
Engaged. 53 
 
 Savile: "Again! I shan't go to the dinner to-morrow. 
 I shall say I have influenza." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond : " Oh, you must go ; or else they will 
 be thirteen." 
 
 Savile: "Not if you don't go either." 
 [Enter Teddy. They start.] 
 
 Teddy: u Oh, I say; I hope you won't be awfully 
 angry, but you know that letter you gave me for 
 mother? Well, I've lost it." 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "How did you lose it." 
 
 Teddy: "The terrier ate it. He's a nasty, snappy 
 little brute, and ought to be muzzled. There is nothing 
 to swagger about in having a cur like that, you'd think. 
 And yet my friend thinks himself quite a sporting man. 
 He a judge of dogs, indeed ! " (Laughs contemptuously.) 
 
 Mrs. Raymond: "Well, it doesn't matter, Teddy. I 
 should have had to write another letter, anyhow, be- 
 cause I can't go — I find I'm engaged." 
 
 Teddy: "Engaged! Oh, I say!" 
 
MRS. warrender (receiving capt. prendergast cordially): "I guess what brings you. 
 
AN ELECTION IDYL. 
 
 By Oswald Crawfurd. 
 
 mrs. warrender, jo, a widozv. capt. prendergast, j$, a candidate. 
 
 Scene : Drawing-room in Mrs. Warrender s country house, near 
 
 Little Billborough. 
 
 Time : The General Election. 
 
 Mrs Warrender {receiving him cordially) : I guess 
 what brings you. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: I don't think you can know 
 why I came. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: For my vote, of course. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: But you have none! 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Well, my influence with my friends 
 who have votes. I am powerful, I hear, in the bor- 
 ough. I carry twenty votes in my pocket, they say. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Only twenty? I should have 
 thought 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Too obvious ! Please say something 
 more original. 
 
58 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Captain Prendergast : I would try to canvass you, 
 but you are not on my side in politics. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: How do you know that? Why 
 do you not assume I am ? You might with most women ; 
 you may with me. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Am I so convincing? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender {smiling) : Yes, particularly when 
 you don't argue. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: I don't understand that. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: You don't understand women. 
 You never understand me, and yet I try so hard to 
 make things plain to you. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: But I want to understand 
 women, just now that I am standing for Little Billbor- 
 ough. Tell me about them. 
 
 Mrs Warrender: For one thing, we are never, at 
 heart, either Conservatives or Liberals. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Then what are you? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: We reverse the old maxim — we 
 are for men, not measures. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Then you should approve of 
 my opponent — for he knows something about every- 
 
An Election Idyl. 59 
 
 thing: he can argue like a schoolmaster and talk like 
 a professor. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: Women like to talk and argue 
 for themselves. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: He is strong on women's 
 rights. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: But we can take very good care 
 of our own. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: He is a mine of information. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: But he can't ride to hounds. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: He is a great financier. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: But he only stands five feet three. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: He has written a text-book 
 on political economy. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : But he is no use at a dinner-party. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: He is a man of great weight 
 in the borough. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: Yes, I admit that; he must weigh 
 over sixteen stone. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: That is not fair. He has en- 
 dowed all the charities of the town. 
 
60 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Only since he became our can- 
 didate. 
 
 Captain Prendergast : He is an ornament to the Bar. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: But he sha'n't be to the borough! 
 
 Captain Prendergast : He has done one thing that 
 I confess I couldn't do — kissed all the voters' babies. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: Unfortunate babies! 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Then you would like a candi- 
 date unlike poor Brown in every way. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: Yes, in every way. He should 
 be a gentleman, and not a vulgar, ostentatious parvenu; 
 he should not bore one with his finance and his polit- 
 ical economy; and, above all, he should not be pro- 
 miscuous hypocrite enough to kiss twenty babies a 
 day — soap or no soap {with increasing warmth). He 
 should be a modest, straightforward Englishman, who 
 can perform more than he promises. He should be 
 kindly to his inferiors, civil to his equals, and nice to 
 everyone. That is the man we women would help to 
 win the seat. 
 
 Captain Prendergast {laughing) : Where will you find 
 such a paragon? 
 
An Election Idyl. 61 
 
 Mrs. Warrender {meaningly) : I think I know. 
 
 Captain Prendergast (simply): Well, I don't; and, 
 to tell you the truth, Mrs. Warrender, I am glad such 
 a fellow as you describe is not in the field to oppose me. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: Humph! Well, you are a good 
 canvasser. You see you have won me already. 
 
 Captain Prendergast {absently)-. Have I? Do you 
 know that I care less than you would imagine to win ? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: To win my vote? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Yes, even to win your vote. 
 The fact is I called to ask you for something quite 
 different. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: What? 
 
 Captain Prendergast : Your advice. You will laugh — 
 I know you will — but I have a confidence to make: 
 I am in love. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender {coldly, looking hard at him ; then 
 recovering herself quickly ) : Oh ! 
 
 Captain Prendergast: You are not angry with me 
 for talking to you about it — about her? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Oh, not at all. It is quite natural. 
 Why do you think I should be angry? 
 
62 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: I thought for a moment you 
 looked vexed. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: Nothing of the kind! Of course, 
 she is perfection? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: In my eyes. She is all the 
 world to me. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Pretty ? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Beautiful. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Young ? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: About your age. Perhaps a 
 little older — than you look. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: I am afraid I can't help you, Cap- 
 tain Prendergast. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: You can if you care to. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender {after a long pause) : And if I don't 
 care to ? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: You will; you are so kind. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: Am I? I don't know that I am — 
 but go on. How am I to help you ? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: By telling me if you think I 
 have any chance. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Perhaps she cares for some one else ? 
 
An Election Idyl. 63 
 
 Captain Prendergast: No, I think not. She is very 
 gay, clever and lively. I don't think she could care 
 for a soul, being - like that. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: A hard, selfish woman! I know 
 the type so well. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Hard and selfish? Nothing of 
 the kind. An adorable woman — kindly, gentle, wo- 
 manly, tender ; everything that a woman can and should be. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: You are very much in 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Very hard hit? I am. 
 (A pause.) 
 
 Captain Prendergast : You are sorry for me, I think ? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: I am not so very sorry for her? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Do you know that is a very 
 pretty speech? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender [bitterly)'. Oh, I have got beyond 
 pretty speeches. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: I think you are the most 
 sympathetic woman I know. I was right to come to 
 you. And now that you know everything there is for 
 me to confess, tell me this: shall I, being what you 
 know I am, go to this woman — who is, if you will 
 
64 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 believe me, a pearl among women — and ask her to be 
 my wife — ? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender {absently) : And ask her to be your 
 wife? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: I bore you, I am afraid. You 
 are tired, and you have got suddenly so pale. You are 
 not well. How selfish I am to bother you with my 
 affairs ! 
 
 Mrs. Warrender : Not at all ! I was listening all the 
 time. I was much interested in you and — this woman. 
 You do care for her, then, very much? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: I love her with all my heart 
 and all my soul. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender {with sudden change of manner) : 
 Then go to her and say those words to her just as 
 you spoke them then. If she is a woman at all she 
 will say Yes. Tell me one thing — who is she? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: You don't guess? 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: How can I? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Who could it be but you? 
 I love you with all my heart and all my soul. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender {giving him her hands) : Oh, you 
 
An Election Idyl. 65 
 
 frightened me so! But why did you say she was 
 older than me? 
 
 Captain Prendergast: Because, dear, I don't think 
 anyone can be so young as you look. 
 
 Mrs. Warrender: You threw dust in my eyes. 
 
 Captain Prendergast: I meant to, for I wanted to 
 see if you could be serious for once! 
 
PREVENTION NO CURE. 
 
 By Luke Miller. 
 
 MISS ROSS. THE YOUNG MAN WHO IS NOT TO MARRY MISS ROSS. HIS MOTHER. 
 
 his sister-in-law. colonel ainslie (a privileged person.) 
 
 Tea and tennis on the lawn of an English country house at five o'clock in 
 the afternoon. The party is grouped round the tea-table. A little 
 figure in white comes gla?icing through the shrubberies toivards them, 
 apprehended only by the You?ig Jf/an. 
 
 The Young Man {suddenly grasping his racquet} : Joy ! 
 
 His Sister-in-law: What is it? A fourth? 
 
 The Young Man : Yes, a ripping fourth, Hetty Ross. 
 
 His Mother {under her breath): Tck-Tck! 
 
 His Sister-in-law (aside): I told you not to send her 
 a card, and then I could have asked her at my own 
 discretion when Tom 
 
 The Young Man: I say, shan't I go and fetch her, 
 and prevent her having to go all round by the house? 
 
 His Mother: No, let her go the regular way. It 
 corrupts the servants. She will have her shoes to put 
 
yo Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 on, for she's come to play I suppose. Delicate little 
 thing, I am sure she oughtn't to ! 
 
 Col. Ainslie: Hetty Ross delicate! She has never 
 been ill in her life. I've known her since she was a 
 child. 
 
 The Young Man: So have I. 
 
 His Mother: Nonsense, Tom. She's a year older 
 than you. 
 
 The Young Man : Same age exactly. I don't mean, 
 of course, that our cradles touched and rocked in 
 unanimity during that rather uninteresting period when 
 we should hardly have been able to do more than 
 crow at each other, but we've grown up together, 
 that's what I mean. 
 
 His Sister-in-law: I don't call you grown-up. And 
 Hetty's a shocking tennis player, delicate or not. 
 
 Col. Ainslie: I beg to differ. She has a good, 
 swinging service, hits low, and places her balls. 
 
 The Young Man {loudly*): I agree with you, Ainslie. 
 What I like about Hetty Ross's playing is that there 
 is no 'feminine squeak' about her. She doesn't yelp 
 when she gets a 'nasty one,' or sit down in an attitude 
 
Preventio7i no Cure. 71 
 
 on the court when she misses a stroke, like some people 
 I know of. 
 
 His Mother (sharply) : Don't make fun of Miss Lyle, 
 Tom ; I'm very fond of her. I only wish she was here ! 
 { To Miss Ross, as the latter modestly joins the group) 
 How do you do, dear? How cool you look, in spite 
 
 of that hot walk from D . It is good of you to 
 
 come such a long- way to our poor little festivity. 
 ( With a glance at Miss Ross's irreproachable flannels 
 and business-like racqtiet) I hope you have come pre- 
 pared to play? We wanted a fourth sadly. But you 
 must have a cup of tea first. 
 
 Hetty Ross {seeing herself solely in the light of a 
 fourth) : No tea, thank you. 
 
 The Young Man: Oh, you must. We don't want to 
 starve you. {Forces it on her. His mother cuts a tiny 
 slice from an attenuated cake and hands it. Miss Ross, 
 overcome by the severity of her manner, takes the cake 
 and leaves the piece, and is covered with confusion. 
 Meantime the Young Man lies o?i the grass at her feet 
 and looks happy) 
 
 His Mother: Get up, Tom, this moment! You will 
 
72 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 catch cold — those ridiculously thin flannels — the damp 
 grass 
 
 The Young Man {facetiously)-. What, isn't the grass 
 properly aired yet? Never mind,' I'll take the risk. 
 
 Hetty Ross {swallowing her tea hastily)'. I'm ready. 
 
 The Young Man {approaching her, while his sister- 
 in-law goes for her racquet which she has left at the 
 other end of the court): How shall we play? Ainslie 
 and Kate, and you and I — against the world? 
 
 Hetty Ross {nervously) : Nonsense ! Let Kate arrange it. 
 
 The Young Man {masterfully): Look here, I'm boss, 
 and you're going to play with me — if you don't mind ? 
 {Carries her off.) 
 
 His Sister-in-law {returning, out of breath): Tom, 
 you can't play with Hetty. That will never do ! 
 
 Col. Ainslie {aside): Too blunt by half! Kate isn't 
 a good strategist. I'd back Hetty — if she cared! 
 
 The Young Man {defiantly, to his sister-in-law) : Why 
 won't it do ? She's the best player and I'm the worst? 
 
 His Sister-in-law : You are certainly the worst, so 
 I'll undertake you myself. 
 
 The Young Man: Well, of all the cheek !! 
 
Prevention no Cure. 73 
 
 His Sister-in-law [aside, while Hetty is tying her 
 shoe) : Hetty is so uncertain, Tom ; she makes a good 
 stroke now and then, I grant you, but quite by ac- 
 cident 
 
 The Young Man [grimly) : I had rather have one 
 of her 'flukes' than a dozen of your "spooners!" If 
 you insist on playing with me the whole thing will be 
 mulled — that's all I can say. 
 
 * * # # * * • # * * 
 
 Hetty Ross [to Col. Ainslie): I say, play with me! 
 
 Col. Ainslie: But I ought not. Take Tom and 
 pull him through. 
 
 Hetty Ross : Can't you see — ? [haughtily') I had 
 rather not play with Tom ; it isn't my business to pull 
 him through. 
 
 Col. Ainslie : Why, Hetty, what's up ? You used to 
 like Tom? 
 
 Hetty Ross [passionately) : They make him look 
 such a fool! 
 
 * * * * # * -# # # 
 
 The Young Man [angrily, to his sister-in-law, who 
 has finally arranged the game to her own satisfaction) : 
 
74 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Well, have it your own way. I wash my hands of it. 
 {After several games have been played in 
 ominous silence?) 
 Hetty Ross: What are we, Colonel Ainslie? 
 Col. Ainslie: Something like four games — love. 
 Hetty Ross [sarcastically]'. How very distressing! 
 Col. Ainslie: Play up and end it. Isn't Tom in a 
 rage? I can see his ears redden from here! 
 
 ********* 
 
 The Young Man [in a forcedly neutral tone) : Game 
 again! Your five to our one! 
 
 His Sister-in-law: Your service, Hetty. What are 
 you two gossiping about? 
 
 Hetty Ross : I beg pardon. ( Viciously) Play ! [De- 
 spatches a grounder of terrific straightness, and waits 
 the result). 
 
 The Young Man (over his shoulder) : Look out, Kate ! 
 
 His Sister-in-law: Ow! (Misses it) That must have 
 gone right through my racquet ! 
 
 The Young Man (savagely): Don't use that idiotic 
 formula, anyhow. 
 
 His Sister-in-law: Well, I wish people wouldn't 
 
Preventioji no Cure. 75 
 
 chatter to each other in the middle of the game. It's 
 abominable tennis form, and would put anyone out 
 {loudly). 
 
 The Young Man: Look here, I wish you would at 
 least contrive to be civil to Hetty! 
 
 His Sister-in-law {losing her temper altogether) : It's 
 too hot to play. (Sends her racqtiet spinning iHght across 
 the court.) We won't finish this game. Come and 
 have some claret-cup! 
 
 Omnes: We don't care if we do. 
 
 The Young Man (bustling about)-. Have a macaroon, 
 Miss Ross? (Hands them to her, and seems disposed to 
 Linger at her side). 
 
 His Sister-in-law : Oh, are there macaroons? I adore 
 them. Hand them, Tom. 
 
 The Young Man: There's a plateful at your elbow 
 that you can have all to yourself. What's the weight 
 of your racquet, Miss Ross ? 
 
 Hetty Ross (briefly) : Thirteen. 
 
 The Young Man : May I look at it ? (Swings it about 
 appreciatively. ) 
 
 His Mother (in desperation): Why don't you and 
 
J 6 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Colonel Ainslie have a knock-up, Tom ? The girls are 
 too hot to play any more just yet, and we shall enjoy 
 watching- you. 
 
 The Young Man (unwillingly)-. Shall we, Ainslie? 
 
 Col. Ainslie {an ardent player) : Suppose we do, if 
 the ladies are really too tired 
 
 The Young Man (aside) : Hetty isn't, I'll swear. (Gets 
 tip slowly, and spins for first innings?) 
 
 Col. Ainslie: You're in. (Hums "My heart's in the 
 Highlands, my heart is not here!") come on, my boy! 
 
 The Young Man (tinder his breath): Beastly grind! 
 ***** 
 
 His Mother (to Hetty): Dear boy, I do so want him 
 to enjoy his leave thoroughly — so short as it is. Mis s 
 Lyle promised to come, but 
 
 Hetty Ross: Quand on u'a pas ce qu'on aime — 
 I am afraid I was a fifth wheel instead of a fourth! 
 
 His Mother (not apprehending her bitter little jest) : 
 Not at all — only Tom and Alice Lyle are such old 
 partners. They play together at all the matches — she 
 is like his right hand. Kate, my dear, do go in and 
 rest. I can entertain Hetty. 
 
Prevention no Cure. jj 
 
 Hetty Ross [after a constrained pause) : I think I 
 must be going - . 
 
 His Mother: Must you? Well, give my kind regards 
 to all at home {rising). I don't know, dear, that we 
 shall be positively at home next Tuesday, so I hardly 
 like to ask you to come so far on the chance of a 
 game 
 
 Hetty Ross (sho7"tly) : Couldn't come, thank you, 
 Mrs. Laurence. I've had a very pleasant afternoon. 
 Good-bye. Good-bye, Kate. (Picks up her racquet 
 attd goes.) 
 
 His Mother (conscious of having fallen somewhat 
 below her standard): I hope we were not rude to 
 Hetty, were we, Kate? 
 
 His Sister -in-law: / wasn't. You were, rather! 
 
 His Mother: I'm sure 
 
 The Young Man: I say, Ainslie, wait a minute. I 
 fancy I've exchanged racquets with Miss Ross. I won't 
 keep you long. 
 
 Col. Ainslie: Go on, dear boy, and prosper. Don't 
 hurry back on my account. 
 
78 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 The Young Man: Don't be a fool, Ainslie! {Hurries 
 after Miss Ross.) 
 
 {By the gate at the bottom of the garden?) 
 The Young Man {put of breath, holding out racquet)-. 
 This — is — yours, Miss Ross — I believe? 
 
 Hetty Ross {recoiling as if from a loaded pistol)-. 
 No — I've got mine. {Examines the one she holds) Why, 
 it is yours. Then give me mine, please. {Holds it 
 out at arm's length.) 
 
 The Young Man: They must have god mixed some- 
 how. Look here, Hetty, I 
 
 {Proposes hastily, and is accepted — at leisure. Col. 
 Ainslie, having, from a distance, observed with interest 
 the exchange of racquets — and other attendant circumstances 
 — saunters back to the ladies?) 
 
 His Mother {anxiously): What is it? Where is Tom 
 gone ? 
 
 Col. Ainslie: Called away on business, dear Mrs. 
 Laurence. 
 
 His Mother: What business can he have with Hetty 
 Ross? 
 
 Col. Ainslie: He has got it over by now. If I am 
 
Prevention no Cure. 79 
 
 not mistaken, he has proposed to her. She's a dear 
 little girl 
 
 His Mother: Proposing! to Hetty Ross! He must 
 not. Stop him, Colonel; take a message from me 
 
 Col. Ainslie {coolly) : Shall I take the cream jug to 
 pour over him, or borrow the garden-hose to extin- 
 guish his flame? No use! he'd got to do it, and I must 
 say that you and Kate have been doing your best to 
 work him up to it all the afternoon 
 
 His Mother: Indeed! indeed! I did all I could to 
 prevent him 
 
 Col. Ainslie: Yes, I saw you; but it's no good, 
 dear madam {laughing). That sort of prevention is na 
 cure at all! 
 
 The Young Man {ten minutes after, sauntering tip- 
 the drive) : There, I've done it, and I'm glad. I meant 
 to before I went back, of course; but I don't know 
 that I should have done it to-day if they hadn't all 
 been so abominably rude to her! 
 
 Hetty Ross {in the lane) : I suppose I oughtn't have 
 accepted him, but really — they were enough to vex a saint I 
 
LADY BETTY {Looking after Dolly): "Dear me! what jSols girls are. And all 
 because of a ball dress." 
 
CHOOSING A BALL DRESS. 
 
 By Clara Savile Clarke. 
 
 Lady Betty. Dolly {her niece). 
 
 Scene : A bro..^ am, and then a shop. Time : A Winter's morning, i8g:2. 
 
 L. Betty: Now, Dolly, shall it be blue or orange? 
 
 Dolly: Oh, please, Aunt Betty — if I might choose 
 it myself? 
 
 L. Betty: Good heavens, child! Orange was your 
 own idea. 
 
 Dolly: Orange! Never. I said primrose-coloured 
 silk, and I should always wear violets — Neapolitan 
 violets — with it. 
 
 L. Betty: My dear Dolly, how absurdly artistic. 
 Am quite tired of artists, and everything to do with 
 artists. It seems to me the world could exist without 
 them. Can't imagine why they were ever invented. 
 
 Dolly (timidly): I think I like artists. 
 
 L. Betty (speaking in a telegraphic manner): Non- 
 
84 Dialogties of the Day. 
 
 sense, child, nonsense. Artist, merely man, human like 
 Ourselves. Paints, or composes in the same way that 
 business man goes to the City. Why make a fuss 
 about one and ignore the other. Could quite as easily 
 go into raptures over an office stool as over a long, 
 lanky figure in stained glass, supposed to resemble a 
 woman. It may be one — I don't dispute the existence 
 of such deformities — but it's not like me. 
 
 Dolly: Dear Aunt Betty, I'm not defending that 
 sort of thing, but Mr. Lingfield 
 
 L. Betty: Stop! You don't know what a crime 
 that creature has committed: I went to party without 
 you last night. Feared it wasn't quite the place for a 
 girl. Mr. Lingfield was there. 
 
 Dolly: I don't see the harm. Mr. Lingfield isn't 
 a girl. 
 
 L. Betty: Dolly! I never said he was. Used to 
 think him nice, quiet, unassuming, and conscious of his 
 place. 
 
 Dolly: What place? He is very high up in the 
 artistic world. 
 
 L. Betty: Mad, dear, mad. 
 
Choosing a Ball Dress. 85 
 
 Dolly: Who is mad? 
 
 L. Betty: Man. Ling-field. 
 
 Dolly: They say genius is akin to madness, but I 
 don't see any trace of it in him. 
 
 L. Betty: I do. Last night he confided in me. 
 
 Dolly: About his work. Isn't he interesting when 
 he describes his ideas for pictures? 
 
 L. Betty: Any man can save himself from being 
 considered a fool, if he has the sense to talk "shop." 
 
 Dolly {desperately) \ Will you tell me what he did 
 talk about? 
 
 L. Betty: Love, child, love. 
 
 Dolly {blushing): Is he in love, Aunt Betty? 
 
 L. Betty : Yes ; presuming - , intriguing humbug. But 
 here we are. Get out, Dolly. What are you staring 
 for? Good Heavens, child! how white you look! 
 
 Dolly {as they enter the shop) : Aunt Betty, what 
 were you saying? 
 
 L. JBetty: Can't remember, dear; don't bother me. 
 Brain can't stand so many questions. Blue silk, please. 
 Thank you. Sit down, Dolly. 
 
 Dolly: I particularly want to look nice at this 
 
86 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 ball, dear Aunt. Mayn't I have a primrose dress? 
 
 L. Betty: Wait, and see the blue. 
 
 Dolly: Primrose would be much more artistic. 
 
 L. Betty: There! you've reminded me of the man 
 again. Came and told me he was devoted to young 
 lady — naturally inquired what young lady? He didn't 
 appear to know. I felt he was a fool, but politeness 
 prevented me saying so. Thank you, a very pretty 
 colour. Look, Dolly! 
 
 Dolly: It's so bright. 
 
 L. Betty: Good, healthy, sensible colour. Doesn't 
 pretend to be what it is not. 
 
 Dolly: If I might just see the primrose. 
 
 L. Betty : Very well. Tell them what you want. 
 
 Dolly: A pale primrose-coloured corded silk, if 
 you please, the widest you have. Well Auntie. He 
 began again then? 
 
 L. Betty: Good gracious! Of course he did. Said 
 she was sympathetic — I nearly asked him what he 
 meant. So adorable — they all are — so fresh and young — 
 an insult to me — so sweet and gentle — and all that 
 nonsense. I tried to take an interest in her 
 
Choosing a Ball Dress. 87 
 
 Dolly (sadly): Her! Who is it? 
 
 L. Betty: Thought he was describing some model. 
 Oh, here's the silk. 
 
 Dolly {disgusted): A model! .... Oh yes, that's 
 the colour. 
 
 L. Betty: No, Dolly, it's not. Can't stand undecided 
 tints. If the colour can't make up its mind to one 
 thing or the other — I can. Show us some more blue, 
 please. 
 
 Dolly: Oh, Auntie, dear! 
 
 L. Betty: Dolly, I insist! 
 
 Dolly: Well, what about this model? 
 
 L. Betty : My dear Dolly ! Do you imagine I should 
 tell you, if he had confided anything about a model 
 to me? 
 
 Dolly: Oh, then, who was it? 
 
 L. Betty : Of course I said it was impossible. Told 
 him he was insolent, and forbade him the house. 
 
 Dolly: What? Why? 
 
 L. Betty: You will please cut him, in a polite, 
 lady-like manner, when you next meet? 
 
 Dolly: Why? I must know why? 
 
88 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 L. Betty: Dolly! Must to me? 
 
 Dolly: I beg your pardon. I'm very sorry. But 
 won't you explain ? 
 
 L. Betty: He proposed for Some blue, I ordered. 
 
 How stupid these people are! 
 
 Dolly: He proposed? 
 
 L. Betty: Wanted to marry you. 
 
 Dolly: Me) 
 
 L.Betty: Yes, dear. Thought you would be horrified. 
 Quite right. Impudent cad! 
 
 Dolly: I don't see why he is a cad. What did you say? 
 
 L. Betty: Told you once, dear. Said you would 
 consider, as I did, that his insolence was unparalleled! 
 
 Dolly {trembling): And he answered? 
 
 L. Betty: That, if that was the case, he had been 
 much mistaken in you. 
 
 Dolly: No, no. I can't bear it. 
 
 L. Betty: Bear what? 
 
 Dolly: The — the colour, I mean. 
 
 L. Betty: It's a very good blue. 
 
 Dolly: And so — we — I — shall never see him again? 
 Choose what you like, I don't care. 
 
Choosing a Ball Dress. 89 
 
 L. Betty: Good girl. Quite right. My taste must 
 be better than yours. Twelve yards please. Why 
 Dolly, you seem to have lost all interest. 
 
 Dolly: There are other things in the world as 
 well as dresses and balls. 
 
 L. Betty: Quite true, dear, very sensible. But we 
 must give our minds to them sometimes. Society 
 obliges us to be covered. Good Heavens, dear ! What's 
 the matter? Your eyes are full of tears. 
 
 Dolly: Someone — passing — stamped on my foot. 
 
 L. Betty: How careless! Poor child! Thank you, 
 that is all. Come along, Dolly. Oh, look ! How 
 awkward ! There he is. Wave to the carriage — quick, 
 Dolly, and don't glance at him. Now, did you look? 
 
 Dolly: No. — I looked down. I was too ashamed. 
 
 L. Betty: Quite right. Get in. What are you 
 staring at? 
 
 Dolly: His shabby coat. {Bursts into tears). And 
 I'm so rich. 
 
 L. Betty: Why, Dolly! What on earth's the 
 matter ? 
 
 Dolly: I — nothing. My head aches. Please don't 
 
90 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 mind. People have headaches — and heartaches every 
 day, and the world goes on all the same. 
 
 L. Betty: Dolly, you are absurd. 
 
 Dolly: No. I'm only — sorry. 
 
 L. Betty: Why, child? Why? 
 
 Dolly {trying to smile through her tears): Oh, 
 only because the dress is to be blue, instead of primrose. 
 What else could a silly, worthless girl like me be sorry 
 about ? If I had any deeper feelings, the world we live 
 in would laugh at me. Never mind, Aunt Betty, I 
 daresay the dress will be a great success. 
 
 L. Betty: Of course it will. But here we are at 
 home. 
 
 Dolly {sadly): "I wish I felt as happy as I did 
 when I came out. {Ascends the steps, shaken with 
 sobs and with a bent head.) 
 
 L. Betty {looking after her) : Dear me ! What 
 fools girls are! And all because of a ball-dress! 
 {Follows her indoors.) 
 
tgfceg 
 
 if 
 
 ALICE (rising in the box ana throwing her bouquet on to the stage): "I doubt it the other 
 lady would have opened my eyes wider." 
 
AN UNREHEARSED EFFECT. 
 
 By J. Squire Sprigge. 
 
 Scene : The stage-box at the Frivolity Theatre of Varieties. 
 
 SIR JAMES BOYCE. LADY BOYCE. MISS ALICE MUNROE. MAJOR DORRINGTON. 
 
 Lady Boyce {looking at the stage): O! dear me! 
 That man! I heard him sing at one of Lady Wim- 
 bledon's Sundays. He is so dull. {Looking at the 
 house.) What a very respectable set of people! Jim 
 dear! What a very respectable set of people! {Hands 
 the glasses to Alice Munroe). 
 
 Sir James: What did you expect? You didn't think 
 I should take you to the wrong - sort of place, did you ? 
 You asked to see a music-hall, and here you are. 
 
 Lady Boyce: Yes. I suppose it's all right. I was 
 thinking of Alice. 
 
 Alice : It seems a very nice sort of place, but rather 
 smoky. 
 
 Lady Boyce: Nice sort of place! Yes. But your 
 
94 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 mother said she wished you to have your eyes opened. 
 What's going to do it for you here? 
 
 Sir James {with emphasis and confidence) : Dollie 
 Watkins. She'll do it. Hullo! What's this? {picking 
 up a paper from the ledge of the box). What a 
 swindle! What a confounded swindle! We spoil 
 these people and then they play us tricks. What a 
 swindle ! 
 
 Lady Boyce: Goodness, Jim! What is it? Read 
 it out, and don't be so terrifying and mysterious. 
 
 Sir James {reading impressively from the paper) : 
 "Owing to the indisposition of Miss Dollie Watkins 
 her place in the programme will be taken by the 
 celebrated Mexican steppiste the Senora Mariquita Val- 
 dez, who will dance her jocular, mournful, horrible 
 diversion — the Pas des Mohicans. Her first appearance 
 in England." What a swindle! 
 
 Lady Boyce: Never mind. We don't mind a bit. 
 You've seen the other girl before; and you can always 
 come and see her again. And I hear she doesn't kick 
 half so high as Lady Glandore did in our theatricals. 
 
 Sir James: Well, I call it a swindle. The fact is we 
 
An Unrehearsed Effect. 95 
 
 spoil these people. And, I say, Millie, if this girl is 
 good — she's sure not to be — we might get her for 
 next Tuesday night, eh ? {Draws tip his chair to the 
 frotit and surveys an acrobatic performance moodily.) 
 
 Lady Boyce: Don't take up all the room. Alice 
 can hardly see, and you must leave a place for Major 
 Dorrington. 
 
 Alice: Major Dorrington! Is he coming? 
 
 Sir James : Dorrington ! You don't mean to say, Millie, 
 you expect Dorrington? 
 
 Lady Boyce: I know. Isn't it odd? He's coming. 
 He called this afternoon, and I happened to tell him 
 our plans for opening Alice's eyes, and he asked if he 
 might come too and see the operation. 
 
 Sir James: Wanted to see Dollie Watkins, I expect. 
 So it will be rather a sell for him. Particularly as 
 he never goes anywhere. But perhaps it will be all 
 different, now that that woman is dead. 
 
 Lady Boyce: Is she dead? 
 
 Alice: Yes. She's dead. 
 
 Sir James: She was an extraordinary good-looking 
 woman. 
 
9 6 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Lady Boyce {looking steadily at Alice, whose colour 
 rises): So she's dead. I didn't know that. She's dead. 
 {Pulling Alice's chair into close proximity with her 
 own). Come here, dear. What do you know about 
 Major Dorrington? {Speaking low) Did he send you 
 those flowers, for instance? {Touching Alice's splendid 
 bouquet) 
 
 Alice {looking at Sir James, and whispering)'. Yes. 
 
 Lady Boyce {speaking low)'. And — is it so? Is it? 
 {Alice nods) But, my dear, where did you meet him? 
 When did it happen? Why didn't you tell me before? 
 
 Alice {speaking low): He took father's shooting 
 last year. It happened last night. We haven't told 
 anybody yet. {Looks at Sir James.) 
 
 Lady Boyce {speaking low) : O ! don't mind about 
 him. He's quite absorbed in the show. Fancy your 
 marrying Major Dorrington! But I am glad, dear; 
 really glad. For he's such a good fellow, and he's 
 had an awfully hard time. I am glad that woman is 
 dead. 
 
 Sir James: What are you people chattering about? 
 Do look at these beggars, Millie. That little fellow 
 
An Unrehearsed Effect 97 
 
 turns himself right inside out. He'll kill himself at it. 
 But he comes to the scratch again all right, as if 
 nothing had happened. Do look, Miss Munroe. 
 {Enter Major Dorrington.) 
 
 Lady Boyce: So glad you were able to come. {To 
 her husband) Jim, sit here {indicating the chair Alice 
 had occupied). 
 
 ( The four arrange themselves so that Sir James and 
 Lady Boyce occupy one end of the box, and Alice the 
 other end, Major Dorrington placing his chair behind her.) 
 
 Sir James: By Jove, Dorrington, we've got you 
 round here on false pretences. It's a swindle, you 
 know, neither more nor less. Look at this. {Hands 
 him the paper announcing the indisposition of Miss 
 Watkins.) We spoil these people and then they take 
 liberties. 
 
 Major Dorrington: Never mind; I haven't come 
 quite for nothing. {Takes Alice's hand for a moment, 
 unperceived by the others?) 
 
 Lady Boyce: And the Senora Somethingita may be 
 very good. 
 
 Sir James: She may. But Miss Munroe was to 
 
 7 
 
98 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 have her eyes opened; and Dollie Watkins would have 
 done that 
 
 Alice : Don't let's be hard on the other yo\mg lady 
 before seeing- her. Perhaps she will do it equally well. 
 
 Major Dorrington {encouragingly): She may be a 
 great surprise, you know. 
 
 Sir James {despondently) : She may. I call it a swindle. 
 
 Lady Boyce: There, attend to the show, Jim, do. 
 And take your boot off my dress. 
 
 {The curtain goes up, and the orchestra dashes 
 at some furious dance music?) 
 
 Major Dorrington {aside, to Alice)-. I hope you do 
 not mind my thrusting myself upon the party in this 
 way. I couldn't keep away. 
 
 Alice {aside, to Major Dorrington)'. Not much. 
 
 Major Dorrington {aside, to Alice)-. Not much! 
 
 Alice {aside, to Major Dorrington)'. Well, not at 
 all, then. But let us look at the stage. I haven't 
 seen anything yet. 
 
 Major Dorrington {aside, to Alice)-. You look at 
 the stage, and I'll look at you. 
 {The Seizor a Mariquita Valdez bounds on to the stage.) 
 
An Unrehearsed Effect. 99 
 
 The Audience: Brava! Brava! 
 
 Sir James: Brava! 
 
 Lady Boyce: Well, I don't think much of her. 
 
 Alice: She's very beautiful, isn't she? 
 
 Major Dorrington: Very. 
 
 Alice [aside to Major Dorrington)'. I thought you 
 were not going to look at the stage. 
 
 Major Dorrington {aside to Alice)'. I wasn't looking 
 at the stage. I was looking at you. 
 
 Alice {aside to Major Dorrington)'. Don't be quite 
 silly. I don't want these people to laugh at me — and 
 there's really not room for more than one set of 
 fingers on the handle of my fan. 
 
 Sir James {who has been staring earnestly through 
 his opera glasses) : I know that woman. I've seen her 
 before. Who is she? I know her face as well as I 
 know my own. Dorrington! 
 
 Lady Boyce: My dear, would you mind comparing 
 notes with Major Dorrington about the woman after- 
 wards. It will be so much easier for you to recall 
 things. 
 
 Sir James: Dorrington! {Major Dorrington rises 
 
IOO Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 resignedly to look at the stags over Alice's head?) Who 
 the deuce is the girl? I know her face. That stuff 
 on her head is tow. She's a fair girl really. Who 
 
 the dickens {turns to Dorrington and sees his face?) 
 
 By Jove! It's her! 
 
 Lady Boyce (looking from her husband to Major 
 Dorrington): Her! Her! Not his wife! 
 
 Major ' Dorrington {walking unsteadily to the door 
 of the box): Open this thing, Jim. Let me go! I'll 
 swear I thought she was dead. Let me go. Open it 
 I say! I can't see the handle anywhere. 
 
 vSir James: All right, old fellow. Lean on me. 
 (Opens the door?) Miss Munroe, would you mind looking 
 after Millie? She's a little, upset. 
 
 (Exit Sir Ja?nes arid Major Dorrington?) 
 
 The Audience (as the Seliora finishes her turn): 
 Brava ! Brava ! 
 
 Lady Boyce: Oh! my poor Alice! 
 
 Alice: Don't. You've got to help me. He thought 
 she was dead. It's as bad for him as it is for me. 
 What shall I do? (Begins taking the flozvers out of 
 her dress.) 
 
An Unrehearsed Effect 101 
 
 The Audience: Brava! Brava! Encore! Encore! 
 
 {The Senora returns and bows her acknowledgments, 
 Alice rises in the box and throws her bouquet on to 
 the stage?) 
 
 The Audience: Brava! Brava! 
 
 Alice: I doubt if the other lady would have opened 
 my eyes wider. 
 
W I mm 
 
 cossie; "You seem to have heard a great deal abovit Jack Walsham." 
 
TRUTH WILL OUT. 
 
 By Marion Hepworth Dixon. 
 
 mrs. emerson (30), An Anglo Indian widow. 
 
 cossie pinching (28), An impecunious young man. 
 
 Scene : The gallerv of a London Church, where a wedding is going on. 
 
 Cossie: Glad we thought of coming up here, we 
 can see the show and be out of the ruck. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson : Cossie, remember we are in church ! 
 
 Cossie: Thought you were too "modern" to mind, 
 Zoey. It is a bit of farce after all, say what you will, 
 and who should know it better than l s who was engaged 
 to the girl myself? 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: He marries her for her money ? 
 
 Cossie: I should say for her expectations. Old 
 Flamborough is as rich as Croesus. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: But she is pretty, they say. 
 
 Cossie: That wouldn't count with Walsham. He's 
 seen too many of 'em. 
 
106 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson {sharply): Too many? Too many of 
 what? 
 
 Cossie: Pretty women — and known 'em too well. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson : {hesitating a little) : Is Colonel Walsham 
 a flirt? 
 
 Cossie: Oh, quite awful. Did you never hear? 
 
 Mrs. Emerson {Indignantly) : I know Colonel Walsham 
 is a good soldier and a good sort. It is a great 
 shame of you to abuse him behind his back. 
 
 Cossie : Not behind his back — over his head. There 
 he is struggling in. Look, the beadle is pushing him 
 along through the crowd! What a scrimmage it is to 
 be married in London. I never saw Walsham look an 
 ass before. By Jove, there comes Minnie Flamborough! 
 {A female voice in the crowd'. What a handsome couple !) 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: She is pretty. How could you have 
 the heart to jilt such a pretty girl? 
 
 Cossie: {put o?it): Well, you know, it was not 
 exactly that way. Never said I jilted her; did I? 
 
 Mrs. Emerson : What way was it then ? 
 
 Cossie: Don't you remember what a cropper I came, 
 in the beginning of the season, when Orme went 
 
Truth will out. 107 
 
 wrong? Well, Old Flamborough, before he paid up 
 for me, which I must admit he did handsomely, insisted 
 on looking at my book. He was infernally rude about 
 my bets. Did not mind the gamble a bit, but said 
 my book was the book of an idiot who should never 
 be his son-in-law. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: And he dismissed you. 
 
 Cossie: Hang it all, no, Zoey! He — well, he offended 
 me, and Minnie and I broke it off, somehow, and you 
 know it was just then I saw you and we became 
 engaged. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Nonsense, Cossie, don't tell stories. 
 We did not meet till six weeks after all that. 
 
 Cossie: Didn't we? Anyhow, I'm glad we did meet, 
 and 
 
 Mrs. Emerson : Did you love Miss Flamborough, Cossie ? 
 
 Cossie: Well, hardly! 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: And she? 
 
 Cossie: What's the good of humbugging about love 
 and all that nonsense? Minnie Flamborough is a sen- 
 sible sort of girl — she had money. The Pinching title 
 is to come to me and the Pinching estates. I wanted 
 
108 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 what she had and what I had she wanted. Wasn't 
 that good enough for us both? 
 
 Mrs. Emerson {irritated)-. I hate this kind of talk. 
 You make me think you make me remember 
 
 Cossie: What? 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Well, if you will have it, that I am 
 rich and you poor. 
 
 Cossie: Oh, that's different. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Perhaps not so very different. 
 
 Cossie: {to change the current of the conversation)'. 
 By Jove, look at Walsham! he really doesn't seem to 
 like it — does he? It's just me over again, you know, 
 since he got to be next to the Walsham baronetcy — ■ 
 poor devil! It's his poverty consents. He's as white 
 as a sheet. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson {forgetting her prudence)-. Oh, poor 
 Colonel Walsham! It is one of his awful headaches — 
 after that sunstroke — they come on suddenly when 
 
 when he's put out. 
 
 - 
 Cossie {surprised) : Why, Zoey ! {laughing) : you seem 
 
 to have heard a great deal about Jack Walsham. Did 
 
 you know him? 
 
Truth will out. 109 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Yes, a little, in India. 
 
 Cossie: Oh, I see. Never mind, /don't care it you 
 don't. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Do you care for anything, or any 
 one Cossie? 
 
 Cossie: Well, Zoey, in these days one has to care 
 for one self first — {fulling himself up) of course, dear, 
 I care for you — you know. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: You certainly haven't much else left 
 to care for, have you? You've sold your dogs and 
 horses. 
 
 Cossie: Yes, hang it all! and my creditors, and 
 everything I have on wheels — and my little place at 
 Newmarket, and my shoot — about the only thing I cared 
 for — up in Yorkshire. Jove! I've got blessed little 
 left to sell now I come to think of it. Nothing that 
 anyone would buy I'll take my oath. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Don't offer to sell your heart, Cossie. 
 
 Cossie: Why? 
 
 Mrs. Emerson : Because, my dear boy, it's the unknown 
 quantity. 
 
 Cossie: Ha! ha! Very neat. {Laughing)-, no, I 
 
1 1 o Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 suppose I haven't much heart, but you haven't either, 
 have you ? Let's be frank, now. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Never cared for anything or any 
 body in all my life — except money and — and your 
 future title, dear Cossie. 
 
 Cossie: Oh, I say, that's rather a hard and heavy 
 one, isn't it? 
 
 Mrs. Emerson: Think so? But didn't you ask me to 
 be frank ? You see I've beaten you at your own game. 
 
 Cossie {listening) : I say, Zoey, did you hear what 
 that woman said, just now, behind us? She said this 
 Walsham marriage is a love match — what an idiot, as 
 if I didn't know better. {Listens again.) 
 
 A MANS WHISPER BEHIND THEM AS THE ORGAN NOTES OF ' A 
 VOICE WHICH BREATHED o'ER EDEN ' SUDDENLY CEASES: 
 
 Oh, yes, I know all about it; she was engaged to 
 that little blackguard, Cossie Pinching — the old story, 
 money on one side and a title on the other. Then 
 she met Walsham, and gave the little cad the 
 sack. 
 Cossie: It isn't true! But I don't like to look round 
 and give the fellow the lie. 
 
Truth will out. 1 1 1 
 
 Mrs. Emerson {laughing)-. No, I wouldn't, Cossie; it's 
 too public. He mightn't like it. 
 
 The same man's voice : Oh, I know old Walsham well. 
 The best fellow that ever lived. Rather an ass 
 though about women. He was entangled by a Mrs. 
 Emerson, in India ; then when he came to England, 
 a month or two ago, he met Minnie Flamborough 
 a?td was taken with her at once. 
 A woman's voice: How about this Mrs. Emerson) 
 The man's voice again: Oh, she's the usual Anglo In- 
 dian form — about as rapid as they make 'em — / 
 believe she cared for Walsham but marriage with 
 her was i?npossible. He simply cut the moorings. 
 Mrs. Emerson (very pale) : Mr. Pinching-, I think we 
 have both heard too much. 
 
 Cossie: Quite enough, certainly. 
 
 Mrs. Emerson {after a momentous patise): We had 
 better say "Quits," and part? 
 Cossie: "Quits," Mrs. Emerson! 
 
jy ^_^.- 
 
 MAUDSLEY : " I. should like to go and drown myself, Colonel." 
 
THE GIRLS HE LEFT BEHIND HIM. 
 
 By Mrs. Alfred Hunt. 
 
 COLONEL FANSHAWE, 55. MRS. DAVENPORT, 45. MR. ARTHUR MAUDSLEY, 22. 
 THE THREE MISS PAIGNTONS, 26 TO 30. 
 
 Scene: Mrs. Davenport' s Ball at a Garrison Town. 
 Time: The night be/ore the departure of a Regiment. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe (to his hostess) : How these young- 
 sters do dance! They seem to move on air. 
 
 Mrs Davenport: And yet some of them I dare say 
 have hearts as heavy as lead. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: Why? 
 
 Mrs. Davenport: Well, after dancing and flirting 
 together for two years, it must be hard to say good- 
 bye for ever, for that's what changing quarters prac- 
 tically means. 
 
 Colonel' Fanshawe : It does, to be sure. We are 
 rolling stones — but we sometimes gather a little moss. 
 Some of the fellows contrive 
 
1 1 6 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs Davenport: To make fools of themselves. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe : I should not have put it so ! 
 Still I think we shall hear of no engagements to-night, 
 it's too damp for the garden. 
 
 Mrs. Davenport: The Paignton girls would sit out 
 in an Arctic winter. Have you noticed them to-night? 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: What is there to notice? They 
 only flirt — they always did and always will. 
 
 Mrs. Davenport: Ah, but there is purpose in the 
 eyes of all three to-night. They have always meant 
 to marry into the army, and to-night, you will see, 
 some of your men will be idiotic enough to give them 
 the chance. Which of the three would you like best in 
 the regiment? They are all pretty, they are all silly, 
 and they are all sentimental; and they are utterly 
 heartless and designing young women. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: Do you think, Mrs. Davenport, 
 that I am not alive to the danger? No, a colonel, if 
 he does his duty by his young fellows, has it to do 
 in the ball room as well as on the field and in the 
 barrack yard. 
 
 Mrs. Davenport: Well, I don't envy you your work 
 
The Girls He Left Behind Him. 1 1 7 
 
 Rosa Paignton has her eye on the regiment at large 
 to-night, and 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: And on young Maudsley in 
 particular. {Nervously) By the bye, where is the boy ? 
 He mustn't slip through my fingers. I promised his 
 father I would look after him. 
 
 Mrs Davenport {laughing) : Out there in the garden 
 beyond the furthest lamp: at the front; engaged with 
 the enemy — under the fire of Miss Rosa Paignton herself! 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: Confound it! — I beg your par- 
 don, but I must bring up my supports — reinforce him, 
 you know. The young ass has had too much cham- 
 pagne to be able to fight his guns by himself. 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: We have got our route, Miss 
 Paignton. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton {mournfully): Oh, have you? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Yes; and there is nothing for 
 it but to go, I suppose {sighs). 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton {sighs): I suppose — not. 
 
 Arthur Maudsley : It is hard on a fellow ! When he has 
 just joined — just found out how nice people are here! 
 
1 1 8 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: And they may have just got 
 to know how nice you are! 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Oh, don't, Miss Paignton. You 
 will like the 190th. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: And you will like Plymouth — 
 (A silence?) 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: There's the fifth extra! You pro- 
 mised it to me. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Did I? You asked me to keep 
 you three dances at the Buddeleys — and — now you 
 are going away (piteously). 
 
 Arthur Maudsley (ruefully): It's not my fault. / 
 don't want to go. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: But you will go — and we 
 shall never see each other again! 
 
 (A silence) 
 
 Arthur Maudsley (whose head swims)-. We ought 
 to go and dance, I suppose. I don't feel like dancing, 
 do you? 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: No, I don't. 
 
 Arthur Maudsley : Yes, but you are such a splendid 
 dancer — it is a shame to keep you out of the ball room- 
 
The Girls He Left Behind Him. 119 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Dancing isn't everything. 
 *• _ * #■ # -x- -Jf * 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: I say, it's awfully jolly here. I 
 could sit here for ever. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Ah, you will never sit here 
 with me again! To-morrow — what time do you start? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Ten. Beastly nuisance! 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Oh, you won't mind it. You 
 will all be there at ten — and you will be cheerful in 
 the train, and you will take your seats, and the band 
 will strike up — what is it they play? I forget. 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Oh, you know what they play. 
 "The girl I left behind me." 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Is that it? And then the engine 
 will whistle and shriek, and off you will go; and — 
 never — see — any — of — us — again. (Is overcome?) 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Oh, I say, please don't! If you 
 go on like that you will make me 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton [eagerly)-. Make you what? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Do something foolish. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Would it be so foolish? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: It's idiotic for a man to cry. 
 
1 20 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton {innocently)'. You cry? Oh, why "t 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: At leaving you — Rosa! 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: You must not call me Rosa. 
 Look at the glow-worms shining down there! 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Never mind the glow-worms. 
 Rosa, couldn't we get married? 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: You don't really care for me 
 enough ? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: I do, on my soul, I do. I think 
 an awful lot of you. Say you will. 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Well, if you really are so silly 
 [puts her hand in his), I say yes. 
 
 {Enter an officer of the Regiment?) 
 
 Officer: Our dance, Miss Paignton! 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: I am rather tired — I am a- 
 fraid — - 
 
 Officer: I am not going to let you off. I couldn't 
 find you for the last, and I am going away in the 
 morning, so 
 
 Miss Rosa Paignton: Well if I must, I must. (To 
 Maudsley) Stay here, dear, and wait for me. [Exit) 
 
The Girls He Left Behind Him. 121 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: You here, Maudsley — and alone! 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: I only wish I had been alone 
 all the time, sir. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: What's the matter? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: I mustn't tell you. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: Yes, you must — your father 
 made me promise to look after you. Now, what have 
 you been up to? Getting engaged, eh? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Yes, sir. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: I knew it. By Jove! To whom? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: One of the Paigntons. I don't 
 know what made me. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: Why, she made you, of course. 
 Which one of the three was it? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: The eldest. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: And you don't love her? 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: Not a bit! We were talking, 
 and somehow it happened, and — I should like to go 
 and drown myself, Colonel. 
 
 Captain Fanshawe: My dear boy, don't be too low 
 about it. You're only an ass. We've all been that in 
 our day. Every evil has its cure: even Rosa Paignton has. 
 
122 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: But I have asked her to marry 
 me. I can't go back on my word. You would not 
 like me to, Colonel. 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe: No, not for worlds: but when 
 a fish is hooked foul, he must get off, even if he wrig- 
 gles off. The woman has caught you unfairly. 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: But what can I do? 
 
 Colonel Fanshawe : Do ? Why pull yourself together, 
 my boy, and propose to both her sisters too! Turn 
 the tragedy into a farce. There's safety in numbers, 
 you know. Then let 'em fight it out among themselves. 
 
 Arthur Maudsley: By Jove, sir, it's splendid! There 
 are still four dances; I won't lose a moment! 
 
L,^ 1 A 
 
 COUNTESS — "I am a foreigner; I cannot quite do it. But 
 not forgotten something else?" 
 
 . have you 
 
LOVE-IN LEAP YEAR. 
 
 By Anthony Hope. 
 
 THE COMTESSE DE CHATELROUGE. CAPTAIN ANSTRUTHER. 
 
 Scene ; The Countess's drawing-room. Time : Any after?ioon in i8g2. 
 
 The Captain: And then, if you please, she fell in 
 love with her music-master. 
 
 The Countess: Well, my friend, everybody has 
 measles, once. 
 
 The Captain: Ah, but she married him. 
 
 The Countess: Mon Die it! What for? 
 
 The Captain: For life, unhappily. You must, you 
 know, in England, barring 
 
 The Countess: [shutting her fan with a click)-. Voila. 
 
 The Captain: I knew what you'd think. 
 
 The Countess : Of course ! But is he very impossible ? 
 
 The Captain: Well, it's a curious thing, but he's a 
 decent enough fellow. Of course, he hadn't a six- 
 pence, and she had three thousand a year. 
 
126 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 The Countess: How could she do it? And they are 
 very unhappy? 
 
 The Captain: Oh, quite the contrary. You see, all 
 her relations cut her, so there is no unpleasantness. 
 
 The Countess : And does he continue to give lessons ? 
 
 The Captain: No; that's served its turn. He's going 
 to devote himself to writing an oratorio. 
 
 The Countess {sighing)'. Ah, money is the root of 
 all evil! Was he handsome? 
 
 The Captain: Women said so. I never saw him 
 within six months of his last visit to the barber. 
 
 The Countess: At least, he appears to be fortunate. 
 
 The Captain: Uncommonly. 
 
 The Countess: Then you admired her? Tell me 
 why? It interests me. 
 
 The Captain: A hundred thousand pound 
 
 The Countess: Oh, you are cynical. Why suppose 
 he thought of her money? 
 
 The Captain: Well, it's a possible motive, and 
 
 The Countess: And a bad one? And that's enough! 
 Decidedly you are not amiable to-day. Look at it 
 from her point of view. 
 
Love in Leap Year. 127 
 
 The Captain: I have tried; but it didn't work. 
 
 The Countess: Is a woman who is rich to marry- 
 no one? 
 
 The Captain: Any rich man she likes — or doesn't 
 like, for that matter. 
 
 The Countess: But if she likes a poor one? 
 
 The Captain: Then she may be loved, but no one 
 will ever believe she is. 
 
 The Countess: I am quite rich. 
 
 The Captain: I beg" pardon. I did not mean to be 
 personal. 
 
 The Countess {with a shrug) : Then you did not 
 mean to be interesting. N'importe. You stumbled 
 into it. 
 
 The Captain: I'm always stumbling into something 
 — generally your drawing-room. 
 
 The Countess {re-opeiiing her fan) : Fortune is indeed 
 unkind to you. 
 
 The Captain {smiling): Spare my blushes. But as 
 
 you like the personal vein, I am quite poor. 
 
 The Countess: Then if you are ever married it will 
 * 
 obviously be for love. There will be no other explanation. 
 
128 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 The Captain: Oh, they'll find one! They'll say I 
 was taken in settlement of a bad debt, or something. 
 
 The Countess: Whereas, if I am ever married 
 again — for I was poor when I married before — it will 
 clearly be — not for love? 
 
 The Captain: The conclusion is so preposterous that 
 there must be something wrong in the argument. 
 
 The Countess: Ah, you sacrifice logic to politeness; 
 but I know what you think. 
 
 The Captain: Do you? I doubt it. I am thinking 
 how much I wish you hadn't a farthing in the world! 
 
 The Countess: Only your obvious insincerity acquits 
 you of cruelty, for I do not wish it at all. 
 
 The Captain: Insincerity! Do you suspect me of — ? 
 
 The Countess: Oh, only of using a pretty common- 
 place. 
 
 The Captain {angrily): You are like all the rest. 
 Your money is more to you than 
 
 The Countess: Your society? Suppose it were? What 
 then? Does it follow that I am very base? 
 
 The Captain {seizing his hat and brushing it im- 
 patiently on his sleeve)'. It only follows that Fm a fool. 
 
Love in Leap Year. 129 
 
 The Countess [gently): Is it not the other way one 
 brushes one's hat? 
 
 The Captain: Hang the thing! (He replaces his hat 
 on the table. The Countess takes it and smoothes it 
 with her handkerchief?) 
 
 The Countess: How easily ruffled some — hats — are! 
 
 The Captain: Perhaps they know how they are going 
 to be smoothed. 
 
 The Countess : A compliment ? Come, you are better ! 
 
 The Captain: I can't help it whether you are rich or 
 not 
 
 The Countess: Believe me, I am glad. 
 
 The Captain: When love lays hold on a — — 
 
 The Countess: music-master? 
 
 The Captain {with dignity)-. If you choose to put 
 that interpretation on my conduct, I have no more to say. 
 
 The Countess (with a smile): Poor— music-master! 
 
 The Captain (rising): I will not intrude on you any 
 longer. 
 
 The Countess: You are going then? 
 
 The Captain (pausing): Yes, I'm going. At least, 
 I'm going, unless 
 
1 30 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 The Countess: I do not like Englishmen when they 
 make love. 
 
 The Captain {gruffly)'- I suppose Frenchmen are bet- 
 ter, are they? 
 
 The Countess {with emphasis)-. A thousand times. 
 They are not dull, and slow, and heavy. 
 
 The Captain: You see Englishmen happen to be 
 burdened with consciences. 
 
 The Countess: A lover with a conscience! How 
 incongruous! Why, I have heard that Englishwomen, in 
 sheer despair, have instituted a custom allowing their 
 sex to — start the affair — one year in every four. I 
 should not blame them, if it were true. Is it true? 
 
 The Captain: It's only a vulgar joke among vulgar 
 people. 
 
 The Countess: Oh, bring me some vulgar people. 
 I think I should like them. What do you call the 
 year when they do it? 
 
 The Captain {impatiently)-. Leap Year. 
 
 The Countess: And when is ? 
 
 The Captain: This is Leap Year. 
 
 The Countess {fanning herself): Oh! 
 
Love in Leap Year. 131 
 
 (A pause. The Countess gazes into the fire. The 
 Captain stands undecidedly in the middle of room) 
 
 The Captain (in a low voice): Well, good-bye. You 
 have chosen to attribute a very base motive to me. 
 You have been unjust in that; but what's the use of 
 talking? Good-bye. (He turns to go, taking his hat 
 and stick.) 
 
 The Countess: See! you are leaving your gloves. 
 (She takes the gloves and holds them out to him) 
 
 The Captain (coldly)'. Thank you. (He takes hold 
 of the gloves. The Countess retains her hold) 
 
 The Countess (latighing and blushing): I am a 
 foreigner; I cannot quite do it. But — have you not 
 forgotten something else? 
 
 The Captain: I — I don't quite understand. 
 
 The Countess: You came to ask — I cannot! Well, 
 have you asked? 
 
 The Captain (eagerly): Marie! 
 
 The Countess: Oh, you have no idea of making 
 love — not the least. Admit it! 
 
 The Captain: I'll admit anything, if only 
 
 The Countess : Then heaven made you for a husband! 
 
132 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 The Captain: My darling! 
 
 The Countess: And they will say of you what you 
 said of that poor music-master. 
 
 The Captain: I don't care! You won't care, Marie, 
 if they say of you 
 
 The Countess: Oh, you are incurable! 
 
 The Captain: You said yourself that when rich 
 women 
 
 The Countess: But I! Am I like other women? 
 
 The Captain: By Jove, no! 
 
 The Countess: Very well then! 
 
I found her sitting on a bench in Kensington Gardens." 
 
THE WAY TO KEEP HER. 
 
 By Violet Hunt. 
 
 Artists: — French gray (38), saturnine, spring green (28), mercurial. 
 sally king (22), a model. 
 
 Scene: Howard Studios, Chelsea. 
 
 Spring Green {entering noisily)-. I've got her, my 
 dear fellow, I've got her! Congratulate me! I could 
 jump over the moon! 
 
 French Gray: Spare my easel, then. Here, take a 
 cigarette; sit down and keep quiet. I'm awfully busy. 
 What have you got? 
 
 Spring Green: You always are! What have I got? 
 Why, my "Lady of the Lake!" I found her sitting on 
 a bench in Kensington Gardens all alone, looking sen- 
 timental at nothing. I was thunderstruck. My dear 
 Gray, she was the realisation of my wildest dreams! 
 
 French Gray: A simpering school-girl, eh? 
 
 Spring Green: Such eyes! Any amount of drawing 
 
136 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 in them. Such a mouth! Such hair, and masses of it! 
 I am trying- to think what colour I should use for it! 
 
 French Gray: She will tell you what she uses. Try 
 Aureolin. But how did you know her profession? 
 Every pretty woman isn't a model 
 
 Spring Green: Any more than every model is a 
 pretty woman! But this girl is both beautiful and a 
 model by profession. I could have told by her pose. 
 She came capitally as she sat there; I longed to do 
 her there and then. 
 
 French Gray: Well, I suppose you have got it all 
 settled. You've cheek enough for anything! 
 
 Spring Green: Oh! she settled it. She saw I had 
 a sketch-book in my hand — I had just run out to see 
 if I could get a good bit for a background — and she 
 got up and asked me so prettily if I could direct her 
 to Howard Studios, "she was on her way to sit to a 
 gentleman there." So I said I would direct her to no 
 studio but mine — and the long and the short of it is, 
 she's going to him to-day, but only to tell him she 
 can't continue the sittings any longer. 
 
 French Gray: I wonder who the poor beggar is? 
 
The Way to keep Her. 137 
 
 Spring Green: Some duffer or other. She didn't 
 bother about him. Poor old Scrubbe, perhaps? 
 
 French Gray: Ah! I daresay. {Setting his palette') 
 Well, it's most immoral; you've no right to embezzle 
 even Scrubbe's model within three weeks of sending 
 in. By Jove! that reminds me — you're interrupting me 
 abominably! Yes, stay here if you like; take another 
 cigarette, and hold your confounded jaw — if you've no 
 work to do of your own? 
 
 Spring Green: /begin to-morrow. {Smokes peaceably') 
 I never thought of asking this girl who she was sitting 
 to ? She has the very lowest opinion of him — says he 
 never hardly looks at her, and that always offends a 
 woman, don't you know? 
 
 French Gray: He's probably an idealist! 
 
 Spring Green: Probably a fool! Lends her books — 
 
 French Gray {absorbed): Oh, ah! 
 
 Spring Green : And sends her home in a cab after 
 dark 
 
 French Gray: Ah, oh! 
 
 Spring Green: And takes her to "Pops" 
 
 French Gray: Pops! — does he? 
 
1 38 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Spring Green: You aren't attending a bit. 
 
 French Gray: I'm not pretending to, my dear fellow. 
 I can think of nothing but my picture. It's my mag- 
 num opus. 
 
 Spring Green: I know it is. You're such a serious 
 sort. If only you wouldn't go in for painting these 
 ideal abstractions, you would have some mind to give 
 to your friends. 
 
 French Gray: My supply of mind is quite as great 
 as your demands. I'm listening all the time. I hear 
 you raving about your new model, that you're going 
 to steal from poor Scrubbe, and I disapprove 
 
 Spring Green {gaily) : Mean of me, isn't it ? I offered 
 her double what he gave her, every day for three 
 weeks, and didn't even ask how much it was. She'll 
 come like anything. She's a bit of a goose, you 
 know — giggles — and likes flattery. I fancy that's 
 Scrubbe's mistake. He hasn't the sense to flatter her, 
 either verbally, or on canvas .... I say, do look in 
 to-morrow, and see her! 
 
 French Gray: Look here, Green, once for all un- 
 derstand that I'm working away for fame and dear 
 
The Way to keep Her. 139 
 
 life, and all the rest of it. I don't know what I should 
 do if I couldn't get this idea carried out, it's taken 
 such hold of me. I have no objection to your coming 
 in here and babbling to me about the model of the 
 hour, but I can't go anywhere for three weeks. Sally 
 King is coming every day, and she's late now, or I 
 should send you away. 
 
 Spring Green : Really old man, you frighten . me, 
 you are so dreadfully in earnest. What are you up 
 to now ? . . . . Let's have a look ? . . . . {rises, and puts 
 up his glass). What a hag you've made your "World- 
 Spirit?" Is that Sally King? You don't flatter her, 
 at any rate. 
 
 French Gray : That's not my line. But her type 
 suits me exactly, I pay her well, and she sits and holds 
 her tongue, I can't talk to her, but I give her concert 
 tickets now and then. I think I shall do that with 
 you — you distract me. Go and give Scrubbe a turn. 
 
 Spring Green : All right. I'm off. I wish you would 
 look in to-morrow though and see .... By the way, I 
 never asked her her name. Let me see, she gave me 
 her card .... {dives in his waistcoat pocket). .Here it 
 
140 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 is«i Miss Sara King! By Jove — ! {There is a knock 
 at the door) 
 
 French Gray [hastily)'. Oblige me by carefully con- 
 sidering that Henner over there in the corner for a 
 few minutes, and turning your back? (Spring Green 
 retires obediently). Come in! (Sally King enters). Good 
 morning, Miss King, you're late! 
 
 Sally King (glibly): Oh, Mr. Gray, I'm so sorry. 
 
 I lost my way in the Gardens and, Sir I 
 
 thought I had better tell you at once I shan't 
 
 be able to continue the sittings, after to-day. My 
 mother's fallen downstairs and sprained her leg... and 
 I'm her only one, and 
 
 French Gray (sneering) : Her only leg ? That will do, 
 Miss King ; we will talk of it afterwards. Kindly go now 
 and put on your costume ! (Miss King disappears behind 
 a screen; Spring Green comes forward) You villain! 
 
 Spring Green: My dear fellow! 
 
 French Gray: To try to steal my model! 
 
 Spring Green: I had no idea it was your model. 
 
 French Gray: You knew it was someone's. But 
 mark my words, you don't get her! 
 
The Way to keep Her. \\\ 
 
 Spring Green : She's really no good to you ; a laugh- 
 ing little thing like that to pose for the "World- 
 Spirit"! It's absurd. No wonder you never looked 
 at her! 
 
 French Gray: Don't criticise my method, please! 
 
 Spring Green: I know another girl that will do 
 capitally for you. I'll give you her address. 
 
 French Gray: Keep your addresses and I'll keep 
 Sally King. She is my property. I discovered her. 
 I paid her last quarter's rent, and she pretends not 
 to know the way to my studio! 
 
 Spring Green: More shame for you! I'll tell her 
 you are an unprincipled beggar no decent woman 
 ought to sit to 
 
 French Gray: I'll tell her your picture is more 
 likely to be "skied" than not 
 
 Spring Green: I'll flirt with her! 
 
 French Gray: I'll Never mind. I'll be even with 
 
 you. You must find some other model — to flirt with. 
 You shall not even speak to mine. 
 
 Spring Green: I'll wait in the street till she comes 
 out. 
 
142 Dialogiies of the Day. 
 
 French Gray: You couldn't be such a devil! 
 
 Spring Green: In the cause of art 
 
 French Gray: Don't take its name in vain. Here 
 comes Sally! Now be kind enough to go away. 
 
 Spring Green: The second lamp-post round the cor- 
 ner, eh? (Exit.) 
 
 Spring Green (putting his head in at the door and 
 an hour later)'. Has Miss King gone? 
 
 French Gray (gloomily) : Yes ; coming again to- 
 morrow. 
 
 Spring Green: That's all right! My dear Gray, 
 believe me, I was only chaffing — 
 
 French Gray : You chaffed me into something pretty 
 serious, I can tell you. 
 
 Spring Green: I didn't mean it. I wouldn't really 
 do such a low down thing for the world. I didn't 
 wait for her. I just went in to Scrubbe next door 
 and told him the whole story. How he did laugh! 
 
 French Gray: It's no laughing matter. This picture 
 is my life and Miss King is my picture. 
 
The Way to keep Her. 
 
 143 
 
 Spring Green : My dear boy, I tell you it's all right ; 
 I abandon my claim. I shan't do anything. Shake 
 hands ! 
 
 French Gray {shaking hands) : My dear fellow, nothing 
 you can do, will make any difference now. {With the 
 calmness of despair) : I've promised to marry her ! - 
 
MRS. FANSHAWE: — "Mr. Culverton ! This is luck. We were just talking about you. 
 
 IO 
 
GIVING HIM AWAY. 
 
 By Mrs. Hugh Bell. 
 
 MRS. SEYMOUR. CULVERTON. 
 
 mrs. seymour. mrs. fanshawe. owen culverton (Dramatic author?) 
 Scene : Mrs. Seymour s Drawing-room. 
 
 Culverton {reading from MS.): U{ No, Sylvia, 710, no, 
 the moment has passed for that — it is gone for ever!" 
 Sylvia: 'Gone, Arthur! Nay, this moment will never 
 pass. Here time and space are one!' Curtain." {He 
 shuts the MS.) 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: That is how the act ends? 
 
 Culverton: Yes, it comes down on that speech of 
 Sylvia's. 
 
 Mrs Seymour {rapturously) : Oh, I think it is won- 
 derful! It cannot fail to be tremendously effective. 
 
 Culverton (pleased): You really think so? You are 
 not saying it only to please me ? 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: No, no indeed! How could you think 
 
148 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 so? It will be most telling. That last speech is so 
 fine, "Here time and space are one." 
 
 Culverton {pleased) : Ah, I thought that yon at any 
 rate would grasp its full significance. Tell me exactly 
 how you would interpret that sentence, that I may see 
 if you read it as I do? 
 
 Mrs. Seymour [aside): Good heavens! (Aloud) Oh, 
 it's too wonderfully subtle — the aroma would be de- 
 stroyed by attempting an explanation. 
 
 Culverton (reflectingly) : Well, perhaps you are 
 right. It is, no doubt, curiously subtle. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour (hurriedly): And then the rest of the 
 act is so good. 
 
 Culverton: Yes, I must say I agree with you. It 
 seems to me to have a good deal of go, action, ob- 
 servation and force. 
 
 Mrs. vSeymour: Oh, there is no doubt of it. Now 
 is it indiscreet to ask what you are going to do with 
 the piece when it is finished? 
 
 Culverton: Nothing could be indiscreet for you to 
 ask. Of course, I know you are absolutely safe; but 
 still, there is so much danger in bruiting about these 
 
Giving Him Away. 149 
 
 things prematurely — and this, especially, it would be 
 fatal to mention, as {checks himself) — never mind why. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Oh, how interesting that sounds! 
 Do go on ! 
 
 Culverton: One has to walk warily, I assure you, 
 behind the scenes. The madding crowd's ignoble strife 
 surges fiercely round the stage door. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: But your point of view can never 
 be ignoble. 
 
 Culverton: Of course not — that is where I am at 
 a disadvantage. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: That is the penalty one has to pay 
 for an organisation like yours. 
 
 Culverton : Oh, how well you understand me ! There 
 is no one as comprehending as you are. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Not even — Mrs. Fanshawe — who is 
 byway of knowing and understanding everything that 
 everybody says, thinks, or writes? 
 
 Culverton: By way of knowing, perhaps — but I 
 fear she knows a little too much to be able to assimilate 
 her knowledge. She has not, if I may be allowed to 
 say so, a tithe of your understanding sympathy, dear lady. 
 
150 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: And yet you are afraid to tell me 
 about your play? [Culverton hesitates?) Have I ever 
 told you anyone else's secrets ? 
 
 Culverton {smiling) : No, I regret to say that you 
 have not. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Then why should you think I will 
 tell other people yours? 
 
 Culverton : Well, then {Mrs. Seymour looks delighted) — 
 but mind, I am giving myself into your hands! — the 
 play by which mine is suggested is by a Sicilian named 
 Cavanti. He has, as you know, written some very 
 unconventional pieces, round which a storm of discus- 
 sion has been raised in Italy. This is a play he has 
 just written- barely finished, in fact — and which I, by 
 going to see him in Rome last week, have succeeded 
 in securing before anyone else. The important thing, 
 therefore, is to keep the play and the adaptation a 
 secret, if possible, until it is quite ready to be produced. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: I see! This is most exciting. 
 
 Culverton: I think it quite possible that by this 
 time Philip Darell may have got wind of it, and may 
 have started for Rome too ; but I am first in the field, 
 
Giving Him Away. 151 
 
 and if the secret can be kept for a week longer we 
 shall be safe. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: It certainly shall be, as far as I am 
 concerned. And now I am longing to hear that third act. 
 
 Culverton {smiling)-. You really think you can bear 
 another? Well, let me see: this is Monday — would 
 Thursday do for you, at this hour? 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Perfectly; Thursday would suit me 
 exactly. 
 
 Culverton {going): Thursday at five then? Thank 
 you so much. {He stops) You really think that there 
 is something in the play? 
 
 Mrs. Seymour {enthusiastically) : Something ! There 
 is everything! 
 
 Culverton {satisfied)-. I am glad you think so. Do 
 you know, that is a little my feeling too. Good-bye! 
 {Exit) 
 
 Mrs. Seymour {alone) : Yes, I've no doubt it is ! I 
 wonder whether, when he is talking to me, he is think- 
 ing of anything else but his plays and their excel- 
 lences; whether he is ever considering my qualities as 
 well? Sometimes I fancy he is, then I suddenly find 
 
1 5 2 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 that I represent nothing but an opinion to him! Well, 
 on Thursday I shall see him again; and, at any rate, 
 it is clear that he doesn't care twopence about Mrs. 
 Fanshawe — horrid little poseuse of a woman! 
 
 [Door ope7is, maid announces Mrs. Fanshawe?) 
 
 Mrs. Seymour : Oh, Mrs. Fanshawe, I was just think- 
 ing of you! 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe {shaking hands heartily) : And I have 
 been thinking of you, and meaning to come to see 
 you, ever so often; but I have never managed it. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour : That was kind of y.ou — to have been 
 thinking of it, I mean. (Maid brings in tea) 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Yes, in that respect certainly, the 
 streets of London are paved with good intentions. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: You'll have some tea, won't you? 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe : I will indeed. Oh, my dear, I am 
 quite worn out. You can't think what a life we literary 
 women lead; the editors never leave us alone. Do 
 you know that I have written fourteen reviews within 
 the last week! I try to get out of it! I say to the 
 editors. "Now you must not send me any more of these 
 three-volume novels" and they say, "Oh my dear 
 
Giving Him Away. 153 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe, you are the only person who can do 
 it." Yes, literature is an exhausting calling; you who 
 sit at home in leisure and luxury can't imagine how 
 arduous it is. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour (calmly): Still, the sort of thing you 
 do isn't very arduous, I suppose, writing reviews and 
 little bits of gossip here and there. It is not like 
 anything original, is it? 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe {nettled)'. I can assure you that it 
 means a great deal of concentrated thought and labour. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Oh, you mean you do it with a great 
 deal of difficulty. That must make a difference, of 
 course. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe (sharply): No, I don't mean that at 
 all, but naturally dear Mrs. Seymour, it is difficult for 
 you to understand my point of view. I don't think 
 outsiders ever grasp the difficulties of the literary pro- 
 fession. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour (aside): Outsiders, indeed! 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: You see it is the responsibility of 
 it that I feel. People come to me, they ask me my 
 opinion of the things they write, they read them aloud 
 
154 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 to me. You would find that if literary men took your 
 opinion seriously, and were ready to act upon it, you 
 would look at things very differently. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour [exasperated): Possibly. 
 
 Mrs Fanshawe : Now, for instance, Mrs. Fairlie came 
 in and read me some of her poems the other day; 
 to-morrow Mr. Jauncy is coming to read me his new story. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour : Let me see ; Mr. Jauncy — Mrs. Fairlie ? 
 Are they any good? They are both of them quite 
 fourth-rate, I am told. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe : Ah, dear Mrs. Seymour, forgive me, 
 but that shows that your are hardly within the inner 
 circle. The British public recognises neither of them 
 yet, but we who know feel what a glorious future is 
 in store for them. I feel it, Philip Darell feels it, 
 Mr. Culverton feels it. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Mr. Culverton? I never heard him 
 mention them. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Mr. Culverton is a very reserved 
 person. He doesn't talk to everyone about the things 
 that really interest him. Those who know him best 
 would tell you so. 
 
Giving Him Away. 155 
 
 Mrs. Seymour : It is rather unusual for people to 
 appear most reserved to those who know them best. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Ah, that bright communicative man- 
 ner is merely on the surface, I assure you; it is but 
 the glittering play of the waves masking the impene- 
 trable rock underneath. There, now, that's like me — 
 speaking in metaphors again! We writing women are 
 too bad in that way — it's habit, I suppose. In plain 
 language, what I mean to say is that the Owen Cul- 
 verton you see is not the real Owen Culverton. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour {aside)-. I should like to poison this 
 woman's tea! 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe {finishing her tea) ; I must really 
 write to him and tell him when I shall be at home. 
 I know he will come to me, though he hardly goes 
 anywhere. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Does he not? He was here this af- 
 ternoon. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Indeed! Now I should like to see 
 him under the aspect of an ordinary morning call! 
 With me he has, of course, been carried away by the 
 interest of talking about his work to a congenial 
 
156 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 listener. You must come to my house some time and 
 see him like that. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour : Thank you, I know that aspect of 
 him quite well. I have heard him read. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: You have! To whom? 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: To me. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: You! Ah, my dear, the fact is an 
 author doesn't care to whom he reads so long- as he 
 can get someone to admire him. {Handing cup) Thank 
 you, yes, just a little more; I live on tea and coffee. 
 I'm all nerves and excitement. That's just right — 
 yes. You should hear him read his plays. (Airs. 
 Seymour is going to speak but checks herself) I am 
 tremendously interested in plays. I have just been 
 writing an article for the Marble Arch on Cavanti, 
 the Sicilian. But I daresay you haven't heard of him. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Oh yes, I have. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe (patrouisiugly): Really? Clever of 
 you! How did you manage that? 
 
 Mrs. Seymour (coldly) : The same way that you did, 
 I suppose. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Oh, I heard about him from Philip 
 
Giving Him Away. 157 
 
 Darell for one, Mr. Culverton for another, but then we 
 of the craft hear a good many things, you know. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: It was from Mr. Culverton I heard 
 about him. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Oh, very well, then next time you 
 see him you whisper to him that people say there is 
 a new play of Cavanti's — but no, no, this is naughty 
 of me. I must not tell tales out of school! 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: But I suppose it's possible that Mr. 
 Culverton may know without your telling him? 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: What! do you mean that he knows 
 it already? Well, this will be a piece of news for the 
 fiaragraphists ! 
 
 Mrs. Seymour {agitated)-. Piece of news! What do 
 you mean? I have told you no piece of news. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Ah! my dear friend, that's all very 
 well. I'm sure you know something about it. There 
 really is a play then? 
 
 Mrs. Seymour {distracted): A play? How should I 
 know? Don't say anything about it, pray — it would 
 be the height of indiscretion. 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe {her manner changing)'. What! you 
 
158 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 don't mean to say there is something to be indiscreet 
 
 about ? It is true then, and Culverton is taking it up ! 
 
 [Maid announces Culverton?) 
 
 Mrs. Seymour : I am lost ! 
 
 {Enter hastily Culverton?) 
 
 Culverton: I have just remembered that I have an 
 engagement on Thursday afternoon. Oh, Mrs. Fan- 
 shawe, how do you do ? 
 
 Mrs. Fanshawe: Mr. Culverton! this is luck. We 
 were just talking about you. I do so want to hear 
 about Cavanti. 
 
 Culverton : Cavanti ! ! {He looks from her to Mrs. 
 Seymour. Mrs Seymour tries to ??iake signs to Mrs. 
 Fanshawe?) 
 
 Mrs Fanshawe: About this new play of his. What 
 an excitement there will be in literary circles! But I 
 mustn't stay now — Mr. Darell is coming to tea with 
 me. Good-bye, Mrs. Seymour; good-bye, Mr. Cul- 
 verton. Mind you keep me au courant of it all ! {Exit 
 Mrs. Fanshawe?) 
 
 Culverton {agitated; looks at Mrs. Seymour) Mrs. 
 Seymour, is it possible that — that — that— 
 
Giving Him Away. 159 
 
 Mrs. Seymour (much agitated) : Don't condemn me, 
 please, till you know how it was — I told nothing — I 
 really don't know how it happened. That horrid woman 
 talked about Cavanti, and goaded me into — 
 
 Culverton: Into be raying my confidence. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: No, no, indeed; not that! I must 
 have said something — let something slip — which she 
 jumped at. But I will go after her — I will explain — 
 
 Culverton: I am afraid no explanations will help us 
 now. Good-bye. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour: Mr. Culverton, one moment! 
 
 Culverton: I can't stay — I must go and see what 
 can be done. 
 
 Mrs. Seymour : Then if you can't come on Thursday, 
 when — ? 
 
 Culverton : Forgive me — I don't feel at this moment 
 that I can fix any day to come. Oh, what a lesson this 
 has been to me! {Exit hurriedly?) 
 
 Mrs. Seymour (sinking into a chair with her head in 
 her hands)'. Oh, that miserable Fanshawe woman! 
 
 Curtain. 
 
MRS. smith: I as good as bought it yesterday morning! 
 MRS. BROWN: I told them to put it aside for me last night! 
 
 II 
 
DOUBLY SOLD. 
 
 By Silvia Fogg Elliot. 
 
 MRS. BROWN, 30. MRS. SMITH, 30. 
 
 Scene. — A Green 'Bus, afterwards Marshall and Snelgrove's. Time, g 'a.m. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Oh, Mrs. Brown, how are you? You're 
 abroad early! Sales? 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Yes, I breakfasted earlier on purpose. 
 And you? 
 
 Mrs. Smith {cheerfully): Breakfast half-an-hour earlier 
 too. James doesn't like it. He can't imagine how 
 women can be such fools as to go raving mad over 
 "cheap lines" and "job lots!" I simply love it. 
 
 Mrs. Brown: So do I. I think January is the most 
 delightful month in the whole year. I spend all my 
 mornings shopping. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: So do I. I adore the bustle and ex- 
 citement 
 
 Mrs. Brown: the raging crowd 
 
1 64 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: the frenzied females 
 
 Mrs. Brown : the things tossed all over the 
 
 counters on "Remnant Days," marked at absolutely 
 "nominal prices," looking as if it would be a positive 
 kindness to take them. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: I don't believe things really go cheaper. 
 
 Mrs. Brown: They're marked half-price, so they must 
 be cheap. 
 
 Mrs. Smith [half- satisfied) : That sounds logical. How- 
 ever, it does not matter. We must have sales to keep 
 us going. It's the "Ladies Battle," don't you know! 
 
 Mrs. Brown: They are regular bear-gardens, aren't 
 they? Such rude women! I had my boa torn right 
 off my neck on Saturday ! 
 
 Mrs. Smith: And I found my card-case smothered 
 under a hundred and fifty dress pieces at twelve-and- 
 six on Monday! 
 
 Mrs. Brown: And I caught an impertinent woman 
 pricing my very own muff yesterday. I had put it 
 down on the counter for one moment. 
 
 Mrs. Smith {glancing at the article in question)'. 
 Slightly damaged? 
 

 Doubly Sold. 165 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Not at all! And one's best friends 
 take one's best bargains from under one's very nose. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Oh, all's fair in love and war, and sale- 
 time! What are you after? 
 
 Mrs. Brown: I hardly know what. Were you at 
 the Robinson's last night? 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Yes. Polly's dress was rather a success. 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Swan and Edgar's — seven and a-half 
 guineas, sale price! It had some tarnished gold fringe 
 about it when I saw it and priced it for Lucy. I decided 
 that it was too shabby, but Polly has taken off the 
 fringe and made it quite tidy. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: What a pity Miss Jones broke that 
 lovely fan! 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Imperfect, dear! Five-and-six at Lewis 
 and Evans. By the way, what are you after ? 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Oh, hundreds of things — I've a dress 
 in my eye 
 
 Mrs. Brown: A dress! How funny; so have I! 
 
 (A pause of mutual distrust) 
 Mrs. Brown {tentatively)-. What do you think of the 
 new colour, petunia? 
 
1 66 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: JVew } dear? It was out last year! 
 
 Mrs. Brown: It is a very becoming- shade, I think. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Ah, not for you. (Aside) Why, that's 
 the colour of the dress I'm after! Oh, dear! 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Why, you always said lilac was my 
 colour, and you made me buy that cheap remnant at 
 Shoolbred's — 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Oh, I thought that was for Lucy. She's 
 got a complexion. Well, whatever you do, dorit have it 
 trimmed with irridescent sequins [observing her narrowly). 
 
 Mrs. Brown (plaintively)-. Oh, not sequins? 
 
 Mrs. Smith (hastily) : My dear, I don't advise sequins. 
 (Eagerly) Is it really trimmed sequins? 
 
 Mrs. Brown (evasively)-. It's — a — what is the one 
 you're after like? 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Oh, a very plain affair — for mornings — 
 quite unpretending. Dark — lined with. (Aside) I won't 
 tell her what. 
 
 Mrs. Brown (aside): She does not say what colour. 
 (Aloud) What style is it? 
 
 Mrs. Smith (triumphantly) : A new French model, 
 only just put into the sale yesterday. 
 
Doubly Sold. 167 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Don't believe them! Is it "1830"? 
 Thafs quite passe. [Aside) That might put her off it! 
 
 Mrs. Smith: No, full skirt — godet pleats. 
 
 Mrs. Brown: But, my dear, are you not rather too 
 short to wear godet pleats? 
 
 Mrs. Smith [stiffly) : I think I know best what suits me. 
 
 Mrs. Brown (aside): She's tried it on! (Aloud) Are 
 you quite certain it was not soiled somewhere? It 
 was so cheap 
 
 Mrs. Smith: I never said it was cheap. There was 
 a little passementerie off one sleeve. (Aside) Oh, I 
 wish I hadn't said that! 
 
 Mrs. Brown (aside): My dress — without a doubt! I 
 must try and put her out of love with it somehow. 
 (Aloud): The cut of skirts changes so ridiculously 
 quickly now. 
 
 Mrs. Smith (coldly): What is the new fashion? 
 
 (Animated discussion follows, interrupted by frantic 
 
 appeals for fares from the conductor, for 7vhich he has 
 
 applied three times already?) 
 
 Mrs. Smith ) . 
 
 > : Where is my purse? Goodness ! 
 Mrs. Brown ) 
 
1 68 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 {They both open their bags, they ftitnble, they each 
 produce threepence in coppers. Six sale catalogues on 
 an average, fall to the ground between the7n.) 
 
 Mrs. Smith: What's this? 
 
 Mrs. Brown: What's this? 
 
 Both: My list {becomi?tg absorbed). 
 
 Mrs. Smith: I tick them off, so, you see! Gloves! — 
 stockings! — beau ideal embroidery— might look at it; 
 sash-ribbon! — "desperate value" — for the children. 
 Wedding present for cousin Albert! — they've got some 
 electro-enamelled boudoir clocks at Parkins and Gotto, 
 a little out of order, but no one will notice. 
 
 Mrs. Brown: {taking up the parable)'. Ribbon! — 
 always comes in useful — Toilet sets! — a little imperfect, 
 but what of that ? Oh, and a " Cosy Corner ! " — it's 
 made of stout polished bamboo, and draped in art 
 shades — hide the stove in the greenhouse, and I want 
 some towelling; and I could run to a guinea for a 
 nice hat, if I saw one. 
 
 Mrs. Brown {chaffing) : Don't go in for one of those 
 enormous ones. 
 
Doubly Sold. 169 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Well, I don't care what shape it is, so 
 long as it is lilac. 
 
 Mrs. Brown {pith venom): Then you'll look as if 
 you had jaundice. 
 
 Conductor {suddenly): Marshall's! 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Did you tell him to stop at Marshall's? 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Yes — nearest for Debenham's — table- 
 linen, you know. Good-bye! 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Marshall's will do for me. All the 
 shops up to the Circus are worth looking at. (They 
 get out.) 
 
 Mrs. Brown : Good-bye. Any chance of your looking 
 in at the "Dorothy" later on? (Aside) I shall have 
 it all settled by then, I hope. 
 
 Mrs. Smith : Thank you, I belong to the " Albemarle." 
 (Aside) I've had quite enough of her for one day! 
 (Aloud, effusively) Good-bye, dear. (They part.) 
 
 Mrs. Brown: Good-bye; dearest. (Aside) Tiresome 
 woman ! I hope to goodness I've seen the last of her. 
 Now for the dress! (Dashes into Marshall and Snel- 
 grove's by the Oxford Street entrance.) 
 
1 70 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Inconvenient creature! How she stuck! 
 But I think I've given her the slip. Now for my dress! 
 
 {Goes in the Vere Street entranced) 
 
 (Five minutes later, in the Outfitting Department). 
 
 Mrs. Smith ) 
 
 \ : Bother ! 
 Mrs. Brown) 
 
 Mrs. Smith (aloud) : Here we are again ! (Aside) 
 Now, what on earth does she come bothering here for? 
 
 Mrs. Brown (politely)-. I thought we should tumble 
 up against each other somewhow. (Spitefully) The 
 shops on the way to the Circus are so attractive, eh? 
 
 Mrs. Smith: What are you getting, dear? 
 
 Mrs. Brown (confused) : A smoking jacket for — for 
 Lucy. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: Oh, Lucy smokes, does she? 
 
 Mrs. Brown: What nonsense! You know I mean 
 for Edward. What are you buying? 
 
 Mrs. Smith (taken aback)-. Oh — ah — some white 
 embroidered petticoats for — James! 
 
 Mrs. Brown (laughing): Does he wear ? Well, 
 
 ta-ta; may see you again. (Aside) If I can only get 
 away to the Dress Department without her seeing me! 
 
Doubly Sold. 171 
 
 Mrs. Smith {aside)-. I sincerely hope not. (Aloud) 
 
 Then I won't say good-bye. 
 
 {Three minutes later, in the Dress Department?) 
 
 Mrs. Brown) 
 
 [: At last! 
 Mrs. Smith ) 
 
 ( They both rush to one end of the room and fling them- 
 selves upon a lilac dress, with sequin trimming. 
 
 Mrs. Smith: I beg your pardon. This is my dress! 
 
 Mrs. Brown: I beg your pardon; it's mine! 
 
 Mrs. Smith : I as good as bought it yesterday morning ! 
 
 Mrs. Brown: I told them to put it aside for me 
 last night. 
 
 Shopman {suavely) : That dress, madam? It was sold 
 exactly ten minutes ago ! 
 
 ( Tableau) 
 
IISS MELTON: "Say, now, is that a photograph of him on your table? 
 
A POINT OF HONOUR. 
 
 By Clara Savile Clarke. 
 
 Time — A summer afternoon. Scene — A London drawing-room. 
 
 Lady Raymond, a beautiful widow. 
 
 Miss Melton, an American heiress. 
 
 {Lady Raymond seated reading. Enter Miss Melton) 
 
 Miss Melton: Here I am, just in time; aren't I now? 
 You said five, and five it is. 
 
 Lady Raymond: My dear Molly, how nice and cool 
 you look! Come and sit down and tell me all about 
 your trip abroad. You won't mind if I lie down on 
 this sofa? I've got such a headache. I suppose it's 
 the heat. 
 
 Miss Melton : Let me help to fix you. There, that's 
 right ! Poor darling, you do look a bit cheap ! Now 
 I suppose I'm to rattle on while you listen and endure. 
 
 Lady Raymond: I'm prepared to endure a great 
 deal, I can assure you, because I want to hear all 
 about the famous engagement that has been kept a 
 
176 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 secret for so long. Your mother wrote and told me 
 the mere facts, and said she left the description of 
 the important person to you. Begin. What is his 
 name? 
 
 Miss Melton: It's no one you know. I met him 
 at Nice last winter, and we had a real good time 
 together. 
 
 Ladv Raymond : Nice ! I had a great friend at Nice 
 last winter. 
 
 Miss Melton: Had you? Tell me about him. 
 
 Lady Raymond: My dear child, I have hundreds of 
 friends. 
 
 Miss Melton: I reckon you have; and I have only 
 one real friend. It sounds queer to say so, because 
 heaps of men have wanted to marry me, but I'm too 
 'cute to be taken in, and I know it's all for my dollars. 
 
 Lady Raymond: I once suffered very much over a 
 man who was going to marry a girl for her money. 
 I could hardly blame him. He was miserably poor, 
 and I am not well off. We are both a little richer 
 now. He had some estates to keep up on nothing, 
 an old name to keep on nothing, and an impressionable 
 
A Point of Hono7ir. 1 7 7 
 
 heart. He imagined I didn't care for him, and thought, 
 if that was the case, that he might just as well marry 
 the heiress. 
 
 Miss Melton: Did he marry her? 
 
 Lady Raymond: He hasn't yet. 
 
 Miss Melton: Then it isn't so very long ago. 
 
 Lady Raymond {blushing)-. No. 
 
 Miss Melton: Oh, well, I call it rather hard on 
 the girl. 
 
 Lady Raymond: Do you? I don't. It seems to me 
 that she will be quite happy. She adores him 
 
 Miss Melton : He said so ? 
 
 Lady Raymond: Yes, of course. He will soon grow 
 to care for her, while I, who fancy (perhaps wrongly) 
 that I could have made something of the man, have 
 to stand by and see his love for me wane all through 
 a mistake. 
 
 Miss Melton: What was the mistake?. 
 
 Lady Raymond: He thought I cared for someone 
 else. But I don't know why I tell you this, dear, 
 except that I am feeling ill, and — and unhappy. 
 
 Miss Melton: Why don't you make him tell the 
 
178 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 girl the truth? She would give him up, of course. 
 
 Lady Raymond: He would never do such a thing, 
 Molly. You forget how horrible and dishonourable it 
 would seem. 
 
 Miss Melton: Hang honour! Truth is better than 
 all the honour in the world. 
 
 Lady Raymond : Men don't think so. 
 
 Miss Melton: Hang men! Seems to me real silly 
 to go and make two lives — three lives — miserable for 
 such a stupid reason. Say, shall I fetch you some salts ? 
 
 Lady Raymond : If you ring 
 
 Miss Melton: No, let me go. I know where they 
 are, on your bedroom table. I'll slip round and be 
 back in two seconds. Just shut your eyes and lie still 
 till I'm back {She goes, a?td returns with the salts. 
 Her face is flashed with running) Say, now, is that 
 a photograph of him on your table upstairs? 
 
 Lady Raymond: Yes, Molly. 
 
 Miss Melton {rising from her knees white instead 
 of red) : Here's the stopper. Would you like to hear 
 my story now? 
 
 Lady Raymond {languidly): Please, dear. 
 
A Point of Honour. 1 79 
 
 The heiress walks to the window. After a ftatise she 
 begins, without looking at her friend. 
 
 Miss Melton: It's real hard to tell. Reckon you'll 
 be shocked. But I — always did think of myself first, 
 always was spoilt and — er — selfish. Truth is, I'm not 
 in love with this man I promised to marry, and I 
 want to jilt him. 
 
 Lady Raymond: Molly! How disgraceful! 
 
 Miss Melton:- Ain't it? Well, that's me! 
 
 Lady Raymond: I never heard of such a thing! 
 
 Miss Melton: Don't suppose you ever did. Seems 
 as if I'd gone sort of mad all in a sudden. Can't 
 help it. Fallen in love with someone else. Won't Ma 
 be just riled? 
 
 Lady Raymond : Quite rightly, too, Molly. 
 
 Miss Melton {impatiently) : Well, I reckon the thing's 
 settled, and it ain't no use fussing round. I've made 
 up my mind, and you can be as shocked as you please, 
 and cut me after if you like. Perhaps that would be best. 
 
 Lady Raymond: But it's dishonourable, Molly. 
 
 Miss Melton: There's your silly honour again! 
 Much good it's done you! Oh, I didn't mean to hurt 
 
180 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 you. Thought I heard you sigh? I shall marry that 
 Italian prince, so perhaps, after all, Ma won't care. 
 Say, isn't it hot ? Fm suffocating. 
 
 Lady Raymond: Open the window! {A pause.) I 
 know now, Molly, that I never knew you, because I 
 believed you had a warm, loving little heart at the 
 bottom of all your nonsense and gaiety. Now to 
 hear you talk of jilting a man who loves you, and to 
 whom you have given your word 
 
 Miss Melton: Stop! Let my affairs alone. Guess 
 you'll know me better one day. Now I'm off! 
 
 Lady Raymond: But you haven't told me his name? 
 
 Miss Melton: No, but you did. 
 
 Lady Raymond: What do you mean? 
 
 Miss Melton: I'm off home to write a letter— two 
 letters. One to the prince. Don't fret, as if I shall 
 ever see you again, and you've been very kind to me, 
 and you're real pretty and nice. Say, kiss me, will 
 you? Put up your arms and give us a hug! 
 
 Lady Raymond: There! But you don't deserve it, 
 dear. 
 
 Miss Melton: No. But if we only got what we 
 
A Point of Honour. 
 
 181 
 
 deserve, perhaps we might all come off worse than 
 we do. {Laughs hysterically)) Now I'm off, to be 
 dishonourable, and to make one woman happy. 
 Lady Raymond {with supreme contempt) : Yourself! 
 
captain marcet : " Now, what have I done 
 to make you treat me like this?" 
 
 •MISS r,ASCELLES: "What have you done? 
 why this" (pointing to newspaper). 
 
A MODERN LYDIA. 
 
 By Oswald Crawfurd. 
 
 captain marcet, of the Scots Guards, miss georgina lascelles, his fiancee. 
 Scene: The drawing-room of Miss Lascelles 's mother. 
 
 Captain Marcet {entering and shaking hands stiffly 
 without speaking?) 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Well? 
 
 Captain Marcet {stiffly) : I suppose you know why 
 I have come? 
 
 Miss Lascelles: I guess. 
 
 Captain Marcet: And you have nothing to say as 
 to why you have thrown me over in this sudden way 
 — no explanation to give? 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Absolutely none — and you? 
 
 Captain Marcet: Nothing except to wish you good- 
 bye and good luck. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Thanks. 
 
 {A pause.) 
 
1 86 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Captain Marcet: I confess I am disappointed — and 
 surprised. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: I am surprised too — and disappointed. 
 
 Captain Marcet : And is it — is it all to end like this ? 
 You might have given me some warning before you 
 — jilted me! 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Surely you too might have let me 
 know beforehand! 
 
 Captain Marcet: I am not going to make a scene. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Why should you? And don't be 
 afraid that I am going to make a fuss. 
 
 Captain Marcet: Hardly, I suppose after 
 
 Miss Lascelles: After what? 
 
 Captain Marcet {bitterly)'. After this {takes from 
 pocket copy of evening paper?) This is the St. fames* 
 Gazette of last night. "Fashionable Marriage. We 
 understand that a marriage is in contemplation between 
 Lord Henry Lawley and Miss Georgina Lascelles. 1 ' 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Impossible! Let me see. 
 
 Captain Marcet: It is quite plain. Now, what have 
 I done to make you treat me like this ? 
 
 Miss Lascelles: What have you done? Why this 
 
A Modern Lydia. 187 
 
 {taking up paper from tabled) This is last night's 
 Westminster Gazette. " Society Doings. Captain John 
 Marcet of the Scots Guards is, we understand, about to 
 conduct to the hymeneal altar the Lady Selina Slater." 
 
 Captain Marcet: Impossible! Let me see. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: There is no mistake about it. It's 
 in the largest print. You do not deny it, I suppose? 
 It is the woman — the odious, loud, hideous woman with 
 the absurd hat — you were going about with, on Cup 
 Day at Ascot. You do not contradict the announcement. 
 
 Captain Marcet {smiling): Well, it is certainly pre- 
 mature. Though I don't see, after what you have 
 done^ that you have the right to ask me to contradict 
 it. I suppose you would not like me to ask you to 
 deny your engagement to Lord Henry Lawley. I know 
 you danced four times with him at Lady Somerville's. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: You have certainly no right to ask 
 me to deny or confirm anything. 
 
 Captain Marcet : I ask nothing, and I will not imitate 
 you by criticising your friend as you did mine, though 
 I can hardly congratulate you on your fiance's general 
 appearance. 
 
1 88 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: When I want your congratulations, 
 Captain Marcet, I will ask you for them. 
 
 Captain Marcet: And when I want your opinion, 
 Miss Lascelles, on Lady Selina's manners and hat — I 
 think both sweet — I will do the same. 
 
 {A paused) 
 
 Captain Marcet: Good-bye, Miss Lascelles. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Good-bye, Captain Marcet. 
 
 Captain Marcet: Surely you might have sent me a 
 letter, a wire— anything. It was too hard to see it first 
 in the paper! 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Why did you not send me one? 
 It was cruel of you to make me read it in print! 
 
 Captain Marcee: Have you — cared for him long? 
 
 Miss. Lascelles: When did you — first leave off 
 liking me? 
 
 Captain Marcet: What a blind fool I was! I really 
 thought you cared for me as much as 
 
 Miss Lascelles: As much as? 
 
 Captain Marcet: Well, nearly as much as I loved 
 you, Georgie. 
 
A Modern Lydia. 189 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Well— how do you know I did not? 
 • Captain Marcet: Why, of course, by your sudden 
 infatuation for this wretched man. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: He is not a wretched man. You 
 shall not say so. 
 
 Captain Marcet: You are right — he is your future 
 husband. It is only that thought that made me abuse 
 him. It was abominable and mean of me. I know in 
 my conscience he is a thoroughly good fellow — good- 
 looking, clever and 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Nothing of the sort! He is plain, 
 stupid and conceited. 
 
 Captain Marcet: Then why did you flirt with him 
 so outrageously? Why do you marry him? 
 
 Miss Lascelles: Why, indeed! And why do you 
 admire Lady Selina? Why are you going to marry 
 her? Oh! I admit she is pretty; I know she dresses 
 well; I know she is good form. I beg your pardon 
 for abusing her. It was horrid of me. It is, after all, 
 the most natural thing in the world that you should 
 love her. Forgive me! I was jealous, that's all. 
 
 Captain Marcet: Were you, dear? then perhaps all 
 
1 90 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 is not lost yet. Why, Georgie, I don't care one little 
 bit for Lady Selina. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: No? Then why did you go about 
 with her all day at Ascot? 
 
 Captain Marcet: Because you danced four times 
 with Henry Lawley at Lady Somerville's. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: But the announcement of your 
 engagement in the Westminster ? 
 
 Captain Marcet: A lie; and the one announcing 
 yours in the St. James's Gazette) 
 
 Miss Lascelles: A story; I positively dislike Lord 
 Henry. How did the reports get about? 
 
 Captain Marcet: The Press is a great institution, 
 Georgie, and the social reporter is everywhere. I 
 suppose there was one at Lady Somerville's watching you. 
 
 Miss Lascelles: And another at Ascot watching 
 you! But — do you really love me still? 
 
 Captain Marcet {taking her in his arms and kissing 
 her) : Desperately, dearest. And you, do you still care 
 for me ? 
 
 Miss Lascelles: With all my heart and soul, Jack! 
 
£ — ■«=& 
 
 ffil? 
 
 mfi^£$&F. 
 
 M.SS CHANT: "There! You have ten minutes to say it in!" 
 
THE HOUR AND THE MAN. 
 
 By Violet Hunt. 
 
 lady grant, 56, a?i old-fashioned mother. 
 miss grant, 25, an old-fashioned daughter. 
 henry curzg-n, 29, philip grove, 3 1, modern men. 
 
 Scene: A Boudoir adjoining a Ball-room. 
 
 Miss Grant {in a low voice) : Mother ! I suppose I 
 ought to tell you — Mr. Grove proposed to me just 
 now, and I am to give him an answer to-night. 
 
 Lady Grant: Well, dear? 
 
 Miss Grant : I promised you, mother, never to refuse 
 an offer without telling you — but oh, mother, it must 
 be No. 
 
 Lady Grant: My dear child — after all we have 
 said — how can you be so weak? I knew, of course, 
 that it would come to-night — he has, very rightly, 
 spoken to me about it. Laura, he is charming, you 
 don't dislike him, do you? 
 
 Miss Grant: I like him so much, but — I— 
 
1 94 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Lady Grant: We know; we know! Have we not 
 discussed it all? We agreed that we must give up 
 Henry Curzon — that he liked you — but would never 
 propose — has not the slightest intention of doing so. 
 Remember, this is the end of the season — it will be 
 Hattie's turn next year — you won't care to be buried 
 alive in Scotland all the spring — Henry Curzon would 
 never follow you there! Everything points to your 
 making a final choice. You can't say I have not 
 indulged you, or denied you any opportunity of meeting 
 the man. I am convinced that for some reason or the 
 other, he will never come forward. So were you, 
 yesterday. 
 
 Miss Grant: Mother, his election — he is so busy 
 now — perhaps ? 
 
 Lady Grant: Nonsense, dear. I don't consider he 
 has the slightest chance of getting in for Hackney 
 Wick and do you suppose I am going to let my 
 daughter hang on, on the bare possibility of a man's pro- 
 posing to her when he has time? You don't know me. 
 
 Miss Grant {resignedly)'. Yes, mother, I know you. 
 I have always been accustomed to obey you, but 
 
The Hour and the Man. 195 
 
 Lady Grant: And in this matter I demand your 
 obedience. I am perfectly reasonable. I did not inter- 
 fere until now, when I see you on the point of refus- 
 ing - a remarkably good offer — an admirable offer — for 
 the sake of a ridiculous piece of sentiment. Indeed, I 
 am determined you shall accept it. Don't interrupt 
 me. I have always exacted obedience from my daughters, 
 and I shall not permit you, Laura, to be the first to 
 defy me. 
 
 Miss Grant: Mother, don't speak in that tone! I 
 can't bear it — I am worn out. You know you have 
 given me no peace about this for three weeks — ever 
 since I was introduced to Mr. Grove. 
 
 Lady Grant: I have done my best to bring you to 
 a proper frame of mind. 
 
 Miss Grant {bitterly)'. At the cost of my body. I 
 am worried to death almost. I'm hideous. I wonder 
 anyone should care to marry me now. 
 
 Lady Grant : Mr. Grove does ; and apparently Mr. 
 Curzon doesn't. 
 
 Miss Grant {wildly): Oh, mother, what can I do? 
 I can't make Mr. Curzon propose to me. 
 
196 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Lady Grant: Can't you? (Sneers.) You have known 
 him since you were a child ; you — but I don't choose 
 to discuss it any more. I consider the thing settled, 
 and that you give Mr. Grove the answer he wants 
 to-night. {Going). 
 
 Miss Grant: Mother! mother! if you would only 
 give me till next week? 
 
 Lady Grant: If you had till Doomsday it would 
 make no difference. Don't cry, for heaven's sake! 
 (Aside.) What shall I do? She will make herself 
 unpresentable! (Miss Grant sods.) Look here, Laura, 
 I see you are going to be tiresome. Suppose I make 
 you a little concession? Is Henry Curzon coming here 
 to night? 
 
 Miss Grant: He said so. 
 
 Lady Grant: Then listen! It is absolutely childish 
 nonsense, but I will give you till twelve — it is eleven 
 now (glancing at clock). If — excuse my putting it so 
 bluntly — if you can make Henry Curzon propose to 
 you — formally, mind, so that there shall be no mistake 
 about it — before this clock strikes twelve, well and 
 good. I have no personal objection to the man, and 
 
The Hour and the Man. 197 
 
 he will be well off! If not, will you give me your 
 word of honour to accept Mr. Grove? 
 
 Miss Grant {aside) : He said he was coming here 
 to-night. I think he cares for me — I know he does — 
 but he will never say so — unless I --humiliate myself 
 and tell him. Why not? He is worth it, and things 
 cannot be worse than they are. (Aloud.) Mother, 
 you promise faithfully not to come back here till twelve ? 
 
 Lady Grant: On the stroke! What a farce it is? 
 [Laughing constrainedly^) Believe me, my dear girl, I 
 only want your happiness — to have things settled one 
 
 way or the other. A bird in the hand, you know 
 
 Here comes Mr. Grove! I will leave you to explain 
 matters to him. (Exit.) 
 
 (Enter Grovel) 
 
 Grove: Dear Miss Grant, why are you hiding your- 
 self away here? Have you a headache — or — (softly) — 
 are you going to give me my answer now? 
 
 Miss Grant: I have a headache. (Decidedly?) Mr. 
 Grove, I promise to give you an answer — before I 
 leave— by midnight. Would you be good enough not 
 to mention the subject till then? 
 
198 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Grove (bows): Of course! One moment, Miss Grant; 
 be kind and answer me this — you don't absolutely 
 dislike me? 
 
 Miss Grant {smiling faintly) : On the contrary, I 
 like you very much. 
 
 Grove: Then, need I go away? This is the dance 
 you promised me — remember! 
 
 Miss Grant: You need not go away, only talk of 
 something else. 
 
 Grove (a pause) : Let me see. How can I amuse 
 you? .... We had such a pleasant lunch to-day 
 at the Beesleys. You would have enjoyed it. 
 
 Miss Grant (languidly) : And who was there ? 
 
 Grove: That funny young Maltravers — and Lady 
 Broughton — and Henry Curzon. He told me he was 
 to be here to-night. I hardly see how he can, though; 
 he has a meeting at Hackney Wick — going to address 
 his future constituents. I detest his politics, of course; 
 but I hope he'll get in, as I know he is a friend of yours. 
 
 Miss Grant: Thank you, Mr. Grove, that is nice of 
 you. But (anxiously) the longest meeting must have 
 an end, I suppose? 
 
The Hoztr and the Man. 199 
 
 Grove: Oh, yes, he'll get here some time this 
 morning, I dare say — not before. The meeting is 
 going to be a stormy one, I fancy. 
 
 Miss Grant {aside)-. Mother knew that! (Aloud.) 
 I don't think I can talk after all, Mr. Grove; my head 
 aches so. Perhaps if I were left quite alone 
 
 Grove {rising) : I am so sorry ; I'll go and leave 
 you in peace. (Meaningly.) I shall see you again — 
 at twelve. (Exit.) 
 
 Miss Grant: It wants twenty minutes to twelve! 
 Dreadful — dreadful! Shall I run away? Where to? — 
 to Hackney Wick? (Laughing bitterly?) Oh, what it 
 is to be a girl, tied hand and foot ! And it would 
 make no difference. . . Mother will have her own 
 way . . . she always does. And then — if he doesn't 
 want me. . . I don't care what happens! (Sits bolt 
 upright and stares at the clock. The hands go round. 
 Other partners come, she dismisses them. Enter Henry 
 Cur z on. It is ten minutes to twelve?) 
 
 Curzon (breathless)-. I have been looking for you 
 everywhere. How pale you look! You've been 
 dancing too much — eh? (sits down?) I've come all the 
 
200 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 way from Hackney Wick. Such a meeting! The other 
 side stormed the platform. Fearful rowdies! 
 
 Miss Grant: And did you speak? 
 
 Curzon {stares)'. Why, yes, of course. I addressed 
 the electors. I can't say I think much of them. Why 
 do you keep looking at the door, Laura? {Laughing) 
 Are you afraid of your mother coming in? 
 
 Miss Grant: Yes, dreadfully afraid. 
 
 Curzon: She objects to her daughters sitting out, I 
 know. What a time of it Nelly and Kate used to 
 have! Let us go and dance? 
 
 Miss Grant: Oh, no, no! 
 
 Curzon: Very well, then, we'll sit still. At Hackney 
 Wick 
 
 Miss Grant: Oh, don't go back to Hackney Wick. 
 
 Curzon : I thought you were interested in my election. 
 You used to sympathise 
 
 Miss Grant: So I do. Go on. 
 
 Curzon: No, I bore you. I mustn't do it any more. 
 It is too bad of me. I can think of nothing else, just 
 now, you see. 
 
 Miss Grant: I see. 
 
The Hour and the Man. 201 
 
 Curzon: For when it is settled!— 
 Miss Grant: When it is settled ?- 
 
 Curzon {meaningly): I shall have time to think of — 
 ofter things . . . more important still . . . (looks at her 
 long.) Why do you keep watching- that clock as if it 
 mesmerised you ? It puts me out. And I have so 
 much to say to you 
 
 Miss Grant (rising abruptly and moving the minute 
 hand of the clock ten minutes back) : There ! (desperately) 
 you have ten minutes to say it in! 
 
 Curzon : What do you mean ? Say what ? 
 
 Miss Grant (wildly) : Then it will be twelve o'clock ! — 
 Oh, I don't know what I am saying. . . . (falls 
 on the sofa and hides her face in her hands) 
 
 Curzon: Laura, dear, what is the matter? Why 
 should it not be twelve o'clock? 
 
 Miss Grant: Only at twelve o'clock, I am to give 
 Mr. Grove an answer — tell him 
 
 Curzon: Ah — I see — and you were making a wild 
 attempt to defer the evil moment ! I know you — you 
 are very kind-hearted, Laura — you hate refusing 
 people, don't you? 
 
202 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Miss Grant: No, no — I should love to refuse him 
 — I hate to accept him! 
 
 Curzon: Accept him! You can't! Why, Laura, you 
 know I love you. 
 
 Miss Grant {sadly): How can I know — unless you 
 tell me? 
 
 Curzon: What a fool I have been! (holly). I tell 
 you now — I always meant to tell you. I only cared 
 for you — always — believe me! 
 
 Miss Grant : I thought you only cared for your election. 
 
 Curzon: Only in so far as it seemed to make you 
 a little more accessible to me. Your mother is ambi- 
 tious — I thought you would like me. better if I suc- 
 ceeded. Even if I fail, Laura, you must promise to 
 marry me. But I shan't fail — I am sure of the seat. 
 You will marry me — say you will? 
 
 Miss Grant (aside): That is plain enough, even for 
 mother! (Curzon kisses her hand.) You don't know, 
 dearest, what a near thing it was ! Mother said . . . 
 (The clock strikes twelve) 
 
 Curzon: Here is your mother! 
 
 Miss Grant (smiling) : Let her come now — I don't care ! 
 
{Enter Miss Long, dressea within an inch of her life, and surmounted by an 
 inspiration with a hat-pin through it.) 
 
CHERCHEZ L/HOMME 
 
 A. N. StaJner. 
 
 MARIAN MORLEY. EDITH LONG. 
 
 Scene: Miss Morley's bedroom, with its inside out. Open boxes, 
 empty drawers, viounds of clothes, &c. 
 
 Marian {alone, resting for a moment from a wild 
 rummage)-. It's a wicked collection of worldly rubbish. 
 Nothing more nor less. Waste of money, waste of 
 time. And good ideas. And good human energy. 
 It's awful! I hate it all; I loathe it! {Ramming ball- 
 bodices into small box) I'll give every bead and every 
 bow of it away. Dolly can have it for when she 
 comes out. Anybody can have it. Oh! when I see 
 this heap of trash and think of all it has cost, and 
 then think of poor Mrs. Jagger's rags, I could c?y. 
 
 I will cry. I'm not going anywhere to-day, and I 
 
 {E7iter Miss Long, dressed within an inch of her life, 
 
 and surmounted by an inspiration with a 
 
 hat-pin through it.) 
 
206 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Edith: Marian dear! What in the name of Marsh- 
 all and Snelgrove are you doing? 
 
 Marian {re-grouping features and kissing her sole?nnly) : 
 I am burying my insane past. 
 
 Edith {sitting down heavily on bed): Insane past? 
 What do you call your present, I should like to know ? 
 Are you going away for ever? Where to? Who 
 with? Can't you explain? 
 
 Marian {emptying box of satin shoes 011 to floor} : 
 There's nothing at all the matter, and I'm not going 
 away in the least. But I am going to change my 
 senseless mode of life. And you could help me by 
 collecting those ribbons instead of sitting there with 
 that face. 
 
 Edith : I'm sorry I haven't another. But may I ask 
 what the change in your mode of life is to be? 
 Joking apart, Molly, I think you might try and come 
 to for a minute and tell. 
 
 Marian {seating herself beside Edith and staring 
 before her with clasped hands) : Edie ! I'm wretched. 
 No, don't look at me, please. I am wretched. I've 
 come to a dreadful conclusion — the only right conclusion. 
 
 
Cherchez V Homme. 207 
 
 I see that it's simply awful to lead this life of empty 
 frivolity when there's so much to be done — I mean 
 the East End, dear, and all the poor. I've begun to 
 knit these little socks, you see. They're for Mrs. Jag- 
 ger's baby. It's a case I'm taking up very seriously. 
 I sent her two pots of jam — different sorts, of course 
 — and some tea and a book yesterday. They're so 
 grateful. And Lady Eliza Hennings is going to take 
 me with her to the "Shepherd's Fold" — the club in 
 Whitechapel — to-morrow night. If you know of any 
 poor little actress who could make use of some of 
 this hateful finery, for goodness sake give it to her. 
 I'm giving most of it to Dolly. I'm going in for 
 plain black. Lady Eliza says you can't be too careful 
 about your dress at the "Shepherd's Fold." We're 
 going every Friday. 
 
 Edith: With that sanctimonious old parrot, are you? 
 Weren't you to go to Brighton for change of air last 
 week? Why didn't you do it? 
 
 Marian: I didn't want to. I detest Brighton at best, 
 and everything's at worst just now, somehow. You 
 see, I realise things so vividly now— I seem 
 
2o8 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Edith: My dear girl, if realising things means black 
 alpaca and the " Shepherd's Fold,'' for pity's sake leave 
 me in blind ignorance and a decent gown — at any 
 rate, till our dance is over. 
 
 Marian: Oh, Mrs. Long has given in about that 
 dance, then? When is it to be? Not that I could 
 come, dear; but I shall think of you all and wish you 
 happiness. 
 
 Edith: It's on the 15th. We're going to have the 
 whole garden covered in and the Blue Hungarians. 
 I really came in to ask your advice on my gown for 
 that occasion. What do you think of a shot opal 
 moire with 
 
 Marian: Edith! You haven't understood me. I've 
 done with all that. I can't throw myself into those 
 things as I used to, and I don't care much for those 
 shot moires. They're heavy. Why not have a vieiix- 
 rose bengaline with — but really, dear, dress is of no 
 importance to anyone who thinks. I am so much 
 happier in my new calling; I feel that I live for 
 something now. 
 
 Edith: I suppose you are happier, if you say you 
 
 

 Cherchez I' Homme. 209 
 
 are, but I can't say you look quite the sunbeam yet. 
 
 Marian: Do I look ill, dear? 
 
 Edith : Well, you wouldn't do for " Grandpapa's Darling " 
 or "The Little Hearth-cheerer " in a Christmas number. 
 
 Marian: What do you expect? It's not a boisterous 
 joy, this; it's a calm content. You make me feel like 
 the German who was reproached for being undemon- 
 strative under a stroke of good fortune, and who 
 bitterly demanded whether he was expected to tear 
 out a leg and stir his coffee with it. O, dear! (Sighs.) 
 
 Edith (jumping up): How on earth did you catch 
 this? Where have you been? What have you been 
 reading ? Punch ? 
 
 Marian: Come with me to the Jagger's after lunch, 
 and you'll know what I'm feeling. 
 
 Edith (doubtfully) : Dear girl — I don't think I could. I don't 
 want to be horrid but has the baby got a lot of rashes? 
 
 Marian: It's only dirty, poor little thing. I'm taking 
 it three pieces of savon de volupte. I believe it's never 
 washed twice a day. 
 
 Edith: I don't think I'll come, dear, but here's ten 
 
 shillings for it. I'm really rather seedy after last night. 
 
 14 
 
2io Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 We danced till four a.m. at the Mortimer Hooper's — 
 oh! and what do you think I heard there? Three 
 guesses! Go on! 
 
 Marian: Somebody's been idiot enough to have got 
 engaged to somebody, I suppose. 
 
 Edith: Wrong! 
 
 Marian: Somebody's had the sense to die? 
 
 Edith: No doubt. But that isn't it. 
 
 Marian: I can't think of anything else. 
 
 Edith: Well, that report of Hamilton Vaughan's 
 engagement to May Parker is all nonsense. Not a 
 word of truth in it. She's awfully poor, and he has 
 helped her to get into some college or other, or 
 something, and that's all. 
 
 Marian {very carelessly, with her face in a drawer) : 
 Well? I've never even seen the girl, you know, so I 
 can't be expected to take a breathless interest in her 
 biography, can I ? (Between her teeth) Cat that she is ! 
 
 Edith: No, dear; only I had a vague sort of a 
 
 positive certainty Well, Hamilton Vaughan was there 
 
 last night, you know. He asked if you were coming. 
 He can look black. A storm in the Himalayas isn't 
 
Cherchez I' Homme. 211 
 
 in it. Is this clock right? I'm off to Bond Street, 
 then. I've got three good ideas for a gown cooling 
 
 all this time, and 
 
 Marian {emerging from drawer with a handsome flush) : 
 Don't step on my best skirt, dear, and mind those shoes. 
 Wait a bit! {snatches up calendar). The 15th isn't a 
 Friday, is it? No, Thursday! Good"! Good-bye, dear. 
 I hope you'll get what you want. You might show 
 me patterns before you quite decide. Kiss me, you 
 darling! What a heavenly day it is! You couldn't 
 wait till I get my hat on? I'd come with you. Really? 
 All right. You might tell me a little more about the 
 Hooper's. They give such good dances as a rule. I 
 shan't be a minute. {Enter Melanie, the maid) Oh, 
 Melanie, just arrangez all this mess and give me my 
 chapeau with the poppies; and oh! I shall want you 
 to go round to Bank Buildings with this parcel of 
 soap this afternoon. I may not come in till late. {To 
 Edith) Here I am, dear! How many dances did 
 
 Hamilton 
 
 {Exit Marian and Edith arm-in-arm. Giggles ; 
 carriage door ; Bond Street) 
 
Aubrey (languidly) : Congratulations ! 
 
 Percy : They're premature. Read that (throws him letter). 
 
ALL FOR THE BEST. 
 
 By Mrs. Ernest Leverson. 
 
 percy (jo), handsome, prosperous, cheery, 
 aubrey (21), modern, disenchanted. 
 
 Scene: Hotel at Biarritz. 
 
 Aubrey {grumbling) : How cold it is in this sunny 
 south! August? It might be January! These rooms 
 look north, Percy. 
 
 Percy : So do the back rooms, Aubrey. All the rooms 
 in the hotel do. It's a peculiarity of the place. 
 
 Aubrey: Ah, you're offended because I find it cold 
 — that is the way — that's a good beginning for a 
 holiday. But I expected it. When a fellow's been 
 some time in a place he begins to assume a responsi- 
 bility for it. He thinks it's his, and takes any criticism 
 on the climate personally. What horrible furniture they 
 have in these foreign hotels! How am I to work 
 with that sham Louis Quatorze clock staring - at me in 
 that ghastly way? 
 
2 1 6 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Percy: I thought you had come for a holiday. 
 Besides, surely you can exist for a week or two without 
 an over-mantel. Look at that glorious sea and sky! 
 But I forgot — you prefe'r fogs, and a Morris dado. 
 This is the most respectable hotel in the place. 
 
 Aubrey: I am sorry to hear it. If it's respectable 
 the cooking is sure to be bad. Of course you won't 
 own it. I see you have not got rid of your nasty 
 cynical habit of making the best of everything. However 
 {looking out of the window), it really does not seem a 
 bad sort of a place after all. 
 
 Percy: You're too kind. I am overwhelmed with 
 gratitude.^ 
 
 Aubrey: The sunset reflected in the sea is really 
 rather nice. 
 
 Percy: One does what one can. As I expected 
 you 
 
 Aubrey {interrupting): Idiot! And now tell me what 
 you really wanted to see me about. 
 
 Percy: The fact is, my dear boy, that I am thinking 
 of getting married. Why do you look so serious? 
 Don't you think I should be happy? 
 
All for the Best. 217 
 
 Aubrey: I was thinking of the poor girl. It's a great 
 nuisance, Percy, because of course she is here, and 
 you'll expect me to be civil. But cannot do it. I've 
 come away partly to work and partly to rest, and 
 dangling after women would spoil my holiday. 
 
 Percy: Who asked you to dangle? I don't want 
 you to bother about my friends. I know you don't 
 want ladies' society here; in fact, I told them so before 
 you came. 
 
 Aubrey [angrily]'. And gave them the impression 
 that I am a perfect boor, I suppose? Just like you. 
 
 Percy {patiently)'. Aubrey, do you know you are 
 very trying ? 
 
 Aubrey: Well, I know — I'm a little nervous. I am 
 very highly strung. 
 
 Percy: You would not be so highly strung if you 
 would take a little exercise and not smoke cigarettes 
 from morning till night. I've not proposed yet; I want 
 to consult you. There are two charming women, here 
 — May Arundel, a beautiful girl only eighteen, and 
 Mrs. Lavender, a young widow. Although they hardly 
 know each other, I've managed to see a good deal of 
 
2 1 8 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 them both. You won't be shocked if I tell you that 
 I would really just as soon marry one as the other. 
 They are perfectly delightful — in different ways — and 
 are both most sympathetic to me. I can't make up 
 my mind which I like best. 
 
 Aubrey (interested): And do you mean to say they 
 would both jump at it if you proposed? 
 
 Percy (coolly): Why, I don't affect false modesty. I 
 am as capable of making myself agreeable as any 
 other man, I suppose. I am independent; I have not 
 too bad a reputation. I'm what is called "a good 
 match," and I think I have a chance with either. I 
 really wanted to ask your opinion, because you know 
 me very well, as to which of the two would make 
 me happier. 
 
 Aubrey (flattered)'. It's the fashion to consult people 
 much younger than yourself, because they've more 
 experience. What are these lovely beings like? Both 
 pretty, of course; but in other respects? 
 
 Percy: May is an only daughter, with an only 
 mother, a dear old thing, who admires Frith's pictures, 
 the novels of Miss Braddon, and the music of Donizetti. 
 
All for the Best. 2 1 9 
 
 Aubrey: What can you expect of the middle- 
 aged? 
 
 Percy: Miss Arundel herself likes Leader's pictures, 
 the works of John Strange Winter, and thinks the 
 Intermezzo in Cavalleria Rusticana the finest piece of 
 music ever written. 
 
 Aubrey {gravely): I see. (Patises) Still, she might 
 be educated. 
 
 Percy: Why yes, I think she might. She has dark 
 eyes and a fair complexion. Mrs. Lavender is very 
 graceful, quite interesting, and fascinating, in a quiet 
 style. She's devoted to Wagner and Whistler, inter- 
 ested in Ibsen; knows Verlaine and Baudelaire by 
 heart; musical, but doesn't bore one about anything; 
 dresses to perfection, rather delicate. My only hesi- 
 tation is the fact that she has been married bofore. 
 
 Aubrey: One must expect that — in a widow. I 
 think your objection trivial. I advise you to write 
 and propose at once to Mrs. Lavender. 
 
 Percy {reaching for the pen a7id ink): No: I don't 
 like the idea of being compared with the first hus- 
 band. I am going to write to May's mother — that's 
 
220 Dialogues of the Dny. 
 
 the proper thing — and ask permission to propose to 
 the daughter. {Writes). 
 
 Aubrey: And this is what you bring me from Lon- 
 don for! 
 
 {Percy sends off letter by hand in a decided, impulsive 
 way. Then leans back and smokes?) 
 
 Percy: You'll be my best man, old chap. We'll 
 take one of those jolly flats looking over the Park, 
 and a little place in the country. We must see a lot 
 of you, Aubrey! 
 
 Aubrey {rather melancholy) : Very kind of you, but 
 a fellow's never the same to his friends when he's 
 married. 
 
 Percy: My dear boy, why you've no idea how 
 sweet May is — any friend of mine will be one of hers. 
 She rides very well — I daresay we shall hunt; we 
 shall be a good deal in the country, and you must 
 come and stay with us. Fancy me settled down! 
 After all, there's nothing like it. A domestic, quiet 
 life — she is a very pretty girl. 
 
 Aubrey: If you are happy 
 
 Percy {beaming) : Rather ! 
 
All for the Best. 221 
 
 {Silence. They read and smoke. After some time enter 
 servant with note. Percy reads it. He smiles.) 
 
 Aubrey (languidly) : Congratulations ! 
 
 Percy: They're premature. Read that {throws him 
 letter). 
 
 Aubrey: u So sorry- -misunderstanding — very unfor- 
 tunate — dear May engaged six months to Captain 
 Chesney — to be married in the autumn." (Sympathetically) 
 My dear old chap ! 
 
 Percy : Not at all ; it's just as well. After all, 
 Aubrey, it would have been rather a Philistine life for 
 me. Of course, I am very much cut up and all that 
 
 Aubrey: Yes, I see. 
 
 Percy: But — she was a lovely girl, of course 
 
 Aubrey: I suppose she is still. 
 
 Percy: Well, she had her little faults, you know. 
 She would talk about who people were! Sometimes 
 she even used the expression, highly-connected. 
 
 Aubrey : Well, / never approved of it. If you must 
 marry, why not the widow? I am quite sure she 
 would be a nicer companion for me. 
 
 Percy: Here's the rough sketch of a letter I wrote 
 
222 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 the other day when I was thinking of her; tell me 
 what you think of it? 
 
 Aubrey [after reading it): Very bad. 
 
 Percy {nettled) Why? 
 
 Aubrey: All that about the impression on your 
 heart, and so on, is fearfully hackneyed — has been 
 done before; I could put it much better. Let me try. 
 [Takes pen and ink). 
 
 Percy: Confound it, are you making this proposal, 
 or am I? 
 
 {Finally adopts all Aubrey's suggestions. 
 Sends letter. His spirits rise.) 
 
 Percy : Lovely idea, two proposals in one day ! But 
 the other would not have been a success. Now, this 
 is an ideal marriage, Blanche Lavender is so sym- 
 pathetic, and then she has such a sense of humour. 
 She plays and sings divinely. 
 
 Aubrey: But you don't care for music. 
 
 Percy: Well, but you do. You can sing with her. 
 
 Aubrey: Thanks, very much. But while you're 
 proposing to all the ladies in Biarritz one after the 
 other, do you know I am getting quite hungry. 
 
All for ike Best. 223 
 
 Percy: So am I. Let us dine. I'm sure you've 
 brought me luck! 
 
 After dinner. On the terrace. 
 
 Aubrey {drinking coffee) : Why haven't you g ot your 
 answer yet? 
 
 Percy: She may have been out. Don't be anxious. 
 Cheer up; it will be all right. It was good of you, 
 coming over. 
 
 Aubrey: You know I take an interest in you. But 
 you must never tell her I helped you with the letter 
 
 Percy : Helped me ! Well, you made some suggestions 
 which I didn't see my way to adopting — but I know 
 you meant well and kindly. 
 
 Aubrey: Suggest! What! I didn't dictate that letter? 
 But I won't insist; you would blame me if she refused 
 you. 
 
 Percy [confidentially) : There's no fear of that. We 
 shall travell a good deal, I fancy. She is fond of 
 foreign places — we are certain to spend the winter at 
 Nice or Monte Carlo. She is not over-strong, and 
 cannot stand the winters in London. 
 
224 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Aubrey: She has every good quality. Fancy, a wife 
 whose health obliges one to winter in the South — 
 besides all her other attractions ! It's marvellous — there's 
 the fellow with a letter. 
 
 {Enter commissionaire, who delivers note to Percy). 
 
 Aubrey {anxiously)'. Well? 
 
 Percy : I say, Aubrey ! here's a nice thing — I've made 
 a fool of myself again {lattghs). It seems I was misin- 
 formed. It is her mother-in-law who is a widow. My 
 Mrs. Lavender's husband is expected to arrive to-night! 
 {Reading) "Under the circumstances you will perceive 
 I cannot grant your request. I hope you will soon 
 recover from any disappointment you may feel, and 
 believe me your sincere friend, Blanche Lavender. 
 P.S. — I have just seen dear Mrs. Arundel, and she told 
 me of your other unfortunate attachment. It only remains 
 for me to wish you better luck in the future.'' By love, 
 I say, I shall be the joke of the place! 
 
 Aubrey : You will, old man. 
 
 Percy: Never mind — it can't be helped. I must go 
 away to-morrow; I couldn't face them. 
 
 Aubrey: She plays and sings divinely! 
 
All for the Best 225 
 
 Percy [sulkily) : What does that matter now ? Besides, 
 I don't care for music. 
 
 Aubrey : But she is so sympathetic — has such a sense 
 of humour! 
 
 Percy: I daresay she would have been sympathetic 
 to somebody else, and humorous about me! 
 
 Aubrey: I believe I feel it more than you. 
 
 Percy: I perceive you intended to flirt with her. But 
 I am awfully cut up, of course — fancy, two such dis- 
 appointments in one day! We must try to throw it 
 off. We'll go and have a long tour somewhere to get 
 over it — to Norway, or the Italian lakes — and have a 
 splendid time. After all, marriage is a tie! Perhaps 
 it is all for the best? 
 
 15 
 
. .. .. .^5yMi'"»»sa 
 
 mmm 
 
 
 MRS. BEVINGTON : — " Is it very high?' 
 
OTHER PEOPLE'S SHOES. 
 
 By Mrs. Crackanthorpe. 
 
 mr. bevington, Barrister-at-Laiv {young), mrs. bevington {younger). 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Mr. Bevington {who has obviously no appetite for 
 breakfast}'. This last treasure of yours can't make an 
 omelette, Vi. I wish — I wish we could get away to 
 Brighton for the Sunday. I never had such a rush 
 since I was called. I shall have to give up working 
 for Sir George Concuest — if it goes on. But that's just 
 the point. Will it go on? 
 
 Mrs. Bevington {gaily)\ Sufficient for the day is the 
 devilling thereof. But I like your idea. Could we run 
 down to Brighton? It gives such a fillip to one's 
 complexion. It must be lovely there now, and it's 
 going to be pea-soup here in an hour. Oh, how can 
 it be managed? For Louisa told me only yesterday 
 that the Crokers could not get in anywhere last Satur- 
 
230 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 day. They drove up and down with their luggage, 
 houseless, homeless, and tealess, for two hours, and 
 then went ignominiously home again. 
 
 Mr. Bevington: There's the whole South Coast to 
 choose from. St. Leonards? 
 
 Mrs. Bevington {with agonised prescience) : Don't let 
 us go to a "family place, 1 ' Bob. I'd rather stay at 
 home and dream of "beautiful Brighton." 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Well, I am not Madame Blavatsky. 
 I can't create tea-cups, and precipitate mutton shops 
 onto the table out of space, much less a suite of rooms, 
 so if that's true about the Crokers, it's no good. 
 {Observing the signs of the times?) Now, Vi, you've 
 set your heart on it, I can see, though you had never 
 thought of it five minutes ago. Listen! Joe Derriman, 
 my chamber chum 
 
 Mrs. Bevington: Hateful man! Hasn't he just mar- 
 ried his laundress, or eloped w T ith his cheesemonger's 
 daughter ? 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Vi, you show a deplorable profes- 
 sional ignorance! The briefless, impecunious barrister 
 never elopes with his cheesemonger's daughter! 
 
Other People's Shoes. 231 
 
 Mrs. Bevington: With whose, then? 
 
 Mr. Bevington: With his attorney's if he can, with 
 nobody's if he can't! Well, Derriman told me he could 
 always get taken in at the Grundy if he wired down 
 in the morning. Suppose that I wired there in his 
 jiame now and asked if they could put us up ? 
 
 Mrs. Bevington: You really are clever, Bob. What 
 a pity it is you are a Chancery and not a Common 
 Law man! 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Thank you, Vi. Now then, for a 
 telegraph form. How shall we put it? 
 
 Mrs. Bevington: Make it overpoweringly pathetic. 
 
 Mr. Bevington {facetiously) : Say we want to come 
 to Brighton to die! 
 
 Mrs. Bevington {business-like) : Say we're very ill 
 and have been ordered to the seaside to save our 
 lives — your life that is, what would the widow and the 
 orphan do without you? 
 
 Mr. Bevington {absorbed)'. "From Joseph Derriman, 
 Lincoln's Inn, to Proprietor " 
 
 Mrs. Bevington: You would know his name if you 
 were Derriman 
 
232 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mr. Bevington: It's a wise man that knows his 
 landlord's name — " Grundy Hotel, Brighton — Very unwell 
 — ordered to Brighton till Monday. Can you receive 
 me and wife. Sitting-room, fire, etc. " 
 
 Mrs. Bevington {smartly)-. Reply paid to Hyde Park 
 Terrace. 
 
 Mr. Bevington : Little stupid ! Then they would find 
 out that the "wire" did not come from Derriman, for 
 they know his home address — or one of them. / know 
 he's away, luckily, but nobody knows where 
 
 Mrs. Bevington (meditatively): I rather dislike being 
 in Derriman's shoes, even from Saturday till Monday. 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Well, I rather enjoy taking it out 
 of Derriman. Box and Cox — on a larger scale! Send 
 the wire, quick! 
 
 Scene II. 
 Porch of the Grundy Hotel. All the personnel of the 
 
 Hotel drawn up to receive Mr. and Mrs. Bevingtoji, 
 who arrive with luggage. 
 
 Landlord [stepping forward) : I'm sorry, sir, we haven't 
 a room left. Our last suite was taken by telegram 
 this morning, and 
 
Other Peoples Shoes. 233 
 
 Mr. Bevington: May I ask {smiling) who took your 
 rooms this morning, because 
 
 Landlord: Mr. Derriman, sir; a very old customer 
 — known him these five years. Expecting him and his 
 lady {Mrs. B. murmurs aside, "Oh, he has a wife, then!") 
 by this train. 
 
 Mr. Bevington {airily) : Oh, I'm Mr. Derriman. {Stony 
 stare from all assembled?) 
 
 Mrs. Bevington (sotto voce): Oh, Bob! 
 
 Mr. Bevington (aside): Given it away completely! 
 (Aloud.) That is, I'm his greatest friend. (Aside.) Be 
 quiet, Vi, we can't go on pretending we're Derriman! 
 They know him. (Aloud.) Chambers together, you know. 
 
 He's away, and (realising the awkwardness of the 
 
 situation) you'll let me speak to you in your private 
 room a moment? (The Landlord sullenly motions him 
 into his ' room behind the bar. The Landlady frowns 
 tentatively on Mrs. B., but reserves her judgment ; the 
 head-waiter murmurs something not entirely appreciative 
 to the youthful ttnder-waiter. After an interminable 
 pause, Mr. B. emerges?) 
 
234 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mr. Bevington {nervously) : It's all right, dear, I have 
 explained to Mr. 
 
 Mrs. Bevington: That we're not 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Hold your dear little tongue. It's 
 all settled, and not for nothing, I can tell you. 
 
 Mrs. Bevington {in a whisper): Oh, Bob, don't you 
 think we had better go away? They're horrid, all of 
 them. They seem to take us for something dreadful! 
 
 Mr. Bevington : Don't look frightened, whatever you 
 do — I oughtn't to have said I was Derriman. {To the 
 Boots.) Take up the luggage. Please {turns to the cham- 
 bermaid) will you kindly show us to our rooms? 
 
 {Chambermaid looks to the Landlady for her orders 
 and ignores Mr. Bevington, the latter murmurs "9, 10, 
 1 1 ," and retires with the Landlord, muttering what 
 sounds very like " 'adventurers — wire to London" The 
 grim chambermaid sets sails for the staircase followed 
 by Mr. Bevington, and Mrs. Bevington, cozvering under 
 the weight of her magnificent scorn*) 
 
Other Peoples Shoes. 235 
 
 Scene III. 
 
 [Sunday evening, after dinner, Mr. Bevington smoking, 
 Mrs. Bevington reclining on a sofa in a pale pink tea-gown^) 
 
 Mrs. Bevington : I believe I've got a colour, but it's 
 not so much the sea air as the effect of that chamber- 
 maid's contempt. I've been one big blush ever since 
 I came. If it had not been for the honour and glory 
 of the thing, I wish we had gone home *at once — like 
 the Crokers — when we were all strapped and corded 
 and on the porter's back! It has been dreadful. I know 
 now what boycotting means. If "scorn could kill," that 
 chambermaid would have finished me long ago. I asked 
 her to brush my gown yesterday — it was muddy, of 
 course — and she tossed her head and said the under- 
 housemaid would see to it — as if she couldn't conde- 
 scend to touch my skirt — and when I tried to cheer 
 her by remarking how full Brighton was, she nearly 
 tossed it off and said "Full it was, and with people 
 no better than they should be." Oh, Bob, isn't it 
 dreadful to be despised? 
 
 Mr. Bevington {puffing at his cigar): Never mind, 
 
236 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Vi, rise superior to the frowns of a chambermaid. I've 
 enjoyed it all 
 
 Mrs. Bevington : This sort of thing doesn't affect a man ! 
 
 Mr. Bevington: All's well that ends well. Tip her 
 well when you go. What a laugh we shall have when 
 we get home and are ourselves again! 
 
 Mrs. Bevington : Perhaps — When we are there — Oh, 
 Bob {sobbing), shall we ever get home? That woman's 
 eyes will haimt me, I know. 
 
 Mr. Bevington: You're tired, little woman. Go to 
 bed. Remember we start early, for I'm on the first 
 thing in "Kay's." 
 
 (Mrs. Bevington obeys, and Mr. Bevington puffs on. 
 Visions of guineas and fame float before him. He 
 gradually falls into a mellow doze. A knock.) 
 
 Mr. Bevington : Come in. [Enter the young waiter?) 
 
 Waiter: If you please, Sare, dere is a lady below 
 wishes to have worts with you. 
 
 Mr. Bevington [sleepily) : Her name ? 
 
 Waiter: (shaking his head): She not say. 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Then go and ask her to say. (Exit 
 waiter, a Babel of exclamations rises from below but 
 
Other People's Shoes. 237 
 
 fails to stimulate Mr. -Bevingtoris somnolent faculties. 
 Enter, after a knock, the head waiter, elderly, thin,serio2ts.) 
 
 Another Waiter : There is a lady below, sir, says 
 she would like to speak to you. 
 
 Mr. Bevington (a little more awake) : So I have already 
 been informed. Be good enough to enquire her name 
 and business. 
 
 Waiter [icily) : She prefers at present not to give it, sir. 
 
 Mr. Bevington (azvake and angry)'. *Then I prefer 
 not to see her. Do you hear ? ( Turns round and 
 prepares fresh cigarette?) 
 
 Waiter: The lady says her business is very private 
 and particular. 
 
 Mr. Bevington. How can it be? When I'm only 
 here on a holiday! 
 
 Waiter: She has been searching Brighton for two 
 days, and only just heard as you was here, sir. 
 
 Mr. Bevington {doggedly): Ask the lady her name? 
 ( Turns away as if to close the interview. Turns round 
 again presently, and sees the waiter still there.) I tell 
 you what it is, I shall lose my temper presently. {Loses 
 it.) Take my message, and go! 
 
238 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 {More sounds from below, mingled with weeping. There 
 is a long and determiiied rap at the door, which can 
 come from nobody but the gri?n chambermaid. It is she.) 
 
 Chambermaid {sternly) : The lady must see you, sir. 
 She has come from London on purpose. 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Her name — her name! I tell you. 
 
 Chambermaid : Sir, a mother has her rights ! 
 
 Mr. Bevington: Whose mother? What is it all about? 
 
 ChambermaiB: The mother of the person in there! 
 {jerking her head in the direction of Mrs. B.'s room.) 
 Sir, if you persist in refusing to see the injured lady, 
 I shall take it on myself to introduce her into her 
 erring daughter's room. 
 
 Mr. Bevington {throwing away his cigarette) : What 
 do you mean by your injured mothers and erring 
 daughters? Go away, and send the landlord to me at 
 once. 
 
 {The door is pushed open violently, and a bulky, 
 weeping woman in a shiny black satin dress obtrudes 
 herself, and, with her handkerchief to her eyes, totters 
 towards Mr. Bevington, who is nozv thoroughly awake.) 
 
 Unknown Lady: Oh, Joseph, have I found you at 
 
Other Peoples Shoes. 239 
 
 last ? Where is she ? Where is my daughter, where 
 is Maria? 
 
 Mr. Bevington (with deliberation) : May I point out 
 to you, madam, that my name is not Joseph. Unfortu- 
 nately, my wife and I are occupying his rooms for a 
 short time. Is there anything I can do for you? {Aside) 
 This is some devilry of Joe Derriman's. Poor woman! 
 
 Unknown Lady : To run away with my only daughter 
 and marry her at a Registry Office! *For shame! 
 (Removing her handkerchief from her eyes) Why, that's 
 not Joseph? Whatever Joseph's faults, he has the most 
 beautiful head of hair I ever beheld ; and this gentleman 
 (a significant pause — to the chambermaid) You said he 
 was Derriman! 
 
 Chambermaid: I said he said he was (doggedly). 
 
 Mr. Bevington (putting his hand to his brow): Perhaps, 
 madam, now you have assured yourself that you are 
 labouring under a mistake, you will leave me to the 
 undisturbed enjoyment of my own apartment 
 
 (Unknown Lady murmurs apologies and backs out. 
 Enter waiter?) 
 
 Waiter : If you please, sir, Mr. Scrouge's compliments, 
 
240 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 and, as you are leaving so early, he thought you might 
 like to settle your bill over night! 
 
 (Mr. Bevington looks at the bill and is about to 
 exposhtlate. Checks himself and pays it. Enter Mrs. 
 Bevi?igton en -peignoir?) 
 
 Mrs. Bevington: I heard such a noise! {sees the bill) 
 You surely weren't making a row over the bill, Bob! 
 Is it very high? 
 
 i^ } Mr.Beving*ton: Tremendous! (Reads) Rooms £5 199; 
 Dinners, £4 17 6 ; Extras, £2 15 5 ! Sharp practice ; 
 but we deserved it — we did play it rather low down 
 on them. Never mind, fones v. Jones will cover it 
 twice over. Well, I'm obliged to Derriman for a change 
 of air and scene. {Aside) I wonder if "Maria" has 
 been found. I won't tell Vi — she'll hate Derriman 
 worse than ever. 
 
 Mrs. Bevington (sleepily) : An early start — I'm glad 
 of it. I do look better, though. Well, I've been taken 
 for an adventuress — and for Mrs. Derriman — and heaven 
 knows whom beside! I shall quite enjoy being myself 
 again ! 
 
 Curtain. 
 
MISS, burnie: "It looks very well, doesn't it? I'm glad my initials are there!" 
 MR. CAPELL : "They're all asking who *E. B.' is." 
 
 16 
 
A BUSINESS ARRANGEMENT. 
 
 By Anthony Hope. 
 
 edward capell, Esq., Editor. miss edith burnie, Contributor. 
 
 Scene I. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, have you brought me the proof? 
 Do let me see! 
 
 Mr. Capell: Er — no: I'm afraid— The fact is, Miss 
 Burnie (He stops.) 
 
 Miss Burnie: Well, what's that roll of paper then? 
 
 Mr. Capell (apprehensively): It's your — manuscript. 
 
 Miss Burnie (coldly): Pray sit down. (Mr. Capell 
 sits on the edge of a chair.) 
 
 Mr. Capell: If I consulted my own taste — I say my 
 own taste — I should print it directly. It's in many ways 
 delightful — nothing short of delightful. 
 
 Miss Burnie: So you said of the other two. 
 
 Mr. Capell: But every paper has a— a sort of note 
 of its 
 
244 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Miss Burnie: That's what you told me I was catching 
 so wonderfully. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Oh, I know. I don't recede from that. 
 With a little more practice 
 
 Miss Burnie {abruptly)-. And you do put in stick 
 stupid things! Who was it who wrote that "From a 
 Suburban Window"? 
 
 Mr. Capell: That was — yes, that was mine. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, if it was your own, of course! 
 
 Mr. Capell: Now this of yours only wants a little 
 more polish, a little more 
 
 Miss Burnie: Give it me. I'll put that in and let 
 you have it back in twenty-four hours. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Wouldn't it be better to try quite a 
 new line? 
 
 Miss Burnie: You told me I had hit on a charming 
 vein at the Browns 1 dance only the other evening. 
 
 Mr. Capell (feebly): Did I? 
 
 Miss Burnie: I think you're perfectly horrid, Mr. 
 Capell. You lead me on and then you won't have 
 what I do. 
 
 Mr. Capell: I can't judge before I see them, can I? 
 
A Business Arrangement. 245 
 
 Miss Burnie: I know what it is. Literature's a close 
 ring. I read it in the paper only the other day, and 
 I see now it's quite true. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Oh, really, no. Anything of merit 
 
 Miss Burnie: You mean my things have no merit? 
 
 Mr. Capell: Not quite our sort of merit. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, your sort! No, I see it all. Give 
 me my manuscript, please. I — I shall burn it. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Please don't take it like that. Please, 
 Miss Burnie, I — I'd do anything to please you. 
 
 Miss Burnie: I don't want that. I only want justice? 
 and — I thought I might get it from a friend. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Yes, do let me be your friend. 
 
 Miss. Burnie : You act like one, don't you ? No, give 
 it to me. 
 
 Mr. Capell {sadly): Very well. (He puts MS. on the table) 
 
 Miss Burnie: It's very hard, when one — one feels 
 one has it in one, and no — nobody 
 
 Mr. Capell: Please, Miss Burnie, don't. 
 
 Miss Burnie: I thought it would be so nice to sur- 
 prise papa with — and now it's all over! {She searches 
 for her pocket) 
 
246 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Mr. Capell: You mutsn't give up yet. 
 
 Miss Burnie {searching as above) : Oh, yes, I shall. 
 {She finds the pocket and takes out her handkerchief) 
 
 Mr. Capell {in great alarm)'. My dear Miss Burnie, 
 you — really, you mustn't. I — I can't bear it. 
 
 Miss Burnie {behind the handkerchief)-. You can go 
 away. As if you cared! 
 
 Mr. Capell [softly): How unkind you are! 
 
 Miss Burnie {her voice muffled in the handkerchief): 
 And — and I told Dora B — Brown I was going to have 
 it in. {With sudden emphasis^) Do go away! 
 
 Mr. Capell: Miss Burnie, I — I've been thinking that, 
 perhaps, if you'd allow me just to — to touch it up a 
 little — — 
 
 Miss Burnie {emergl?ig .half way): What? 
 
 Mr. Capell {taking courage) : You see, it really has 
 all the substantial merits. Oh, the real stuff is there, 
 Miss Burnie, never fear. 
 
 Miss Burnie {emerging the rest of the way) : Do you 
 really think so? 
 
 Mr. Capell: Oh, I do indeed. But there are little 
 — well, tricks of the trade, you know. And if you 
 
A Business Arrangement. 247 
 
 wouldn't mind my just trimming it — oh, only the least 
 little bit. 
 
 Miss Burnie {dropping the kaizdkerchief) : And then — ? 
 
 Mr. Capell: Why, then, we should be very glad to 
 take it. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, how nice of you! Really, you are 
 nice, Mr. Capell. I knew you never meant really to 
 be horrid. 
 
 Mr. Capell: I'm sure it'll go all right. 
 
 Miss Burnie: And when — oh, when will it appear? 
 
 Mr. Capell: Next week — this very next week. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, how awfully jolly! I knew you 
 would be just to me! How can I thank you? 
 
 Mr. Capell (picking tip handkerchief)'. By putting 
 this away. Good-bye. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Good-bye. Do come soon again. You 
 can't think how I shall enjoy surprising papa! 
 
 Mr. Capell: And showing it to Miss Brown? 
 
 Miss Burnie: Yes: and I'll begin another directly. 
 You do think I have it im me, don't ? 
 
 Mr. Capell: I'm sure you have. Good-bye, Miss 
 Burnie. 
 
248 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Be sure to send me a copy directly. 
 Exit Mr. Capell?) Well, he is nice. 
 
 Scene II. a week later. 
 
 Mr. Capell : How do you do ? Well, how do you like 
 yourself in print? 
 
 Miss Burnie {stiffly)'. I wonder you care to come and 
 see me. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Why, you told me to. I wanted to 
 congratulate you on the appearance of your article. 
 
 Miss Burnie {pointing to a paper)-. Do you mean in 
 there ? 
 
 Mr. Capell: Yes of course. 
 
 Miss Burnie: My article isn't in there. There's a 
 thing- that's got my initials under it, and one or two 
 of my ideas — spoilt. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Oh, I say ! 
 
 Miss Burnie: But I don't call it my article. 
 
 Mr. Capell: You told me to touch it up. 
 
 Miss Burnie : I didn't tell you to maul it. It's ruined. 
 You've taken out all the best bits and put in — well, 
 never mind; only, please don't use my initials again. 
 
A Bus mess Arrangement. 249 
 
 Mr. Capell: Really, I'd no idea you'd take it like 
 that. My only object was to 
 
 Miss Burnie : Of course, you don't expect me to write 
 for you again? 
 
 Mr. Capell: I hoped we might 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, no, thank you. I do like my things 
 to be my own. I daresay you meant well, but 
 
 Mr. Capell: The article's attracted a good deal of 
 attention. Everybody praises it 
 
 Miss Burnie: Do they? Your part, I suppose? 
 
 Mr. Capell: Oh, my part's nothing. Mere proof 
 -correcting. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Nonsense! You've written it all over 
 again. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Oh, but every editor — every editor 
 worth his salt — does that. Of course he does. It's 
 what he's for. 
 
 Miss Burnie {suspiciously) : Are you sure ? 
 
 Mr. Capell {with a plausible air) : I thought everyone 
 knew that. 
 
 Miss Burnie : And mine's not altered more than usual ? 
 
 Mr. Capell {stoutly) : Less, if anything. 
 
250 DialogiLes of the Day. 
 
 Miss Burnie {taking up the paper) : Of course, my 
 ideas are there, aren't they? 
 
 Mr. Capell: I should think so; and your — I don't 
 say your exact words everywhere. 
 
 Miss Burnie: N-no. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Your style — your — what shall I call it? 
 — your brand is everywhere, Miss Burnie. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Well, to a certain extent, perhaps. 
 
 Mr. Capell: The alterations are mere — merely verbal. 
 Why, Miss Burnie, I couldn't have altered that article 
 without spoiling it ! 
 
 Miss Burnie: I think I see what you mean now. Of 
 course, after all, I'm new to literature, Mr. Capell, 
 and I didn't know what the custom was. How hard 
 you must work, having - to re-write everything! 
 
 Mr. Capell: Well, there is some work of course. I 
 don't deny that. 
 
 Miss Burnie: If it's done to everybody, of course, I 
 don't mind. {She holds tip the paper?) It looks very 
 well, doesn't it? I'm glad my initials are there! 
 
 Mr. Capell: They're all asking wbo "E. B." is. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Are they really? Oh, how delightful! 
 
A Business Arrangement. 2 5 1 
 
 And I've got another quite ready. (She points to MS. 
 on the table?) 
 
 Mr. Capell: I — I don't quite know whether you'd 
 listen to a suggestion from me. I thought we might 
 perhaps do something together. 
 
 Miss Burnie? Do something? I don't quite - 
 
 Mr. Capell : Collaborate, you know. People often do. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, I know; it must be rather fun! 
 Oh, yes; let's, Mr. Capell. 
 
 Mr. Capell {eagerly) : I'm so glad you like the idea. 
 I will come, you see, and talk over the things with you. 
 
 Miss Burnie : We should want long talk, shouldn't we ? 
 
 Mr. Capell: Oh, we should; there's no mistake 
 about that. 
 
 Miss Burnie: And then we'd each get our ideas 
 down — 
 
 Mr. Capell: Yes, or I'd just do the drudgery and — 
 
 Miss Burnie: And send it to me — 
 
 Mr. Capell : Yes, or bring it and have another talk — 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, yes, it's so much better to talk 
 than to write, isn't it? I'm charmed with the idea. 
 
 Mr. Capell: So am I. Let's begin with this one. 
 
252 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 {Pointing to MS. on table?) I'll read it and come — are 
 you free to-morrow ? 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh yes, I'll be at home to no one but you. 
 
 Mr. Capell : All right. I'll turn up. We shall do splen- 
 didly together. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, but how shall we sign them? Our 
 initials are different. 
 
 Mr. Capell: I'm afraid they are — at pres 
 
 Miss Burnie: Now, Mr. Capell! 
 
 Mr. Capell: We'll sign E. B. C. — tha'll combine us. 
 
 Miss Burnie: Oh, yes, that'll do. 
 
 Mr. Capell: Of course, if you'd like to get rid of 
 the B 
 
 Miss Burnie: Now, you mustn't. We're talking 
 bussiness ! 
 
 Mr. Capell: All right. I won't. To-morrow then! 
 
 Miss Burnie: Yes, to-morrow! 
 
 Mr. Capell: And think about dropping that 
 
 {Miss Burnie smiles and puts her fingers in her ears?) 
 Oh, well, it'll keep. Au revoir! 
 
 Miss Burnie {her fingers as before)-. Good-bye. Be 
 punctual ! 
 
A Business Arrangement. 253 
 
 Mr. Capell: Never fear. I'll be in time. (He goes out.) 
 Miss Burnie {taking her finger out): I heard all he 
 
 said. Well, he'll be here to-morrow! 
 
 Mr. Capell (on the doorstep): What the deuce does 
 
 a girl with eyes like that want to write articles for? 
 
A HUMAN SACRIFICE. 
 
 By Clara Savile Clarke. 
 
 mrs. Norton (an authoress), mrs. hilda burnside (a rich widow). 
 Time: A winter afternoon. Scene: A London Drawing-room. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Well, here I am. How comfortable 
 you look. It's snowing hard outside, and the Park 
 was of course quite deserted. I'll take this chair near 
 the fire facing you. Now we can have a chat. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: My dear Hilda, what lovely sables! 
 How extravagant you are! 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Dress is my only consolation. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: For what? 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: I don't know — you are so particular 
 about your words. Conversation is no pleasure to me 
 if I have to stop and think — I like to rattle on and 
 enjoy myself. 
 
 Mrs. Norton {ironically): The printers would love 
 me, if I rattled on in my novels as you do! 
 
A Human Sacrifice. 255 
 
 Mrs. Burnside : Of course I'm a most imperfect person, 
 all scraps and odds and ends, with nothing finished 
 about me. I only did one perfect thing" in my life, and 
 circumstances forced me to keep it hidden. A pity! 
 Think what the world lost? 
 
 Mrs. Norton : Hilda, as Louis says, you are flippant. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Did your husband say that? Thank 
 him from me. What were you doing when I came in? 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Thinking of the plot for a story. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Tell it to me. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: It won't interest you. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Yes it will. Go on. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: It is pathetic. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside : Is that why you think it won't suit me ? 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Well — I confess it is hardly your style. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Never mind. I'll, bear it. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: A circumstance in my own life sug- 
 gested it. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside [coughs) : That often happens. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: You are not to interrupt. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside : I won't more than I can help. Go on. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Imagine a youg man, clever, just be- 
 
256 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 ginning life; imagine him full of promise, of ambition, 
 with a strong will and plenty of brains. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: A little heavy, I think. Such men 
 bore me. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Of course, dear, you are such a gay 
 person. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: As light as the froth in a glass of 
 champagne, and as brainless. Thank you. 
 
 Mrs. Norton : Hilda, don't be silly. You know I 
 didn't mean that. Well r this man had just left Oxford, 
 and had come to settle in London. His father wished 
 him to go into Parliament, but he was wealthy, and 
 found a gay life delightful for a time. For this reason 
 he gave himself up to pleasures — harmless enough. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Oh, that doesn't sound true! 
 
 Mrs. Norton: But it was true. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Good Heavens! Did you know him? 
 
 Mrs. Norton : I told you this first part was suggested 
 by my own life. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: You are not a man. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Really, Hilda, you are a little aggra- 
 vating. My hero is slightly a reminiscence of Louis. 
 
A Hitman Sacrifice. 257 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: I beg- your pardon. Go on. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Imagine this man, with a nature worthy 
 of better things, with powers far above the average, 
 wasting- his time in this manner! 
 
 Mrs. Burnside {laughing) : Poor dear ! 
 
 Mrs. Norton: I shan't continue. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Oh, yes, do. I won't laugh again, I 
 promise you. 
 
 Mrs. Norton : Well, my hero, at a dance or evening 
 party, comes across a woman a little older than himself, 
 who has some profession, paints or writes — as I do. 
 She has no personal attractions, but is moderately 
 clever, and interests him at once. She is charmed with 
 the originality she discovers in him, they see more of 
 each other, and owing to her influence he begins to 
 be more serious and to work. Her companionship and 
 sympathy stimulate him, they rouse all that is best in 
 him — and my hero loves her! 
 
 Mrs. Burnside {sharply)-. Loves her, did you say? 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Yes, loves her, with the strength of 
 a man's first fancy. They become engaged. She is 
 
 happy, trusting implicitly in him, while this great man, 
 
 17 
 
258 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 growing greater under her influence, satisfies her ambition. 
 She almost ceases to write, and devotes her time to 
 him. They are always together, preparing speeches 
 and taking notes. At last he is elected, and her time 
 is spent in the House. They are both content to wait 
 a little before being married, as his father wishes it — 
 this was our case, you know. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Yes, and of course it ends — they 
 married and lived happily ever after? 
 
 Mrs. Norton: No. Just before our wedding Louis 
 was ill, and ordered complete rest. Parliament was 
 not sitting ; it was possible for him to get away. I was 
 in England, while he went abroad, and travelled at first 
 from place to place. He wrote to me every day, but 
 once, for a fortnight, I only received an occasional 
 post-card. He explained it afterwards. He was ill or 
 something. Now ends the truth, and comes the story. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside {looking alarmed) : Is it late ? If so I 
 mustn't stay to hear it. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: No, it's only five. I know you needn't 
 leave yet. Well, I have often wondered what I should 
 have done if Louis had taken a new fancy in all that 
 
A Human Sacrifice. 259 
 
 time; so in the story I make my hero meet with a 
 Society woman — a pretty, careless doll 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: How horrid! Don't. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Oh, not like you. I couldn't be so 
 rude, my dear Hilda. A woman with no ideas beyond 
 dress, with fair hair, blue eyes and a perfect face, as 
 far as outline and complexion are concerned. He admires 
 her fair, fragile beauty, notices her at dinner seated at 
 a small side table by herself, is curious to discover 
 her name, and finds she is a rich widow. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside {nervously) : Disconsolate, and hung 
 round with crape; I know the sort. I was never like 
 that. My parents wished me to marry my husband. 
 I was a silly girl, and I obeyed. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Give me that for my widow! Then 
 they are, of course, introduced, he talks about the beauty 
 of the moon shining on the gardens of the Hotel, they 
 wander out on the terrace, and forget the man who 
 introduced them. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: People never do that. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Don't try to be cynical, dear ; it doesn't 
 suit you. Besides, you have had everything you could 
 
260 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 possibly want all your life, and only we women who 
 have been poor and suffered have a right to be cynical. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: Indeed. Didn't know it was a monopoly. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Hilda, how absurd you are! To con- 
 tinue, my hero is attracted by this widow's personality, 
 loves her for her smiles, her blue eyes, her bright little 
 laugh. He is fascinated by her coquetry, enslaved by 
 her changeable moods. She in her turn, never having 
 loved before, in spite of her shallow, careless nature, 
 really falls in love with him. She is like a child in 
 her admiration for him, obeys his lightest word, and 
 for once is unselfishly devoted to a human being other 
 than herself. Why Hilda! how white you are. Is the 
 fire too hot for you? 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: No. Come to the end of the story. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: My hero loves this woman, loves her 
 by instinct, is enslaved by her, loves her without reason, 
 as a man rarely loves — twice. He is ashamed, strives 
 to be true to his betrothed, struggles to get free, and 
 is the faster captured. Then comes a day when they 
 are alone — say on the same moonlit terrace? — and he is 
 determined to be strong. He tells her he is going 
 
A Human Sacrifice. 261 
 
 away, and she forgets prudence — everything — and bursts 
 into tears. Half mad at the sight of her grief, he 
 confesses the truth, and asks her to choose between 
 taking him as a husband who has deceived and broken 
 faith with another woman or being content with a live- 
 long friend in this other woman's husband. She is weak, 
 vain, selfish; she has no thought for this other woman, 
 and would only keep him by her side, when suddenly 
 she reflects that he might perhaps tire of her too. She 
 therefore plays the part of a noble woman to perfection, 
 and bids him leave her for ever. 
 
 Mrs. Burnside {rising excitedly)'. You wrong her, 
 Mrs. Norton. She sacrificed herself because it was right. 
 Be just, be generous; even Society butterflies have 
 moments in their lives when they are true, honest women, 
 and are as capable of doing good as the best of you. I 
 tell you she sent your husband back, at the risk of her 
 own suffering, to save your life from being ruined. 
 
 Mrs. Norton: You are mad. What do you mean? 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: I mean that you are" unjust, ungenerous. 
 You might have told me you knew this in a few words, 
 instead of torturing me all this time. God forgive me 
 
262 Dialogues of the Day. 
 
 for sending- him back to your arms, if you are such a 
 woman as you show yourself now. And I, who had 
 been happy in your happiness, believing my sacrifice 
 had not been in vain — ! 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Good God! Have mercy on me — have 
 mercy on me! 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: You said the story was partly true. 
 Why couldn't you confess it was all true? I never 
 harmed you — I sent him back! 
 
 Mrs. Norton: Hilda I swear I never knew! 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: You didn't know? 
 
 Mrs. Norton: I was telling you a purely imaginary 
 story that I had put together — and now for the first 
 time, I learn that Louis — that you- 
 
 Mrs. Burnside: I thought you had found out — I 
 didn't understand — I 
 
 (They face each other with white faces and trembling 
 lips, while in the distance each hears, and knows, the 
 step of the husband ascending the stairs.).