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 ^'TROUBLED WATERS." 
 
 AN ORIGINAL COMEDY 
 IN FOUR ACTS. 
 
 -BY- 
 
 CHARLES THOMAS AND WALTER ELLIS. 
 
 Copyright, 1893, by Charles Thomas and Walter Ellis. 
 
 NEW YORK and LONDON. 
 
 V(i-^--^\ 
 
 
1 
 
 -r.T^^ 
 
 CHARACTERS. 
 
 AENOLD EERINGTON . 
 
 CYEIL TEEHEENE . 
 
 SIE CHAELES AISLABIE, BAET. 
 
 ME. PAELBUEY 
 
 DE. GEEALD LANGTON 
 
 MAETIN 
 
 MES. MATCHAM EOLLTTT . 
 MES. PAELBUEY 
 ETHEL PAELBUEY . 
 GLADYS AISLABIE . 
 
SCENES. 
 
 ACT 1. 
 
 Naples. Sir Charles Aislabie's apartments ; 12, Corso 
 Victor Emmanuel. April. 
 
 ACT IT. 
 
 Denethorpe Abbey. The Drawing Room. August. 
 
 ACT III. 
 
 The Firs. The Studio. September. 
 
 ACT IV. 
 
 Naples. Same as Act I. October. 
 
 (Four months are supposed to elapse between Acts I 
 and II. A week between Acts II. and III., and a month 
 between Acts III. and IV.) 
 
 Time, - - Present. 
 
TROUBLED WATERS." 
 
 ACT I. 
 
 Scene: — Furnished apartments in the Cor so Victor Emmanuel^ 
 in Naples^ in the occupation of Sir Charles Aisla- 
 BIE. Picturesquely, but rather shabbily furnished, 
 as if better days had been known. Doors L. C, 
 R. I. E., and R. U. E. Window R. C, with balcony. 
 A picture on an easel, covered by a curtain R. 
 
 {Enter Martin, ushering in Errington L. C.) 
 
 Martin. — If you'll take a seat, sir, I will tell Sir Charles 
 you're here. 
 
 Erring-. — All right. {Exit Martin, r. i. e.) What does 
 he want with me, I wonder ? Would like to see me very 
 particularly, his messenger said. I heard he was in low 
 water. 
 
 {Enter Sir Charles, r.) 
 
 Sir C. — My dear Errington, I'm delighted to see you ! 
 In fact, hearing you were yachting in the Mediterranean, 
 I've been on the lookout for you some time. 
 
 Furring. — That accounts for your message reaching roe 
 this morning, almost before the yacht's anchor was down. 
 Now, what can I do for you ? 
 
 Sir C. — You guessed that I wanted something? 
 
 Erring. — Well, yes, and I was very pleased that you 
 thought of me. 
 
6 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 Sir C. — That's very kindly said. Fact is, Errington, I'm 
 in a difficulty. 
 
 Erring. — How mucli ? 
 
 Sir C. — No, no, my boy, it's not that, for a wonder. 
 {Pause.) You remember my little daughter, Gladys ? 
 
 Erring. — Of course, and a dear child she was — 
 
 Sir C. — Ah ! Her mother was an angel — too good for 
 me and for this world — so she left it. Until Gladys grew 
 up I devoted all my spare time to her ; then she began to 
 ask questions about my time that wasn't spare, so I sent 
 her to school. This left me free to follow my social, sport- 
 ing, and theatrical tastes — until a year ago, I did follow 
 them pretty rapidly — then came the smash, and I had to 
 sell the old place to pay my debts. With what was left I 
 meant to settle down — somehow, I didn't. The result is, 
 what you see — [Going to picture on easel and draiving cur- 
 tain.) This is Gladys' portrait, she sent it me the other 
 day. 
 
 Erring. — {Starting involuntarily) What a lovely face • 
 And where is she now ? 
 
 Sir C. — Where she has been for the last five years, at a 
 convent, near Brussels, finishing her education. Her educa- 
 tion is finished, and she's coming home, if you can call this 
 home. 
 
 Erring. — When do you expect her? 
 
 Sir G. — To-day, at any moment. 
 
 Erring. — What a happiness for you ! 
 
 Sir G. — Perhaps. As a child, Gladys was devoted to me ; 
 in her eyes, I have always been the incarnation of all that 
 is good and noble. Now Errington, if she should ever find 
 out what my life has really been, I shall look devilish 
 small. 
 
 Erring. — Why should she ever find out ? 
 
 Sir G. — Why? She's a woman. 
 
 Erring. — And is that the reason that you have kept her 
 away from you all these years ? 
 
 Sir G. — Ask yourself, my dear Errington, if the atmos- 
 phere, with which I am surrounded, is one fit for a young 
 and innocent girl to breathe ? 
 
Scene I.] TROUBLED WATERS. 7 
 
 Erring. — {Shortly) Change the air. 
 
 Sir C. — Reform ? {Laughing bitterly.) I have reformed. 
 Circumstances have reformed me. But you can't touch 
 pitch without being defiled, and the stuff clings, sir, clings 
 damnably ! 
 
 Erring. — My dear Sir Charles, I think you are too hard 
 on yourself. 
 
 Sir C. — No, I'm not ; you judge others by yourself, and 
 can neither see nor believe in the seamy side of human 
 nature. I do both, and I feel I'm not a fit and proper per- 
 son to have charge of her. 
 
 Erring. — What do you propose to do ? 
 
 Sir C. — Give her to someone who is a fit and proper 
 person. 
 
 Erring. — You mean a husband, of course. 
 
 Sir C. — Yes, and of all the husbands that this world 
 could offer, you, Arnold Errington, are the one I would 
 choose. 
 
 Erring. — {Staggered.) I? 
 
 Sir C. — Yes. Come, what do you say to my proposal ? 
 
 Erring. — My dear Sir Charles, what a word and a blow 
 man you are ! I have never thought seriously of marry- 
 ing— 
 
 Sir C. — Time you did. 
 
 Erring. — {Looking atpicture.) If Miss Aislabie's face be an 
 index to her character — 
 
 Sir C. — {As if hurt by the doubt expressed.) If? After 
 all, {ivitli a sigh) she is almost as great a stranger to me as 
 she is to you. But if it be ? 
 
 Erring. — Then he will be a lucky man who wins her love ! 
 
 Sir C. — Aha ! And why shouldn't you be the lucky 
 man? 
 
 Erring. — {Dreamily, still looking at picture.) The whole 
 idea is so new to me. 
 
 Sir C. — Of course, of course. You must have time to 
 know her, and appreciate her. {Pause.) There, we won't 
 discuss the matter further now, but — think it over, my dear 
 boy, think it over. 
 
 {Enter Martin, l. c.) 
 
8 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 Martin. — {To Sir Chaeles :) A gentleman has called, sir, 
 to know if Mr. Errington is ready. 
 
 Errhicj. — It's old Parlbury, my fellow traveller ; may he 
 come up? 
 
 Sir C. — By all means, {to Martin) Ask the gentleman 
 up. 
 
 {Exit Martin.) 
 
 Erring. — He's a good old sort, Parlbury. Mad after an- 
 tiquities, of which he believes himself an infallible judge. 
 As a matter of fact, his ignorance on the subject would fill 
 the British Museum. {Enter Parlbury, l. c, ushered in by 
 Martin, ivho exits. Parlbury carries a large jar under his 
 left arm, rudely painted ivith birds and flowers.) Come along, 
 Parlbury, and let me introduce you to Sir Charles Aislabie. 
 
 Farl. — {Entering, takes Ms hat off, and hangs it on the mouth 
 of the jar, then holds his hand to Sir ('harles) Delighted, I'm 
 sure! {Shakes hands ivith Sir Charles.) 
 
 Erring. — Why, what in the world have you got there ? 
 
 Pari. — (Pidting jar with hat on it, on table carefully) Aha ! 
 A treasure, my dear Errington, a real art treasure ! 
 
 Erring — ( Taking up hat) What, this ? 
 
 Pari. — Don't be a fool. There {admiringly), a very perfect 
 specimen of early Genoese pottery ! 
 
 Erring.- — {Examining it) Beautiful ! And this, I presume, 
 is an early Genoese bird, picking up an early Genoese 
 worm ? 
 
 Pari. — You're a Goth ! Upon my word, Errington, I be- 
 lieve that even Mrs. Parlbury would have admired it. 
 (Errington np stage.) 
 
 Sir C. — Mrs. Parlbury ! I met a Mrs. Parlbury when I 
 was last at Denethorpe, some years since. She was very 
 great on modern sanitation, I remember. 
 
 Pari. — Very likely, but I don't see much of her now. 
 
 Sir C. — Your sister-in-law, I presume ? 
 
 Pari. — No, Sir Charles, my wife. {Sighs.) 
 
 Sir C— {Uncomfortable) Indeed? — I — ah — {not hioicing 
 lohat to say.) Exactly. 
 
 Pari. — {Confidentially.) The fact is. Sir Charles, the paths 
 of Mrs. Parlbury and myself have diverged of late years. 
 
Scene I.] TROUBLED WATERS. 9 
 
 She was practical and modern, while I was artistic, and — 
 
 Erring. — Ancient. 
 
 Pari. — Don't you interrupt. I objected to her nineteenth 
 century fads, and she sneered at my antiquarian tastes. So 
 we separated. Ah ! There's a lot of blanks in the matri- 
 monial lottery ! 
 
 Sir C. — There's an equal number of people always ready 
 to dip their hands in. 
 
 Pari. — Which shows the natural tendency of mankind to 
 make idiots of themselves. Why, there was Errington the 
 other day with that widow at Malta 
 
 Sir C. — {Pricking up his ears) Eh, what? What's that? 
 
 Erring. — (Annoyed) Oh, nothing ! 
 
 Pari. — Nothing, indeed ! Why, with your quixotic notions 
 of honor and chivalry, I believe if I hadn't been there, you'd 
 have married her out of pity ! 
 
 Erring. — Nonsense ! {fumijig) It was a mere flirtation, 
 nothing more. What an ass you are, Parlbury ! Come, it's 
 time we were off, the English post must be in. 
 
 Sir C. — Come back to lunch? 
 
 Erring.— It must depend on my letters. I may have to 
 return to England this afternoon. 
 
 Sir C. — {Disapjiointed) This afternoon? 
 
 Pari. — Nonsense, Errington, I'm sure there will be no 
 need to hurry away ; you forget I've never been in Naples 
 before. 
 
 Erring. — True (with a glance at the portrait.) I must not 
 be selfish. (Sir Chaeles secretly arnused.) So we'll be back 
 to lunch, and you and Miss Aislabie must dine onboard the 
 yacht to-night. Come along, Parlbury (going.) 
 
 Sir C. — No, no, Mr. Parlbury looks tired. 
 
 Pari — Ah! (reseating himself.) 
 
 Sir G. — And I'm sure he's thirsty. 
 
 Par?.— Ah-h-h ! ! 
 
 Sir C. — So he shall stop and have a glass of Chianti 
 with me (aside) — and I'll pump him about the widow. 
 
 Erring. — Oh, all right. 
 
 Sir C. — You can get his letters for him, unless (to Parl- 
 
lo TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 buey) you're expecting one from your wife, in which case, 
 
 perhaps 
 
 Pari — {Solemnly) Sir Charles, it is some years since I 
 gave up expecting anything from Mrs. Parlbury. 
 
 Erring. — (Laughing) Till lunch, then. 
 
 (Exit L. c.) 
 
 Sir C. — (Going to carved oak cabinet L., and producing flash 
 of Chianti and tivo glasses) Malta much of a place for anti- 
 quarian or artistic research, Mr. Parlbury? 
 
 Pari. — No. I spent one very jolly day in the catacombs 
 at Citta Yecchia, but otherwise I didn't do much in that 
 line. 
 
 Sir C. — Then you weren't sorry to leave ? 
 
 Pari — Well, I don't know, there was very pleasant society 
 there. 
 
 Sir C. — Ah, by the way, including the lovely widow, for x 
 presume she was lovely ? 
 
 Pari. — Speaking as only a slightly married man, Sir 
 Charles, I give you my word she was superb ! Such a pres- 
 ence, and for a modern production, such curves ! 
 
 Sir G. — Oho ! Then not all your devotion to art could 
 prevent your falling a victim to the fascinations of nature. 
 I wonder you could tear yourself away. 
 
 Pari — I could and did for two reasons, one being that I 
 discovered she knew Mrs. Parlbury — 
 
 Sir C. — [Laughing) Oh, Mr. Parlbury, I very much fear 
 that incompatibility of temper was not the sole cause of 
 the separation between you and your wife. 
 
 Pari. — You flatter me, but candor compels me to admit 
 that there was no other. My second reason for going was 
 as I have already hinted, because of Errington, 
 
 Sir C. — Ah ! A regular case between them, eh ? 
 
 Pari — On her side, yes — not on his ; but Errington is 
 weak, deplorably weak, where women are concerned, and 
 she'd have hooked him to a certainty if he hadn't been able 
 to fall back on my experience. 
 
 Sir C. — Which is pretty extensive ? 
 
 Pari — Fairly so. As a means of acquiring a knowledge 
 
[Scene I. TROUBLED WATERS. it 
 
 of the sex, it is, if I may paraphrase Tennyson, better to 
 have wed and parted, than never to have wed at all. But 
 now I've trespassed quite long enough on your good nature 
 and your Chianti {turning flask up), so I'll be o&. {Turns 
 and sees Gladys ivho has Entered l. c.) Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir C. — Eh? What? {Turns and sees Gladys.) 
 
 Gladys. — Father ! {Falter ingly.) 
 
 Sir (7. —Gladys ! My child. 
 
 Gladys. — {Rushing into his arms.) Father, dear Father ! 
 
 Sir C- — My darling ! So you've found your way here 
 safely ? Let's look at you. By George, how well you look, 
 and how you've grown ! Look here, Parlbury, what do you 
 say to this, eh ? 
 
 Pari. — Charming, Sir Charles, charming ! Let art hide 
 its diminished head before such nature as this ! Ah ! 
 {Sighi))g.) If only I had thirty years less experience ! My 
 dear child, I'm delighted to make your acquaintance. 
 She's not much like you. Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir C. — No. {Sighing.) She's the image of her mother. 
 
 Pa7-l. — I've a daughter much about your age. {To 
 Gladys.) 
 
 Gladys. — {Eagerly.) Is she with you ? 
 
 Pari. — Ahem ! Not at present. {Hesitatingly). The fact 
 is, Mrs. Parlbury's health obliges her to live principally in 
 places which do not agree with me, so we arrange for Ethel 
 to live six months of the year with her mother, and six 
 months with me. 
 
 Gladys. — And now she's with Mrs. Parlbury? 
 
 Pari. — Yes, but I hope that one day you'll meet and be 
 friends. 
 
 Gladys. — I've never had a girl friend ; all the girls at the 
 Convent are so stupid. What's she like? 
 
 Pari. — Like ? Oh, the usual sort of thing you know, 
 nothing out of the way. 
 
 Sir C. — Does she take after you ? 
 
 Pari. — I believe she does when she's with Mrs. Parlbury, 
 but when she's with me she reminds me strongly of her 
 mother. {Looking admiri^igly at Gladys.) Ah, Sir Charles, 
 those eyes will do some damage in their time ! 
 
12 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 ^^V C— They haven' t; had a chance hitherto, eh, Gladys? 
 
 Gladys.— No, father. (In a loio tone.) 
 
 Pari— {Aside.) That sounds deucedly like "yes, father." 
 
 gi,r (7._The male element rigidly excluded from the 
 Convent ? 
 
 Gladys. — Yes, father, {As before.) 
 
 Pari — {Aside.) And that sounds uncommonly like "no, 
 father." {Aloud.) Well, good bye for the present, I'll 
 bring Errington back at one. 
 
 {Exit, L. c.) 
 
 ^^V a— Oh, Mr. Parlbury ! 
 
 Pari — {Re-entering.) I beg your pardon ? 
 
 ^^> c. — You've forgotten your Genoese pastry. 
 
 Pari— {Seizing jar.) Pottery, Sir Charles, pottery ! 
 
 {Exit Me. Parlbury.) 
 
 Gladys. — I'm so glad to get you alone, father, dear 
 father ! 
 
 gir (X — Ah, my dear child, I hope you will be comfort- 
 able. I'm afraid you'll find things a little rough, 
 
 Gladys. — Eough, not a bit : why, it's all quite luxurious 
 after the Convent. 
 
 gir C. — "What, they didn't pamper you there ? 
 
 Gladys. — No, indeed ! 
 
 gi')^ (7. — And are you glad to be back with your old 
 father ? 
 
 Gladys. — Yery glad ; but I won't have you call yourself 
 old. I'm going to make you quite a smart young man 
 again. 
 
 Si7- C. — I don't know why you should care about me, 
 Gladys. I can't have seemed a very affectionate father to 
 you all these years. 
 
 Gladys. — Why, father, I feared at one time, that you did 
 not love me as you used, but as I grew older, and began to 
 understand things, I knew that it must be for my sake that 
 you kept me away from you. 
 
 iSir C. — For your sake ! {Aside.) Does she know me 
 then ! 
 
Scene I.] TROUBLED WATERS. 13 
 
 Gladys. — Yes. Of course I don't know your reasons, but 
 I suppose it had something to do with my education. 
 
 Sir G. — [CafcJdng at the idea.) It had all to do with 
 it. I was determined that your education should be the 
 very best, because I knew that I should be able to leave 
 you little or nothing beyond education. 
 
 Gladys. — Why, father, what do you mean? 
 
 Sir C. — I mean, Gladys, that luck has been dead against 
 me ; I am not only no longer rich, but devilish — ^ahem! — 
 I mean exceedingly poor. 
 
 Gladys. — Oh, dear ; and when did this happen ? 
 
 Sir C. — (Evasively.) The date doesn't matter, the fact 
 is the unpleasant part of it. 
 
 Gladys. — ^You dear father ! I see it all ! You have been 
 poor a long while, and you would not have me home for 
 fear that I should find it out, and know that you were de- 
 nying yourself the comforts and luxuries to which you had 
 been accustomed, in order to pay for my education? 
 
 Sir C. — (Co)hscience-sfricl'en.) Nonsense, nonsense, my 
 dear child ! (Aside, coming down stage.) To play the 
 hypocrite to one's own child! 
 
 Gladys. — (Coming to him.) I'm so sorry if I annoyed 
 you, dear. Please forgive me ! 
 
 Sir C. — You haven't annoyed me, and when you look at 
 me like that, I could forgive you anything. 
 
 Gladys. — Anything ? (Coaxingly.) 
 
 Sir C. — (Cautiously.) Anything you're likely to have 
 d(me. 
 
 (Enter Martin ivith card.) 
 
 Sir C— What is it ? 
 
 Martin. — A gentleman for Miss Aislabie, Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir C — For you, Gladys! (Looks at card.) Mr. Tre- 
 herne ! 
 
 Gladys. — Ah, yes, Mr. Cyril Treherne. I surely men- 
 tioned him in my letters ? 
 
 Sir C. — Never. 
 
 Gladys. — Well, he's an artist, who has been living in 
 Brussels, and was employed by the sisters at the Convent 
 
14 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 to restore some of the Chapel paintings. He used to give 
 me hints about my drawing, and as the Custom House 
 Officers were rude to me at the Italian frontier, I was very 
 much obliged to him when he interfered and got my boxes 
 through. {Spoken with increasing confusion, of manner.) 
 Sir C. — H'm ! {to Martin.) Show him up. 
 
 {Exit Maetin.) 
 
 Sir C. — {Aside.) An artist, and a champion of damsels 
 distressed by Custom House Officers ! I don't like this. 
 
 {Enter Martin ushering in Treherne, l. c.) 
 
 Martin. — Mr. Treherne. 
 
 (Treherne taken rather aback at seeing Sir Charles.) 
 (Martin exits.) 
 
 Gladys. — Ah, Mr. Treherne, let me introduce you to my 
 father. 
 
 Tre. — I must apologize for intruding, Sir Charles, but on 
 reaching my hotel, I found I had Miss Aislabie's keys in 
 my pocket, where I must have put them after seeing her 
 boxes through the customs. 
 
 Sir C. — {Aside.) Old and transparent dodge ! {Aloud.) 
 I am pleased to have this opportunity of thanking you for 
 your civility to my daughter. I hear you have been living 
 at Brussels ? 
 
 Tre. — For the past two years. 
 
 Sir C. — Odd that you should happen to leave the same 
 day as Miss Aislabie. Curious these coincidences. On your 
 way to Athens, she tells me? 
 
 Gladys. — No, father, to England. (Treherne signs to her 
 and she stops short, conscious of the mistake she has made.) 
 
 Sir C. — Oh, I remember now you didn't tell me ; I sup- 
 pose I fancied it ; so many artists go to Athens. But, my 
 dear, hadn't you better go and rest before lunch? Your 
 room is through here {door r.), first door on the right. Mr. 
 Treherne will, I am sure, excuse you. 
 (Sir C. goes up.) 
 
 Gladys. — Yery well, father. {Crosses to Treherne). 
 Good-bye, Mr. Treherne. 
 
Scene L] TROUBLED WATERS. 15 
 
 Tre. — Good-bye, Miss Aislabie. {Aside.) For the pres- 
 ent. 
 
 {Exit Gladys, e.) 
 
 Sir C. — ( JVIw has been looking at Gladys' portrait, sudden- 
 ly, aside) c. t.! By Jove! Cyril Treherne ! {Aloud.) Those 
 keys, Mr. Treherne, procured you an unexpected pleasure 
 to-day. 
 
 Tre. — Indeed ? What was that? 
 
 Sir C. — The pleasure of seeing me. That pleasure, I as- 
 sure you, is reciprocal, because it enables me to give you 
 a piece of information which will save you both time and 
 expense in the future. 
 
 Tre.—A.ndi that is—? 
 
 Sir C. — That the direct route from Brussels to England 
 is not via Naples. 
 
 Tre. — I-I don't understand. 
 
 Sir C. — Don't you? Then I'll be more explicit. You 
 followed my daughter from Brussels; that portrait is your 
 work, and you fancy yourself in love with her. 
 
 Tre. — It is no fancy ; I do love her. 
 
 Sir C— Ah! And she? . 
 
 Tre. — Loves me. 
 
 Sir C. — She's a child ! Love — absurd ! Marriage — im- 
 possible ! 
 
 Tre. — You will break her heart. 
 
 Sir C- — You're a very conceited young man. But 
 women's hearts are not so brittle as you seem to think. 
 Perhaps you don't know that I am a ruined man, and can 
 give my daughter nothing? 
 
 Tre. — Glad — I mean Miss Aislabie does not care for 
 money. 
 
 Sir C. — How can she possibly know? She never had 
 any to care for. Look here, Mr. Treherne, my extrava- 
 gance has robbed my daughter of the inheritance that 
 should have been hers ; it is my object to make her such 
 amends as are in my power ; all I can do is, whenever she 
 marries, to ensure that she chooses some one who can give 
 her the place in society to which she is entitled by birth 
 and position. 
 
i6 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 Tre. — And wlio will treat her father as his father? I 
 see ; so she is to be sacrificed to your selfish interests. 
 
 Sir C. — I deny the sacrifice,but admit what you are pleased 
 to call the selfishness. {Relenting.) Come, Mr. Treherne, I 
 can make allowances for your disappointment, but there 
 must be no more of this nonsense. Hang it, man, cheer up ! 
 Look at me, I've been in love, several times, but I got 
 over it ; so will you. 
 
 Tre.— You think so? And Gladys ? 
 
 Sir C. — Is a dutiful daughter, sir, and will yield to my 
 wishes. 
 
 Tre. — {Losing Ms self command.) Had she yielded to my 
 wishes, it would have been out of your power to separate 
 us. I warned her it was our only chance. 
 
 Sir C. — Your words can have but one meaning — That 
 you tried to persuade her to a secret marriage. 
 
 J^re. — ( JVho has recovered his coolness.) All's fair in love 
 and war. Sir Charles. 
 
 Sir C. — {Drily.) So I have heard ; and therefore you can- 
 not complain when I desire that you and my daughter may 
 henceforth be strangers. 
 
 Tre. — {With agitation.) Sir Charles! — 
 
 Sir C. — Don't let me detain you, Mr. Treherne. 
 
 (Treherne pauses irresolutely, then Exits l. o. abruptly.) 
 
 Sir C. — Confound the fellow ! This must be stopped at 
 once! {Going to door, r. u. e.) (Mrs. Eollitt hiocJiS at 
 door, Ij-G.) Come in! {She enters.) {Turns and sees Mrs. 
 KoLLiTT.) Mrs. Matcham Eollitt— ! 
 
 3Irs. R. — How do you do. Sir Charles ? The Portier has 
 gone to his dinner, but I met a very nice young man on the 
 stairs who told me where your apartment was, and that you 
 were in. You don't seem pleased to see me ! 
 
 Sir C. — May I know what has procured me the honor of 
 this visit ? 
 
 ilfrs. R. — Certainly — won't you sit down? {Seating her- 
 self.) Five years ago I was staying with you at that Hotel 
 at the Havanna, I have forgotten the name. — 
 
[Scene I. TROUBLED WATERS. 17 
 
 Sir C. — So have I. It is connected with an episode I 
 have no wish to remember. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Now, that's ungrateful, considering that for 
 your sake I gave up a very first rate position, and a very 
 second rate husband. 
 
 Sir C. — {Agitated.) Mrs. Rollitt, it was by your own act 
 that our — 
 
 Mrs. R. — {Finding that he hesitates for a ivord.) Liaison? 
 
 Sir C. — {Bowing.) Came to an end. If this be an attempt 
 to renew it — 
 
 Mrs. R. — Good Gracious! The conceit of these men! 
 No, Sir Charles, the claim I am about to make on you is 
 very different. 
 
 Sir C. — Claim! {Cynically.^ Before you go further, I 
 may as well tell you that I am a ruined man. 
 
 Mrs. R. — There you go again ! Do I look as if I wanted 
 money ? 
 
 Sir C. — Most people do. 
 
 3Irs. R. — Well, I don't. When we parted I went back to 
 Trinidad, only to find myself a widow. 
 
 Sir C. — {Startled.) — By George ! And how were you re- 
 ceived at the island ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — With open arms. My husband had left me 
 everything. He had never altered the will he made the day 
 of our marriage; and to save appearances had given out 
 that I was on a visit to friends in England. 
 
 Sir C. — Then what is your claim on me ? 
 
 3Irs. R. — This. To begin with, I'm thinking of marrying 
 again. 
 
 Sir C. — {Stiffly.) Excuse me, my marrying days are over. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Eeally, Sir Charles, you are impossible. Are 
 you the only man in the world ? 
 
 Sir C. — Oh, then there's another ; whom — ^? 
 
 3Irs. i?.— Exactly. 
 
 Sir C. — {Aside.) Poor devil ! 
 
 3Irs. R. — I met him three weeks ago. I have told him 
 my history, except that one episode which will not bear 
 telling, and I come to you. who now alone know my secret, 
 to beg you to be silent on my past life. 
 
i8 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 Sir C. — Your appeal was unnecessary. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Then I liave your word of honor ? 
 
 Sir C. — Of course ; but where did you meet him? 
 
 Mrs. R.—ln Malta. 
 
 Sir C. — Malta ? And his name ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Arnold Errington. 
 
 Sir C. — Arnold Errington ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — You know him ? Eemember I have your word. 
 
 Sir a— (Troubled.) Yes! Yes! (Aside.) First Tre- 
 herne, and now this woman! (Aloud.) "What will you gain 
 by such a marriage ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — A quiet home, — I'm tired of wandering. The 
 love of an honest man — 
 
 Sir C. — And the solid respectability of a British matron. 
 By George, how sick you'll be of the whole thing in a 
 week. 
 
 Mrs. R. — No, that's where you misunderstand me. Be- 
 cause I hated my husband, and — 
 
 Sir C. — Wearied of me. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Exactly? You think that I am incapable of 
 love. You are wrong. My heart, dead heretofore to such 
 influence this man has awakened into life — I love him — 
 
 Sir a— (Sceptically). H'm ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — Yes, I love him and he shaU\o\e. me. (Bursting 
 into a laugh.) I've astonished you ? I don't wonder at it ; 
 I've astonished myself. You know Mr. Errington's in 
 Naples ? 
 
 Sir C. — (Aside.) She knows that — 
 
 Mrs. R. — He arrived this morning. 
 
 Sir C. — (Aside.) How can I get her away ? (Struck hy 
 an idea.) Ah ! (Aloud.) Yes, and goes to England this af- 
 ternoon. 
 
 Mrs. R. — (Eagerly.) In his yacht ? 
 
 Sir G. — No ; by train. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Ah ! Now I really must go. 
 
 Sir C. — (Insinuatingly.) By train? (She laughs and 
 shakes her finger at him.) Allow me to see you to your 
 hotel ? 
 
Scene L] TROUBLED WATERS. 19 
 
 Mrs. R. — Thanks, it's close by. 
 
 [Exeunt l. c.) 
 
 Gladys. — {Looking in cautioudy, then entering.) I tliouglit 
 the voices had stopped. I wonder where they've gone ? 
 {goes on to balcony.) Why there goes father, and a lady with 
 him, round the corner. Then where's Cyril ? (Bell heard, 
 she comes hack into the room. ) 
 
 3Iartin. — (Without.) Sir Charles has gone out, sir. 
 
 Tre.—{ Without.) I know. {Entering l. c.) It's all right- 
 
 Gladys. — Cyril ! Did you tell him ? And oh ! {Looking 
 at Treherne's downcast face) Was he angry ? 
 
 Tre. — I told him, and he was angry. 
 
 Gki'lys. — A.h, at first ; but when he understood that my 
 happiness was so deeply concerned, he yielded ? 
 
 Tre. — {Troubled.) No, he refused me ; forbade me ever 
 to see you again. 
 
 Gladys. — Courage, Cyril ! My father loves me dearly ; 
 give me time to appeal to his affection for me ! 
 
 Tre. — He will never consent — Ah, Gladys you should 
 have married me at Brussels ! 
 
 Gladys. — Secretly? And without my father's sanction? 
 
 Tre. — It is what we shall have to come to, if we are ever 
 to be anything to one another. 
 
 Gladys. — Hush ! I won't have you speak like that ! If 
 you love me as you say you do, you must trust me, our love 
 must be tarnished by no such unworthy thoughts! 
 
 Tre. — Are they unworthy? If so, they are the outcome 
 of that poverty which is my inheritance, but which in your 
 father's eyes, renders me also unworthy. But, Glady's, you 
 do love me ? From the very first our hearts met and whis- 
 pered the love which since then has found an echo in every 
 look, in every word, in every touch ! Is all this to go for 
 nothing ? 
 
 Gladys. — Surely not ! The future is full of hope. And 
 with your talent, you are bound to succeed. 
 
 Tre. — Your belief in me, makes me believe in myself ; I 
 shall strive for that success as I have never striven before, 
 and with the incentive of your love I feel I shall obtain it. 
 
20 TROUBLED WATERS, [Act I. 
 
 And now I must go, but remember you are pledged to me, 
 and I swear tliat I will never give you up. Promise to be 
 true and faithful to me, as I now promise to be true and 
 faithful to you ! 
 
 Gladys. — I promise ! 
 
 Tre. — You will write to me ? 
 
 Gladys. — No ; it will be better not, until I have won my 
 father to our side. 
 
 Tre. — But if you should be in any trouble ? 
 
 Gladys. — Ah, then, I will write ! 
 
 Tre. — And I will come to you, no matter at what cost ! 
 See, here is my address in London (giving paper.) And 
 now, good-bye, my darling ! {embrace.) (Teeherne turns to 
 ,go, and meets Sir Chirles, loho enters L. c.) 
 
 Sir C. — {Regards them silently for a few moments.) Gladys, 
 leave us ! 
 
 Gladys. — {aside to Teeherne) Agree to everything he 
 says for my sake ! 
 
 {Exit Gladys, r.) 
 
 Sir C. —Mr. Treherne, a few minutes ago, I expressed a 
 wish that our acquaintance should cease. Since when, may 
 I ask, has it been the privilege of a gentleman to intrude 
 his society where it is not desired ? 
 
 3^-y.g, — Sir Charles, I alone am to blame in the matter ; 
 your daughter — 
 
 Sir C. — {Interrupting) Eequires no defence at your hands, 
 Mr. Treherne. With regard to yourself — 
 
 Tre. — State what you require of me, and I am ready to 
 do it. 
 
 Sir C. — {Aside) Whew ! Here's a change of wind ! 
 {Aloud) I will take you at your word. You tell me you are 
 bound to England, prove your sincerity by going to-day. 
 
 Tre. — I will. Good-bye, Sir Charles. 
 
 {Enter Errington, l. c.) 
 
 Erring. — Here I am again, and remarkably hungry — why, 
 Cyril ! Where did you drop from? I thought you were at 
 Brussels ? 
 
Scene I.] TROUBLED WATERS. 21 
 
 Tre. — So I was ; chance brought me here ; how are you> 
 my dear old fellow ? 
 
 Erring. — Oh, I'm all right. Sir Charles, you didn't know 
 Treherne was one of my oldest and best friends ? 
 
 Sir G. — No, by George, I didn't. 
 
 Erring. — And how goes on the painting ? 
 
 Tre. — It goes on, and that's all I can say for it. It's pre- 
 cious uphill work, Arnold, until you can get a start. 
 
 Sir C. — Why don't you give Mr. Treherne a start, Er- 
 rington? [Aside.) Start him to the other end of the world 
 and keep him there ! 
 
 Erring. — Why, so I will. Let me see — landscapes used 
 to be your strong point, Cyril ? 
 
 Tre — Yes ; though some of my artist friends consider 
 that I have the makings of a portrait painter in me [luith a 
 side I'vice a' Sir Cjvrl^?). 
 
 Erring. — Well, look here, then, I was up in the Hebrides 
 last year and saw some lovely spots. Why not go there for 
 two or three months and make sketches for me ? 
 
 Sir G — [Aside.) Good ! A nice out-of-the-way place ! 
 
 Erring. — I'll select what I like, and you shall paint the 
 pictures from them for me. 
 
 Tre. — Do you really mean it ? 
 
 Erring. — Of course I do. (Aside.) And name j^our own 
 price. [Aloud.) You shall send them to the Academy, and 
 if they're too good for them, they shall have a gallery all 
 to themselves in Bond Street. 
 
 Tre. — (Taking his hand) My dear Arnold, this is very 
 good and generous of you, I can never thank you enough ! 
 
 (Enter Faklbvuy, foUoived hy Mrs. Rollitt, l. c.) 
 
 Farl. — Arnold, here's Mrs. Eollitt, whom I met in the 
 street, and who said she was most anxious to see you. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Ah, Mr. Errington, how do you do? (shakhig 
 hands with hiin). Sir Charles, I hope you will forgive this 
 second intrusion? 
 
 Sir C. — Not at all, delighted. (She talks aside to Erring- 
 ton.) 
 
22 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act I. 
 
 Sir C. — {Who has gone up to Parlbuey, aside) "Why did 
 you bring her here ? 
 
 Pari. — {Aside) Couldn't get rid of her. But I say, what 
 did I tell you about her curves ? 
 
 Sir C. — Damn her curves ! 
 
 PoH. — Oh, I protest ! Damn her angles if you like, but 
 don't damn her curves. 
 
 Erri})g. — ^How is it we have the pleasure of seeing you in 
 Naples, Mrs. EoUitt ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Why, just after you sailed from Malta, I received 
 a telegram from my solicitor recalling me to London on 
 urgent business. So I got on board the Florio boat, and 
 here I am ; and as I hear that you are going to England 
 this afternoon, I venture as an unprotected female to claim 
 your escort. 
 
 Erring. — I should have been charmed, but I have no in- 
 tention of returning to England at present. 
 
 (Sir Charles delighted.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — {Taken aback) Not going? But Sir Charles told 
 me 
 
 Sir G. — And Sir Charles is delighted to find that he was 
 wrong. 
 
 Mrs. R. — {Aside) What has made him alter his plans, I 
 wonder ? 
 
 {Enter Gladys, r. She stops short at seeing so many 
 people. Treherne makes an involuntary step forward ; 
 Sir Charles fixes him ivith a glance and he collapses.) 
 
 Sir C. — Come along, Gladys, I want to introduce an old 
 friend of mine to you, Mr. Arnold Errington. 
 
 (Arnold crosses, shakes hands ivith Gladys, and 
 talks aside ivith her. Mrs. Rollitt, whose gaze has 
 shifted from Arnold to Gladys with a puzzled expres- 
 sion, comes forward to Sir Charles.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — Ah, your daughter, Sir Charles ? Pray present 
 
 me. 
 
 Sir C.—iStifly) Gladys, Mrs. Matcham Eollitt. 
 
Scene I.] TROUBLED WATERS. 23 
 
 Mrs. B. — (Advancing iowards Gladys across Sir Charles) 
 My dear child ! 
 
 Sir C. — {Interposing and talcing her hand) So sorry you 
 must be going ; at all events you shall not go alone. Mr. 
 Treherne here will escort you to England ; you'll find him 
 very useful — at the frontiers. 
 
 (Treherne hows.) 
 
 (Treherne and Mrs. Rollitt advance towards door 
 c, followed by Sir Charles. Errington looking at 
 Gladys, Gladys at Treherne. Parlbury surprised.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 End of Act I. 
 
ACT II. 
 
 August. — Four months are siqjposed to have elapsed. 
 
 Scene. — Drawing-room at Denethorpe Abbey. Bay u'indoio 
 at back opening on to garden and grounds. Entrances 
 E. and L. 
 
 (Sir Charles Aislabie reading newspaper, Gladys sitting, 
 ostensibly reading, but in a reverie,) 
 
 Sir C. — The ' Deneliam Gazette ' has let itself go in its 
 description of your home-coming, Gladys. Listen {reads). 
 " Oa Saturday last, the bells of Denethorpe Parish Church 
 rang ^ out a merry welcome to the Squire of Denethorpe 
 Abbey and his young and lovely bride, on their return from 
 their " lune de miel " — nothing so vulgar as honeymoon, 
 you see. Then follow two columns of triumphal arches, 
 village children, flowers, fireworks, speeches, and beer, 
 winding up with a list of people present, commencing with 
 Sir Charles Aislabie, father of the bride, and ending with 
 Mr. Gittens who, I am given to understand, is the local 
 sweep, washed for the occasion. Here, {holding out paper) 
 you must read it, it will amuse you. Why, {seeing she does 
 not move) what's the matter? 
 
 Gladys.— {Starting) Eh! What? {taking pajjer) Oh, thank 
 you. 
 
 Sir C- —Why, my child, what on earth are you sighing 
 for? 
 
 Gladys. — Was I sighing ? 
 
 Sir C. — {Afectionately) Deeply, though no woman ever 
 had less reason. 
 
26 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 Gladys. — {Interrupting) Yes, yes, father, I know. Before 
 I married Mr. Errington, you daily impressed on me tlie 
 advantages of sucli an alliance. 
 
 gir C. — (Hurt) Did I overrate tliem ? You have married 
 a rich man, and a thorough gentleman. 
 
 Gladys. — But under what circumstances ? 
 
 jSir C. — {Cheerily) Under exceedingly favorable circum- 
 stances. He is devoted to you, and his one idea seems to 
 be to forestall your every wish. 
 
 Gladys. — And what does he get from me in return ? Had 
 Arnold been a man of less singleness of heart and purpose, 
 he would have found out that I did not love him. 
 
 Sir C— (Aside.) That d d Treherne. 
 
 Gladys. — And I should never have been his wife. But he 
 is so free from all duplicity himself, that he cannot imagine 
 it in others, and it was not in his nature to suppose that a 
 woman would be base enough to marry him for wealth and 
 position only — 
 
 Sir G. — Gladys, your words pain me terribly. I knew you 
 did not love Arnold, but I felt it to be impossible that you 
 should not like and esteem him, and it seemed to me that 
 the love of such a man could not fail in time to win yours. 
 
 Gladys. — Ah, father^ you judged me from your own high 
 stand point, forgetting that I was only a weak, foolish girl. 
 
 Sir C. — It was my anxiety for your future, Gladys, that 
 induced me to urge your marriage. I may have been 
 wrong, but I did it for the best. 
 
 Gladys. — Do I not know it. What have you ever done, 
 that in your love and unselfishness, you did not put me 
 first. — Oh, I am cruel and base to forget it even for a mo- 
 ment. Father, dear father ! forgive me — 
 
 Sir C. — {WJio has tried to stop her, in desperation) My 
 child, do not speak to me like that, indeed you do not 
 know. 
 
 Erring. — {Without) Very well, you'll find me in my study 
 in ten minutes. (Enters.) 
 
 Gladys. — Who is that, Arnold ? 
 
 Erring. — Mr. Morgan, the agent, dear. By the way, I've 
 just learnt from him who the new tenant of " The Firs " is. 
 
[Scene I. TROUBLED WATERS. 27 
 
 Sir a— The Firs ? 
 
 Erring. — Yes, that quaint old liouse just outside the Park 
 gates. 
 
 Gladys. — And who has taken it ? 
 
 Erring. — A friend of Sir Charles's. Mrs. Matcham RoUitt. 
 
 {Enter Seevant with letters.) 
 
 Sir C— (Aside) Confound her ! What does she want 
 here? 
 
 Erring. — {Taking letter) Second post — eh? 
 
 (Servant takes letters to Sir Charles and Gladys.) 
 
 Erring. — But the best of the joke is — {stops, looks roioid) — 
 Where's old Parlbury ? 
 
 Gladys. — Somewhere in the grounds, I think. 
 
 Erring. — The best of the joke is, that his wife and daughter 
 are staying with Mrs. Rollitt. {Opens letter.) 
 
 Sir C. — Good business for Parlbury. 
 
 Erring. — By Jove, what do you think ? Cyril Treherne 
 writes to say he's coming here to-day. 
 
 (Gladys sinks hack in chair, Sir Charles masks her. 
 Errington's attention at the same time taken up by 
 Servant, who has been, trying to catch his eye.) 
 
 Erring.— {To Servant) What is it? 
 Servant. — A letter for Mr. Treherne, sir. 
 Erring. — ( Witliont looking at it) Put it on the mantel- 
 piece. 
 
 (Servant does so and Exits.) 
 
 Sir C. — And where does our young friend write from ? 
 
 Erring. — From York, apparently, but he has been sketch- 
 ing in the Hebrides — this is what he says. {Reads.) "I 
 got sick of the place " — that's the Hebrides — " and longed 
 for society other than my own, and for news — fancy, I've 
 hardly seen a paper for three months or more — You told 
 me to propose myself when I could — " 
 
 Sir C. — When did you do that ? 
 
 Erring. — I'm sure I can't say — Oh, of course when we met 
 in Naples, but to tell you the truth, I'd forgotten all about 
 
58 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 it. Let's see, where was I? Oli. (Beads.) "Propose 
 myself when I could, so I take you at your word, feeling 
 sure that my sudden descent on the abbey, will in no way 
 over tax the resources of your" — (Stops sJiort, puzzled, then 
 begins to grin.) 
 
 Sir C. — Well, of your what ? 
 
 Erring. — By Jove, that's funny, ha! ha! (Laughing.) 
 "The resources of your bachelor establishment." 
 
 Sir C. — He doesn't know you're married. (Gladys great- 
 ly agitated.) 
 
 Erring. — Apparently not. (Laughing.) I say, what a 
 joke! (Laughing.) "Bachelor establishment !" We'll have 
 some rare fun with him ! (Laughing.) Won't we, Sir 
 Charles ? (Laughs.) 
 
 Sir C. — (Forcing a laugh.) Bather — ! (Eing heard.) 
 Hark, that can't be he already ? 
 
 Erring. — Hardly, I should say. (Goes to ivindow, c.) 
 
 Sir G. — (Aside to Gladys.) For heaven's sake don't be- 
 tray yourself ! 
 
 Erring. — (Drawing back from ivindow.) It's Mrs. Bollitt 
 and her two guests. (LooJdng out.) They're coming this 
 way ; I'll go and meet them. 
 
 (Exits by windoiv.) 
 
 Gladys. — Father ! What is to be done ? I knew we 
 must meet some day, but I never dreamt it would be so 
 soon. Oh, if we had but told Arnold ! 
 
 jSir G. — (Li despair.) Gladys, what folly is this ! This 
 man can be nothing to you now. (She droops her head.) 
 Good Heavens ! You don't mean to say you love him still? 
 
 Gladys — I don't know, it's all so sudden. I have dreaded 
 this all along ; I feel it is weak, cowardly of me, but I dare 
 not trust myself to meet him ! I cannot yet forget the 
 past ! 
 
 Ql^^ (7. — (Firmly.) You have nothing to do with the past; 
 you are Arnold Errington's wife, and no Cyril Treherne 
 must make you forget that. 
 
 BL^s. R. — (Without.) You're sure we shan't be in the 
 way? 
 
Scene L] TROUBLED WATERS. 29 
 
 Sir' C. — {Hurriedly.) Here tliey come, be careful ! 
 {Enter Erkington, Mrs. Eollitt and Mrs. Parlbury. 
 
 ^nn»(7.— Gladys, my dear. {Motions her towards the two 
 ladies.) 
 
 3Irs. R. — My dear Mrs. Errington, so good of you to re- 
 ceive us at such an early hour. Ah, Sir Charles, how are 
 you? {To Gladys.) I've taken the liberty of bringing 
 Mrs. and Miss Parlbury to make your acquaintance. Why, 
 what has become of Ethel ? She was with us a moment 
 ago. 
 
 3Irs. P. — Don't ask me. I am never sure of her move- 
 ments for two minutes together. {Talks aside loith Gladys 
 and Errington.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — Making a long stay. Sir Charles ? 
 
 Sir C. — Till the winter, when I return to Naples. 
 
 J/rs. R. — Oh, so you've kept your old apartments ? 
 
 Sir C. — Yes ; I'm too old a stager to think they will 
 always want me with them. 
 
 3Irs. R. — Ah, dear old Naples, it's full of memories — for 
 me, some sweet, some bitter. 
 
 Sir C. — Never mind that, Mrs. Eollitt, better let by-gones 
 be by-gones. 
 
 Mrs. R. — By all means, though you didn't treat me quite 
 fairly. 
 
 Sir C. — What could I do, when Errington proposed for 
 Gladys, I couldn't well suggest that he should marry you — 
 
 Mrs. R. — Of course not. After all I doubt very much 
 whether our friend would have suited me. 
 
 Sir C. — Then you don't bear malice? 
 
 3Irs. R. — It's such a privilege to forgive. {Goes up.) 
 
 Sir C. — {SnspicioKsly.) H'm — ! 
 
 Gladys. — {To Mrs. Eollitt.) I hear you have become 
 our neighbor ? 
 
 3Irs. R. — Yes ; and I'm so glad you've arrived, for being 
 an absolute stranger here, they've all turned up there noses 
 at me. 
 
 Erring. — Charitable creatures ! 
 
30 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 ])^rs. P.— You may say that, but if they hadn't had more 
 nose than charity they couldn't have done it. 
 
 3Irs. B. — But now with the moral support of the Abbey, 
 the Firs will flourish. Ah, what a business it is getting 
 into a house ! I expect it will be quite a month before I'm 
 completely settled. 
 
 j^rs. P- — {Prophetically.) Less than that ! 
 
 gir C. — Good gracious, ma'am, what do you mean? 
 
 Mrs. P.— "Drains." 
 
 Gladys. — Dear me, is the sanitation — ? 
 
 3Irs. P. — There is none. 
 
 j^rs, B. — "What nonsense ! The sanitation is all right. 
 
 ]\frs. P. — Oh, it's all right, if you're partial to the society 
 of typhoid microbes. 
 
 Qir C. — {Gallantly) They don't seem to have harmed you. 
 
 ]\frg^ Jl_ — {Maliciously) No. You would never suspect 
 Mrs. Parlbury of being an invalid, would you ? 
 
 I^i^~ (7. — X really should not. I trust there's not much the 
 matter ? 
 
 Jfrs. P. — Just what those fools of doctors can't find out, 
 so I'm trying a course of patent medicines. 
 
 Erring. — In your state of health, Mrs. Parlbury, I wonder 
 you're not afraid to stay at the Firs. 
 
 3Irs. P. — I disinfect myself three times a day, and sleep 
 in a carbolic respirator. 
 
 Gladys. — Not a very pleasant remedy. 
 
 Mrs. P. — It isn't a remedy, it's a precaution ; the only 
 remedy would be to pull the place down. 
 
 Mrs. B. — Pull the Firs down! What sacrilege ! 
 
 jf^.g, p — Just what Mr. Parlbury would have said. But 
 that reminds me — He's staying here — ? 
 
 Erring. — Ye-es. He was anxious to make some antiqua- 
 rian researches in the old Abbey. You see, we didn't know 
 you were going to be so near {apologetically). 
 
 Mrs. P. — What's that got to do with it ? I particularly 
 want to see Mr. Parlbury ; and I think he might have had 
 the civility to call. 
 
 Gladys. — I don't think he knew you were in the neighbor- 
 hood. 
 
Scene I.] TROUBLED WATERS. 3t 
 
 3Irs. P. — It would have been all the same, his head is so 
 full of antiquities, he has no time to think of me. {All 
 laugh aside.) 
 
 Erring. — Shall I send for him ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — No, let us go and find him. 
 
 Mrs. P. — What ? I ran after Mr. Parlbury ? I hope I've 
 more self-respect! {Sitting doivn, l.) 
 
 3Irs. R. — Then I'll go alone ; you won't be jealous ? {go- 
 ing c.) 
 
 Mrs. P. — Jealous! {scornfidly) On second thoughts I'll 
 come with you. 
 
 {Exeunt c.) 
 
 Erring. — ^Well, Morgan will be waiting for me, Sir Charles ; 
 will you come ? I want your opinion on an Alderney heifer 
 I bought yesterday. 
 
 (Sir Charles exits, r , Errington folloiuing.) 
 
 Gladys. — Arnold ! {Following him, r.) 
 
 Erring. — Well, my darling ? 
 
 Gladys. — Will Mr. Treherne stay long ? 
 
 Erring. — 'Pon my word, I don't know. Why ? 
 
 Gladys. — I — I wish he wasn't coming. 
 
 Elding. — Why, I thought you liked him ? 
 
 Gladys. — {Evasively) We don't want any strangers here 
 yet. 
 
 Erring. — ( Very much pleased, aside) By Jove ! {Aloud) 
 No, we don't, my darling, but I can't well put him off now. 
 
 Gladys. — Can't you tell him we have to leave home?' 
 
 Erring. — But we haven't. 
 
 Gladys. — But we can. 
 
 Erring. — I can't, dearest. I've been away too long from 
 the place as it is. Come, poor Treherne is very harmless ; 
 put up a little while with him for mj sake. 
 
 {Exit Errington r.) 
 
 Gladys. — For your sake ! It is for your sake that I 
 would never see him again, and yet you would not under- 
 stand ! What if I spoke out plainly, trusting to his gener- 
 osity! There's hope in that. {Goes to door y^,) Arnold — ! 
 
32 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 But no, I cannot — you have placed your happiness and 
 honor in my keeping, you have taken me to your heart, and 
 enshrined me there ; how can I destroy at one blow the ed- 
 ifice of faith, hope, and love I have helped you to build ! 
 By confessing that I married you without love, and with a 
 lie upon my lips ! Ah, no, it is impossible ! {SinJcs into a 
 chair in a state of dejection.) 
 
 {Enter Mes. Parlbuey, c.) 
 
 Mrs. P — Oh, dear! {Exhausted.) We couldn't find him 
 anywhere. (Gladys looks up.) But what's the matter? 
 Ain't you well? 
 
 Gladys. — {Rousing herself.) Oh, yes, I'm all right ; but 
 will you excuse me a few minutes, we are expecting a visi- 
 tor, and I have to give the necessary orders. 
 
 3Irs. P. — Certainly, don't mind me, I can always amuse 
 myself with the "Family Doctor." 
 
 Gladys. — The Family Doctor ? 
 
 Mrs. P. — Yes, this book. I always carry it with me. By 
 the way, that reminds me. There is a Dr. Langton resid- 
 ing near here — ? 
 
 Gladys. — Oh, yes, he has a very good practice at Dene- 
 ham, about twenty miles off. My husband thinks him very 
 clever. 
 
 Mrs. P.— {Aside.) Then I think he'll do. {Aloud.) Oh, 
 by the way, he's not married ? 
 
 Gladys. — ^Not that I know of, but you really must excuse 
 me ; I'll not be long. 
 
 {Exit E.) 
 
 Mrs. P. — He was certainly struck with Ethel at Scarboro' 
 last month, and apart from the satisfaction of seeing her 
 settled in life, it will be a comfort to me in my delicate 
 state of health to have a medical man for a son-in-law. 
 {Reads.) 
 
 {Enter Paelbuey, c.) 
 
 Pari. — {Coming down, not seeing Mes. Paelbuey.) Yes, I 
 think that I have established without question, that the 
 
[Scene I. TROUBLED WATERS. 33 
 
 monks' refectory was situated in the South-east angle of — 
 (Sees Mrs. Parlbury.) Mrs. Parlburj ! This is an unex- 
 pected pleasure ! 
 
 Mrs. P. — Ah, Mr. Parlbury, untruthful as ever. 
 
 Pari — Oh, very well, since you object to my casting the 
 glamor of poetry over our relations, I will merely remark 
 that this intrusion is indelicate. 
 
 3Irs. P. — Nonsense, it was necessary, on account of your 
 daughter. 
 
 Pari — 3Iy daughter! Your daughter till the end of 
 October. 
 
 3Irs. P. — September. Your six months begins on the 
 1st of October. 
 
 Pari — Oh, are you sure ? 
 
 Mrs. P.— Quite! 
 
 Pari — Oh ! It's rather unfortunate, because my friend 
 Judson, of the mediaeval antiquity department in the Brit- 
 ish Museum, is going on a tour through Sicily in October 
 and November, and I've half promised to go with him. 
 
 Mrs. P. — Why unfortunate? And why didn't you quite 
 promise ? It would be a nice change for your daughter — 
 
 Pari — Ahem ! I couldn't take onr daughter. 
 
 Mrs. P. — Then what did you propose to do with her ? 
 
 Pari — ^That was my difficulty. Now, I was thinking, if 
 you would take her for October and November, I'd pay you 
 back in June and July, next year. 
 
 Mrs. P.— No! 
 
 Pari — But, my dear — ! 
 
 Mrs. P.— Your dear ! Pooh ! ! No ! ! ! 
 
 Pal. — Not to oblige aa old acquaintance ? 
 
 Mrs. P. — Mr. Judson is not an old acquaintance of mine. 
 
 Pari — No, but I am. Now, won't you? (Pxts his arm 
 round her. 
 
 Mrs. P. — Certainly not. Take yoar arm away, sir, how 
 dare you? During October and November I am going to 
 stay with Janet Maynard. at Brighton. 
 
 Pari— Well, then—? 
 
 Mrs. P. — And she has only one spare room. 
 
34 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 Pari — Well, I do think tliat you miglit give up your visit 
 under the circumstances. 
 
 Mrs. P. — I might, but I shan't. 
 
 Pad.—Oh., all right. I thought I knew all your faults, 
 but till now I did not realize that you were selfish. 
 
 J/rs. P.— Selfish ! And what are you, pray, who would 
 have me stop in London when it's damp and foggy, though 
 you know how delicate I am ? 
 
 Par?.— Delicate ! That's a good one ! Why, you're— 
 
 Mrs. P. — Never mind what I am. You are a brute ! 
 
 Ethel— (Without) Oh, Dr. Langton, I'm sure I'm too 
 heavy for you I {Enter Langton c, carr?/w(/ Ethel.) Oh, 
 for goodness sake, put me down ! 
 
 (HEpwfe her doion ; She has only one shoe on.) 
 
 Mrs. P. — Ethel ! What is the meaning of this ? 
 
 Pari — Yes, Ethel, what is the meaning of this ? 
 
 Ethel — Why, father, you here ? {Kisses Mm.) And how 
 are you? 
 
 Pari — ^I'm very well, thank you, but I shall be better 
 when you have answered my question. What is all this ? 
 
 Ethel. — Oh, all this is Dr. Langton. 
 
 Pang- — Allow me to explain. Miss Parlbury had wan- 
 dered beyond the grounds into a field — 
 
 Ethel. — With a cow in it, a horrid cow — 
 
 Pang. — Which ran at Miss Parlbury — 
 
 Ethel — And Miss Parlbury ran away. Miss Parlbury 
 also fell down and lost her shoe, and Dr. Langton not being 
 able to find it — 
 
 3Irs. P.— {Suspiciously.) He couldn't find it? 
 • Lang. — {Confused.) No, I— that is, I think the cow must 
 have eaten it, and so, Miss Parlbury being unable to walk 
 without it — I — {action of carrying). 
 
 Pari — She might have hopped. 
 
 Ethel — Perhaps you'd have liked me to crawl ? ( Talks 
 aside ivith Langton.) 
 
 Pari — {Ofended) There's impertinence! The effect of 
 six months of your society ! 
 
Scene I.] TROUBLED WATERS. ^s 
 
 Mrs. P. — And yet you want me to keep her two months 
 longer ? Not if I know it ! 
 
 Pari. — Ah, well ! (Sighing.) I suppose I must give up 
 Sicily ! 
 
 3Irs. P. — Unless we can find some one to take charge of 
 her. 
 
 Pari — Ah, that's not so easy. 
 
 3frs. P. — Oh, I don't know. {Nudges him.) Look there. 
 
 Pari. — {Looks at Ethel and Langton.) Whew ! Is that 
 it? 
 
 Mrs. P. —I think so. 
 
 Par^.— Money '? 
 
 Mrs. P.— Comfortable. 
 
 Pari. — Then tliis is no place for us. 
 
 Mrs. P. — Suppose you show me the gardens ? 
 
 Pari. — With pleasure. {Offering arm.) But, I say, don't 
 you go and loose your shoe, I shan't carry you. 
 
 {Exeunt.) 
 
 Ethel. — There, see what a row you've got me into by your 
 free and easy way of treating me — as if I were a child. 
 
 Lang. — Free and easy ? Oh, Miss Parlbury, you know I 
 respect you from the bottom of my heart! 
 
 Ethel. — Is this the bottom of your heart coming to the 
 top, or is it what it feels like — the heel of my shoe, that the 
 cow ate? {His coat bulges over his chest, she touches it.) 
 Come, hand it over. 
 
 Lang. — Oh, no, Miss Ethel, please let me keep it ! 
 
 ^thel—W\mt for ? It won't fit you. 
 
 Lang. — {Producing the shoe.) This little shoe ? I should 
 think not ! 
 
 Ethel. — Well, give it me, unless you want me to run a nail 
 or pin in my foot, and be laid up. 
 
 Lang. — Ah ! {As if delighted loith the idea.) 
 
 Ethel. — The idea seems to please you ? 
 
 Lang. — Oh, no, no ; but I couldn't help thinking what joy 
 it would be to attend you. 
 
3^ TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 Ethel. — Oh ! You are selfish ! (Snatching her shoe.) No, 
 not a word ! (Futs it on.) Good morning Dr. Langton. 
 No, I will listen to nothing ! 
 
 (Exit c, followed by Langton iDrotesting.) 
 
 {Enter Servant, l., ushering in Teehekne.) 
 
 Servant. — I will find Mr. Errington and let him know of 
 your arrival, sir. 
 
 Tre. — All right. {Exit Servant, l.) {Looking round.) 
 This doesn't look much like bachelor's diggings. {LooJi's at 
 pictures on ivalls, l.) 
 
 {Enter Gladys, r.) 
 
 Gladys. — {Aside.) How shall I tell him ? I thought I 
 had summoned up sufficient courage, but now that the 
 moment has come, my heart fails me. 
 
 (Treherne becomes conscious of her presence and turns.) 
 
 Tre. — What ! Gladys ! Sir Charles is here ? 
 
 Gladys. — {Faintly.) Yes, oh, yes, he is here. 
 
 Tre. — Did you know I was coming ? 
 
 Gladys. — Yes, Mr. Errington told us this morning. 
 
 Tre. — What an age it seems since I saw you, but during 
 all these weary months, your sweet face has been ever pre- 
 sent to me, and you, Gladys, you have thought of me some- 
 times, have you not? 
 
 Gladys. — {In desperation) Mr. Treherne ! 
 
 jTre. — {Surprised) Mr. Treherne ! 
 
 Gladys. — You must not call me Gladys. 
 
 Tre. — Not call you Gladys, why not? 
 
 Gladys. — Because — because — {Her tongue fails her, and she 
 pushes the newspaper ivhich is lying on the table between them 
 toioards him). 
 
 Tre. — {Tahing newspaper) What's this? {Reads.) "Wel- 
 come to the Squire of Denethorpe Abbey and his young 
 and lovely bride? Arnold married? To whom? {She 
 does not reply, his gaze falls from her face to her left hand, 
 which he seizes, and seeing the wedding ring, casts it from him.) 
 
Act II.] TROUBLED WATERS. 37 
 
 To you ! Good heavens ! Am I dreaming ! You, Gladys 
 Aislabie, whose vows of love and constancy are still ringing 
 in my ears, have become the wife of Arnold Errington ? 
 
 Gladys. — (Boused.) And why? Because when I saw no 
 way of escaping this marriage to which my father was urg- 
 ing me, I looked to you for aid, and you turned a deaf ear 
 to my appeal. 
 
 Tre. — (Staggered.) To your appeal? 
 
 Gladys. — What right ihen have you to upbraid me, if 
 weary of the struggle, and piqued by your indifference, I 
 yielded. 
 
 Tre, — But when, where, how did you appeal to me ? 
 
 Gladys. — Do you forget the compact we made, that in any 
 trouble I was to write to you, and you would come to me 
 at any cost ? 
 
 Tre. — -And you wrote ? 
 
 Gladys. — You know I did. 
 
 Tre. — I do not know, and as I live, I never received your 
 letter. 
 
 Gladys. — ^You never received it ! 
 
 Tre, — No ; that might, I think, have occurred to you, and 
 you need hardly have been so quick to be on with the new 
 love, before you had made quite certain the old was un- 
 worthy. 
 
 Gladys. — A week after I sent the letter, Mr. Errington re- 
 ceived one from you, from the very address to which I had 
 written, why, therefore, should I imagine that mine had 
 miscarried ? 
 
 Tre. — Since it did not reach me, how was it that it was 
 not returned to you by the post office ? 
 
 Gladys. — I can't think. 
 
 Tre. — I can. That letter may have been written, but it 
 was never posted. 
 
 Gladys. — What do you mean to insinuate ? 
 
 Tre. — Oh, it is not difficult to divine the considerations 
 by which you were swayed. The letter was written, was 
 about to be despatched, when the thought of the advan- 
 tages to be derived from becoming the wife of the wealthy 
 
38 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 Arnold Errington sent tlie memory of poverty-stricken Cy- 
 ril Trelierne to tlie winds, and the letter to the waste paper 
 basket. 
 
 Gladys. — Enough, Mr. Treherne, from the moment you 
 insult me, I must cease to regret that my letter did not 
 reach you. 
 
 Tre. — {Aside) Then it was intercepted by Sir Charles. 
 
 Gladys. — {Going) You will probably make your stay here 
 as short as possible. 
 
 Tre. — Not so fast, Mrs. Errington, you take a tone with 
 me that requires explanation. 
 
 Gladys. — {Coldly.) I thought my words were explicit 
 enough. 
 
 Tre. — To a certain extent. You promised to be true and 
 faithful to me. That you should have broken your word is 
 comprehensible, that you should have fooled and cheated 
 me, is a woman's privilege, but why should you seek to get 
 rid of me ? 
 
 Gladys. — Your accusations are most unfair. I am not re- 
 sponsible for the chance that separated us, nor can I undo 
 what has been done. Let us accept our destiny without 
 bitterness and useless recrimination. For my sake be gen- 
 erous and go. 
 
 JVe. — Is the generosity to be all on my side. {She looks 
 at him reproachfully and moves to door, e.) No, no, don't 
 leave me. Ah, Gladys, if you knew how I love you, if you 
 knew what a cruel blow this is to me, you would be patient 
 with me — you did love me once. 
 
 Gladys. — Don't remind me of that. My husband loves 
 and trusts me. I will not dishonor him by even listening 
 to such words. 
 
 Tre. — Then with that safe-guard over your heart, what 
 harm can I do ? Why send me away ? 
 
 Gladys. — For your own sake, the sight of me can only be 
 a source of pain to you. 
 
 Tre. — But if I am content to suffer ? 
 
 Gladys. — You would not be content. No; you must go — 
 
 Tre. — You fear me then ? 
 
Act II.] TROUBLED WATERS. .•^g 
 
 Gladys. — No ; a thousand times no. 
 
 Tre. — Then you fear yourself? And you still love me — ? 
 
 Gladys. — {Breal'ing down.) Unmanly, ungenerous ! Is 
 my burden not heavy enough to bear, that you must seek to 
 add to it. {Going r.) You of all people in the world, oh! 
 it is cruel! ! ('ruel!!! 
 
 {Enter Sir Charles, r.) 
 
 {Exit Gladys.) 
 
 Tre. — {Starting forward to stop her.) Gladj^s! 
 
 {He is confronted by Sir Charles. Mrs. Eollitt apijears, c.) 
 
 Sir G. — We came into collision once before on this sub- 
 ject, Mr. Treherne, but my daughter was then unmarried. 
 
 Tre. — Yes, and now she has a husband, and I would re- 
 commend you not to interfere in what is essentially his 
 business. Had you not intercepted Gladys' letter to me, 
 Arnold Errington would have known how matters stood 
 between us, and this marriage would never have taken 
 place. 
 
 Sir G. — Letter! What letter? (Treherne laughs incred- 
 idously.) {Aside.) Could she have been fool enough to 
 write to him ! {Alond.) You are mistaken, I did not inter- 
 cept any letter, in fact I don't believe there was any letter 
 to intercept. 
 
 Tre. — How can I believe you, when I know you would do 
 everything in your power to keep us apart. 
 
 Sir C. — I admit it. Had I allowed my daughter to fol- 
 low the dictates of her then extremely foolish heart, she 
 would now have been the discontented wife of a struggling 
 artist. Happily, she was guided by me. Do you imagine, 
 my young friend, that I am going passively to allow your 
 romantic but criminal affection to disturb her peace of 
 mind, and to destroy the position I have made for her ? 
 Disabuse your mind of any such idea. To begin with, you 
 can't stay here. I'll leave you to find an excuse for going. 
 
 {Exit R.) 
 
 (Treherne unable to speak, stands looking after him.) 
 
40 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 Mrs. R. — (Observing him coolly.) Good advice, Mr. Tre- 
 herne, if I were you, I should take it. 
 
 Tre.— (Starting) Mrs. EoUitt ! You here—? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Yes, I am living in the neighborhood. 
 
 Tre. — You know she has jilted me heartlessly. 
 
 Mrs. R. — And you propose to correct her want of taste by 
 running away with her ? As a friend, I again advise you to 
 give up the idea. 
 
 Tre. — I'm not inclined to take advice, 
 
 Mrs. R. — (Aside) So much the better. (Aloud) At all 
 events listen to it. You love Gladys, Mr. Treherne, and 
 she — loves you (sloivly). 
 
 Tre. — Ah ! You believe that, and yet you tell me to leave 
 her ? Have you no better argument ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Her father ! Ah, I know what you would say, 
 that but for him, you and Gladys would never have been 
 parted, but remember he was acting as he thought best for 
 her welfare. 
 
 Tre. — For her welfare ? No ! For his own. Go on, what 
 next? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Arnold Errington, her husband, is your friend. 
 
 Tre. — The husband of Gladys Aislabie is no friend of 
 mine. 
 
 Mrs. R. — At least you are his guest. 
 
 jT^^g. — (Passionately) For not one instant longer than I 
 can help ! 
 
 Mrs. R.—Ah, then you will go — ? And when once more 
 at your work, you will forget her, and forgive him — ? 
 
 jfj^e. — Never ! He has come between me and the woman 
 I love ! 
 
 3Irs. R. — And if he did, remember he, too, loved her. You 
 know his noble nature ; think of the struggle he must have 
 had before he yielded to temptation ; think what remorse 
 such a man must feel at the memory of his treachery ! 
 
 Tre. — Treachery ! Treachery ! Do you mean to tell me 
 that Arnold Errington hiew that he was supplanting me 
 with Gladys ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — (Aside.) He soon shall, if he didn't. 
 
[Act II. TROUBLED WATERS. 4r. 
 
 Tre. — Speak woman ! Is that what you would insinuate ? 
 
 Mrs. B. — A little more courtesy, if you please, Mr. Tre- 
 herne. Really, in your sketching tour in the wilds of Scot- 
 land you seem to have absorbed some of the ruggedness 
 of your surroundings. I insinuate nothing. I am simply 
 speaking of things as they happened. 
 
 Tre. — {Half to Jnmself, ) The pictures ! Then it was to 
 get me out of the way that he gave me that commission ! 
 Treachery ! Two can play at that game ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — Remember Arnold Errington's wife must be 
 sacred for you. 
 
 Tre. — Because he is my friend ? Was it because he was 
 my friend that he came like a thief in the night and stole 
 my love from me ? No ! Such friendship as he has given 
 me, I will give to him. Life to me is valueless without 
 Gladys ! (Seizing her arm.) Listen, I have spoken to you 
 openly ; too openly, perhaps. Breathe but one word of 
 what has passed between us ; betray me by a look, a 
 gesture, and ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — Mr. Treherne, you frighten me ! 
 
 Tre. — Good! Then you will be silent? 
 
 {Exit c.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — What a bear ! (rubbing her arm.) But no mat- 
 ter, since bear-like he dances to the tune I play. Errington 
 shall be free again, and when he is free — well, who knows ? 
 
 {Enter Errington.) 
 
 Erring. — Ah, Mrs. Rollitt, I hear Treherne has arrived. 
 Have you seen him ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Yes, he was here not a moment ago. He went 
 into the garden, I fancy to look for you. 
 
 Erring. — I'll follow him {going, stops, then laughing). Oh, 
 you know he has not heard of my marriage? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Hasn't he? {Taken aback. Errington Ho^ice-s 
 it.) ■ 
 
 Erring. — Why, you haven't told him, have you? 
 
 Mrs. i?.— No, oh, no! 
 
42 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act II. 
 
 Erring. — {Believed) That's all right. You see, we want 
 to have some fun with him on the subject. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Some /mw with him? You are not in earnest — ! 
 
 Erring. — Certainly. Why not ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Hasn't Sir Charles told you ? 
 
 Erring. — Told me ? What ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Oh, nothing. I thought you knew ? 
 
 Erring. — Eeally, I must ask you to explain — ! 
 
 Mrs. J?.— I— I'd rather not. 
 
 Erring. — What is this ? Mrs. Eollitt, I must beg of you — ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — In confidence then ? (He hows.) Unless I have 
 been misinformed, Mr. Treherne and your wife, before you 
 married her — oh! before you married her — were attached 
 to each other. 
 
 Erring. — My wife ! Treherne — ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — I am sure you feel with me that it is right you 
 should know this, as otherwise you might unwittingly have 
 inflicted pain on your old friend. 
 
 Erring. — Yes, you are right. {Half aside.) This then is 
 why she didn't like his coming, poor child, and I thought it 
 mere caprice ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — You won't let Sir Charles know that I have told 
 you ? You see, he's not aware that I have guessed the 
 secret. 
 
 Erring. — Oh, then, it's only a guess ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — A woman's guess is not often wide of the mark 
 in such a case, but, after all, Mr. Errington, why need this 
 trouble you ? Poor Treherne is more deserving of your 
 pity than anything else. 
 
 Erring. — Pity — true, for he has lost Gladys ! 
 
 Mrs. R.— {Aside.) The fool! 
 
 {Enter Teehekne, c.) 
 
 Tre.— {Rather hoisterous to hide his real feelings.) My dear 
 Arnold, how are you? (Sir Charles and Gladys enter, r.) 
 So you have prepared a little surprise for me, eh? 
 (Errington starts.) Oh, yes, Mrs. Errington and I met just 
 now, and of course the truth came out. I congratulate you 
 both—! 
 
Act II.] TROUBLED WATERS. 43 
 
 Erring. — {With feeling.) Thank you, old chap! 
 
 Tre. — And what's more, I can tell you I don't mean to be 
 left long in the lurch. {Down l.) 
 
 3Ir8. R. — That's right, Mr. Treherne ! Depend upon it, 
 there is nothing like matrimony! (l. c.) 
 
 Tre. — {Laughing.) — What do you say to that, Sir. 
 Charles ? 
 
 Sir C. — It's like nothing else. (r. c.) 
 
 3Irs. ^.— Cynic! 
 
 Erring. — By the way, Cyril, there's a letter for you on 
 the mantlepiece, I think. Gladys, dear, give it to him. 
 (Gladys goes to mantlepiece and looks about.) 
 
 Tre. — {With pretended anxiety.) — A lady's hand ? 
 
 Mrs. B. — {Aside to Errington.) After all I don't think he 
 needs your pity. 
 
 Gladys. — {Finding letter.) My letter — Heavens! What 
 shall I do ? {At first impulse conceals it. Treherne ivatch- 
 ing her.) 
 
 Erring. — {To Mrs. E.) You see you were mistaken 
 {Advancing to Gladys.) Can't you find it, dear? 
 
 Gladys. — Yes, Oh yes ! {Gives it to Treherne.) {Aside.) 
 If you are a gentleman, destroy it ! 
 
 Tre. — {Aside.) Then she did write to me ! {Looking at 
 front of letter.) What's this! {Reads.) "Found in the 
 folds of a newspaper wrapper at Melbourne.'" No wonder it 
 never reached me until now — ! 
 
 Erring. — {Coming doion to him.) My dear old chap, I 
 can't tell you how pleased I am to see you ! You don't 
 know half I feel for you ! 
 
 Tre. — {With simvlated cordiality.) Nor you my dear 
 Arnold, half I feel for you ! {As he speaks he holds the let- 
 ter unperceived by Errington before Sir Charles' face, ivho 
 has come doivn to other side of him.) 
 
 Sir C. — {Aside.) {Staggered.) Good Heavens ! She did 
 write to him ! 
 
 Curtain. 
 
 End of Act II. 
 
ACT III. 
 
 September. — One week is supposed to have elapsed. 
 
 Scene: — Treherims studio in 3Irs. Rollitfs house " The Firs.'''' 
 Large loindoiu opening to the ground R. c, A windoio 
 for artistic purposes above this. A large old-fashioned 
 oak press B,. Door c, leading into Garden, Short 
 staircase l. c, leading to small gallery L., from 
 which is a door leaiing into tlw house. The spa^ce 
 underneath the gallery is screened from the room hy a 
 curtain on a rod. Chairs^ couches, tables, etc., and 
 all the paraphernalia of an artist's studio. 
 
 (Treherne is standing at his easel r. c, sketching in 
 an outline in colored chalks. Sir Charles, sitting r , 
 glancing at newspaper, Mr. and Mrs. Parlbury, 
 sitting on each side of table L.) 
 
 Pari. — How was it tlie Erriugtons could not dine to- 
 ui'jjht ? 
 
 Sir C— {shortly.) He had to go to Deneham to-day on bus- 
 iness, and she had neuralgia. 
 
 Mrs. P. — Dear me, the last time they were asked she had 
 neuralgia ! 
 
 Tre. — Quite a coiDcidence ! (with a side glance at Sir C.) 
 
 Mrs. P. — Neuralgia ! More like incipient typhoid \ 
 
 Pari. — Incipient fiddelsticks ! 
 
 Mrs. P. — If you can't be civil, you'd better have stayed 
 away. 
 
 Pari. — Had I ! Was it not at your request that Mrs. Rol- 
 litt asked me to dine h^re to-night, and that I accepted the 
 invitation ? 
 
46 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Mrs. P. — The neighbourliood was beginning to talk, and 
 it was necessary to show (fiercely) that our separation was 
 amicable. 
 
 (Enter Mes. Eollitt l J , 
 
 Mrs. R. — (descending stairs.) Pray forgive me, my dear 
 people, for deserting you, but I had to see a poor woman 
 who is in trouble. 
 
 Sir G. — Pray don't apologise, Mrs. Rollitt; charity covers 
 a multitude of sins. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Even that of depriving you of my society. Now 
 that's very nice of you, Sir Charles. (She has moved so as to 
 look over Treherne's shoulder) (to Treherne) What are you do- 
 ing? 
 
 T^re.^-Making a rough ground plan of the old Abbey from 
 Mr. Parlbury's memoranda, (aside) You have news for 
 me? 
 
 Mrs. R. — (aside) Didn't I say I had seen the poor woman? 
 
 Tre. — [aside) Ah! 
 
 Mrs. R. — (aside.) They'll be gone in half an hour. I'll tell 
 you all then, (aloud.) Nearly ten o'clock ! How late they 
 are in bringing coffee i 
 
 Sir C. — Thanks to Miss Ethel and her lawn tennis, we 
 didn't sit down to dinner till half past eight. 
 
 Pari. — Ah, I disapprove of lawn tennis for girls; it's un- 
 graceful. 
 
 3Irs. P. — A most healthy exercise. 
 
 Pari. — (ignoring her remark.) And it develops muscles. 
 
 ifrs. P.— What of it? 
 
 Pari. — What of it ? Find me a female with muscles 
 among the ancient Greek statury, if you can, Mrs. Parl- 
 bury. 
 
 Mrs. P. — Perhaps you'll be good enough to provide them 
 with a few clothes first, Mr. Parlbury. 
 
 Pari — P'shaw ! (Enter Langton and Ethel g.) Where 
 have you been, I'd like to know? 
 
 Ethel. — In the garden. 
 
 Pari. — Now that's just like you, Mrs. Parlbury, to allow 
 her to stop out so late. I know what it will be; she'll be 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 47 
 
 thrown on my hands on the Ist. of October with a cold in 
 her head. 
 
 Lang. — Oh, no fear of that! I took good care of Miss 
 Ethel.^ 
 
 Sir C. — (aside to him. ) I'll be bound you did! 
 
 (Enter Sekvant r., ivith coffee in coffee-pot with 
 spirit-lamp, places it on table L. c, and Exits E.J 
 
 Mrs. R: — The coffee at last! {going to table.) 
 
 Pari. — Aha! Now that is how I like my coffee; hot from 
 tlie pot and not tepid from the tray. 
 
 Mrs. P. — Very unwholesome. 
 
 Sir C. — Not at al], Mrs. Parlbury, a fine digester. 
 
 3Irs. P. — Which Mr. Parlbury must require after the din- 
 ner he ate. 
 
 Sir C.^Ah ! Mrs. Eollitt's cook is an artist. 
 
 Pari. — And as a devotee of art, I naturally patronize her 
 works. 
 
 3Irs. P. — And destroy your own. 
 
 Pari. — (annoyed.) Never rnind my works. 
 
 Ethel. — Mother, some coffee? 
 
 Mrs. P. — Dr. Langton, will it be wise? 
 
 Lang. — I don't think it will hurt you, Mrs. Parlbury — if 
 you take a tablesoonful of cognac after it. 
 
 3L's. P. — Are you sure? Then I will. (Ethel hands cap.) 
 
 Sir 0. — (aside.) You're a clever young man, Mr. Langton 
 and you'll succe^^d in your profession. 
 
 (Ethel and Langton, hand coffee to Sir Charles, 
 and Mr. Parlbury, and take their own.) 
 
 Tre. — {putting down his chalks.) There, Mr. Parlbury, I 
 tliink you'll find that pretty correct. {Giving plan to Parl- 
 bury, and crossing to the table L. c. to get his coffee.) 
 
 Pari. — {delighted scrutinizing plan.) Excellent! excellent! 
 (peaces plan on table r. c.) Look here, everybody. Give me 
 your attention for half an hour and I'll explain this to you. 
 Dear, dear, I wish Errington was here ! You must under- 
 staud — {to Ethel cuhI Langton ndio have come up to him.) 
 Kindly hold the corners down You must understand that 
 the red lines show that portion of the building that is 
 actually in existence; while the hypothetical portions — 
 
48 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Sir C— {stifling a yaivn.) For which you are responsible? 
 
 Pari. — For which I am responsible, are sketched out in 
 green. — 
 
 Mrs. P. — And a very good colour for them too. 
 
 Pari. — {darting an angry glance at her.) The monastic 
 buildings were, as you will perceive, all situated to the 
 south ofthe Abbey Church. 
 
 Mrs. P. — {aside to Mes. Kollitt) Let's go to the drawing- 
 room, or I shall do something rash! 
 
 (They steal off upstairs, arid of'L-, unnoticed hy Pakl- 
 
 BURY.) 
 
 Pari.— {Continuing) Entering through the great Gateway 
 we find on our right the stables, marked b on the plan. 
 (Langton takes a piece of hnch from Parlbury's, 
 pocket, which he passes to Ethel behind Parlbury's 
 hack; she substitutes it for her hand on the corner of 
 the plan, and stealthily retires. Langton does the same^ 
 and they exeunt c.) 
 
 (Sir Charles beginning to doze. Treherne has gone 
 up and sits in the window seat.) 
 Pari. — {Not noticing that Langton and Ethel are gone.) 
 And on the left, the guest room marked c. We now pass 
 through the gardens and enter at D, the cloisters, opening 
 out of which at e is the monks' washing place. (Sir 
 Charles snores gently.) (Parl, attracted by the sound, looks 
 up, sees Sir Charles asleep, and that the others except Tre- 
 HEENE are gone. He snatches up the plan, sending the bricks 
 to the floor.) Confound it. 
 
 giy a— {Starting.) Eh! What? Found it! What 
 have you found ? 
 
 Pari — That Fve been throwing pearls before — {feels that 
 he' s going too far.^ Ahem! Ahem! Good-night! {Going 
 
 L.) ^ 
 
 Sir C. — Wait for me, we may as well walk back to the 
 the Abbey together. 
 
 Pari. — Thank you, but just now I feel Fm only company 
 for myself. 
 
 ^^V (7.— Selfish Sybarite ! 
 
 {Exit Parlbury l.) 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 49 
 
 J're. — -Poor old Parlbury ! It was rather rougli on liim ! 
 {Sauntering to door c.) Good-night, Sir Charles, I'm going 
 for a stroll before turning in. 
 
 Sir C. — One moment. I have for some days past been 
 anxious for a little conversation with you, and in fact only 
 accepted Mrs. Rollitt's invitation to dinner to-night, in the 
 hope that an opportunity would present itself, as it has. 
 
 Tre. — You talk as if I had avoided you. 
 
 Sir C. — So you have — 
 
 Tre. — You're extremely frank. 
 
 Sir C. — Yes ; you're not. 
 
 Tre. — Neither am I very patient, Sir Charles. So per- 
 haps you'll say what you want with me, and have done 
 with it. 
 
 Sir C. — The day j^ou came to Denethorpe I suggested 
 for reasoDs we needn't discuss, that you should make some 
 excuse, and go. 
 
 Tre. — Quite so ; I made an excuse. I said there was no 
 room at the Abbey suitable for my work, and that as I 
 could not afford to be idle, I must go — and I went. 
 
 Sir C. — But not far enough. 
 
 Tre. — A former inhabitant here was an artist, what more 
 natural than that Mrs. RoUitt, hearing of my difl&culty, 
 should place the studio at my disposal ? Not far enough ! 
 Upon my word, Sir Charles, you are difficult to please. 
 Why even Errin<4ton, who didn't like my leaving the Abbey, 
 recovered his spirits when he found I should still be within 
 reach. 
 
 Sir C. — Erringtou can see nothing but what is straight 
 before him, otherwise he would have let the business which 
 took him to Daneham yesterday take care of itself, and 
 have stopped at home. 
 
 Tre. — To take care of his wife ? 
 
 Sir C— Exactly. 
 
 Tre. — I presume you didn't seek this interview merely to 
 inform me of Errington's blindness ? 
 
 Sir C. — No, to obtain the letter my daughter wrote you. 
 
 Tre. — Did she send you for it ? 
 
 Sir C. — She has never mentioned it to me. But come : 
 
50 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 under no circumstances can it be of any use to you — so 
 hand it over. 
 
 Tre. — A modest request, upon my word ! 
 
 Sir C. — Glad to hear it. Never was called modest be- 
 fore. 
 
 Tre. — I will read it to you, and then you can judge of its 
 value to me. {They sit.) (Beads.) " Cyril, my own darling, 
 this hateful marriage is breaking my heart ! Mr. Erring- 
 ton is good and kind, but he is not you, and you alone 
 have my love. For you I would sacrifice everything. If 
 you still love me, come to me ! come to me ! Your own 
 unhappy Gladys." What do you think of it ? 
 
 Sir C. — Just what I expected ; the sort of letter that 
 any silly romantic girl who fancied herself in love might 
 write. 
 
 Tre. — But not a letter that a wife should write. 
 
 Sir C. — A wife ! What do you mean ? You know that 
 letter was written before her marriage. 
 
 Tre. — Indeed ! (Pretending to examine letter.) I know 
 that I only received it a week ago, and I observe that, 
 womanlike, she omitted to put either address or date. 
 
 Sir G. — And what then ? 
 
 Tre. — Then it becomes a curiosity, and as such has its 
 value. 
 
 Sir C. — Precisely. How much ? 
 
 Tre. — Tou misunderstand me. It is not to be bought 
 with money, nor by you. 
 
 Sir C. — (Aside.) The villain ! I understand him only 
 too well ! (Aloud, struck hy a sudden thought.) By the way, 
 you say the letter has neither date nor address ; the en- 
 velope would show both. 
 
 Tre. — Unfortunately, I destroyed it. 
 
 Sir G. — Do you expect me to believe that ? 
 
 Tre. — Really, it's a matter of perfect indifference to me 
 whether you do or not. 
 
 Sir G. — I suppose so, though you're scarcely compli- 
 mentary to yourself. 
 
 Tre. — What do you mean ? 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 51 
 
 Sir C. — Merely that the man who is indifferent as to 
 whether others think him a liar and a blackguard must be 
 a very great liar and blackguard indeed. 
 
 Tre. — {Who has made a movement as if to strike Sir 
 Charles, recollects himself.) No, no, Sir Charles, it won't 
 do ! You'd like me to resent your words, wouldn't you ? 
 To insist on your taking a little trip across the Channel 
 with me, eh ? I've heard you're a dead shot. I may be all 
 you've called me, but I'm no fool, and I've no intention of 
 playing your game for you ; in other words I'm not to be 
 got rid of like that. 
 
 Sir C. — {Going L.) Very good, Mr. Treherne. Stay 
 here, if you will, but if you dare to attempt anything against 
 my daughter's position and reputation, I warn you, you 
 will find me confoundedly in the way ! 
 
 {Exit L.) 
 
 Tre — {Snapping his fngers after Sir Charles)! That for 
 your threats ! {Looking after him, and slowly producing let- 
 ter case, from ivhich he takes the envelope.) He was right. 
 {In mock surprise.) I did not destroy it. {Returns it to his 
 pocket.) And I will not ; I am not so ungrateful as to de- 
 stroy the frieud who has shown me the way to my revenge. 
 
 {Enter Mrs. Kollitt, l.) 
 
 Tre. — Well? Now for your news ! 
 
 Mrs. T. — What news ? {In a constrained manner.) 
 
 Tre. — Did you not tell me that you had seen Gladys, and 
 that you had news for me ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — True ; but I overheard your conversation with 
 Sir Charles just now. 
 
 Tre. — And it frightened you ? ( With a sneer ?) 
 
 Mrs. R. — It certainly suggested to me that I was risking 
 a good deal to help you in rather a mad scheme. 
 
 Tre.— To help me ? 
 
 Mrs. 7?.— Certainly ! 
 
 Tre. — And no one else ? 
 
 3Irs. 7?.— What do you mean ? 
 
52 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 ^re.— Mrs. Eollitt, I this morning heard from Mr. Parl- 
 bury of the tender passages between you and Errington at 
 Malta. 
 
 3Ir8. R.—The old wretch ! 
 
 Tre. — The knowledge of that weakness on your part, 
 made me reflective, and then I saw clearly that you were 
 not so disinterested as you would have me believe. 
 
 Mrs. R. — And what then ? I did hope to marry him, and 
 had not your complacent assurance that Miss Aislabie 
 loved you, lulled my suspicions, she would not now be his 
 wife. Your egotistical folly ruined me, as well as you ; If 
 I can now serve myself as well as you, it is not for you to 
 blame me. 
 
 Tre. — I am far from blaming you, for your disappoint- 
 ment assures me your help in my revenge upon Errington 
 for this treachery, at the same time, understand that I am 
 not your dupe. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Nor am I your slave. You thought you had 
 frightened me, but that was part of the farce. 
 
 Tre. — Well ! Well ! Tell me what passed between you. 
 
 Mrs. R. — I told her that if she wanted her letter, she 
 must come to you, and that if she did not come, it would 
 find its way to her husband. At first she refused to listen, 
 but when I pointed out to her the circumstances which 
 made the letter so terribly compromising, and hinted that 
 her husband knew of her former love for you {with a sneer), 
 she, being young and inexperienced, got frightened and 
 begged me to advise her. 
 
 Tre. — And you ? 
 
 Mrs. B. — I told her that in such a case her heart must be 
 her guide. 
 
 Tre. — Ah, then she is coming ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Yes, in fear and trembling ; but I succeeded in 
 convincing her that she ran but little risk {ivith intention) 
 unless her husband were by any chance to return to-night 
 instead of to-morrrow. 
 
 Tre. — And that is not likely. {Doion stage.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — {Aside). More likely than you think for, if my 
 letter has not miscarried. 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 5.I 
 
 Tre. — When will she be here ? 
 Mrs. i?.— At 11 to-night. 
 
 Tre.-~Pi.t last, Gladys, at last! [Going down c.) I must 
 breathe the air or I shall choke. 
 
 {Exit c.) 
 
 (Mrs. Rollitt goes to the loindoiv and looJcs out after 
 him). 
 
 (Enter Sir Charles l., hat on and coat over his arm. 
 He dies not see Mrs. Rollitt and descends the steps 
 meditatively.) 
 
 Sir C. — Wish I could get at the truth about that letter. 
 Shall I ask Gladys? (Shrugs his shotdders.) A forlorn 
 hope. Somehow all confidence between her and me seems 
 at an end, and that makes me anxious, very anxious ! 
 (Sees Mrs. Rollitt). Mrs. Rollitt ! What part is she play- 
 iug, I wonder? It might strengthen my hand to find out. 
 (Moves books etc., on table, noisily.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — (Turning). Sir Charles! How you startled 
 me! 
 
 Sir C. — Is that you, Mrs. Rollitt? Very sorry, I'm sure, 
 but I left my cigarette case — Ah ! here it is ! — With your 
 pt^rmission I'll light a cigarette, aud wish you good-night. 
 
 3Irs. R. — Let me give you a light. 
 
 Sir C. — Thanks. (Business.) Treherue making a long 
 stay with you ? 
 
 3Irs. R. — I don't know. Having invited him here I can't 
 very well ask him when he's going. 
 
 Sir C. — Of course not, and yet if I were you, I should en- 
 deavor to hasten his departure. 
 
 3Irs. i?— But why ? 
 
 Sir C. — I fancy Mrs. Parlbury is right, and that this 
 house is not in a sanitary condition. 
 
 3Irs. R. — ^In that case, / ought not to stay. 
 
 Sir G. — It's riskv, decidedly risky. 
 
 M)\s. R. — You don't say so ! Come, Sir Charles, do you 
 really expect me to swallow all this nonsense? 
 
 Sir G. — Not for one moment ; I have far too high an opin- 
 ion of vour uuderstandiug to offer it such an insult. 
 
54 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Mrs. E. — Thank you. Now, then, you want me to get rid 
 of Treherne ? 
 
 Sir 0. — As quickly as possible. 
 
 3Irs. B. — On Mrs. Errington's account ? 
 
 Sir C. — On his own. 
 
 Mrs. B. — He is old enough to take care of himself. 
 
 Sir C. — And yet he has made you his confidant. Oh, yes 
 he has ; why else should you couple his name with hers? 
 What do you propose to do ? 
 
 Mrs. i?.— Nothing. 
 
 Sir C. — You refuse to help me ? 
 
 Mrs. B. — I refuse to mix myself up in a matter which 
 does not concern me. 
 
 qIj. (7 — Then why have you done so ? Do you think I 
 cannot trace your handiwork in all this ? Do you think I 
 cannot fathom your motives, hatred of the man whose 
 heart you failed to touch, hatred of the woman that won 
 the man ! But don't exult yet. Your scheme of revenge is 
 not complete, and never will be, while I stand between you 
 and her ! Send away this Treherne, or I — 
 
 Mrs. B.—Or what ? 
 
 Sir C. — Or repent it ! 
 
 jf^s. jf^. — Why, what would you do ? {In a bantering- 
 
 tone.) 
 
 Sir C. — A few months ago, you begged me to be silent 
 on your past life. 
 
 Mrs. B. — And you gave me your word of honour to do so. 
 
 ^^y (7. — What is my honour to me, in comparison with 
 the happiness of the child I love ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — Then if I refuse to obey you, you would betray 
 
 me ? 
 
 ^{y (7. — Without a moment's hesitation. 
 
 Mrs. B. — {laughing) My dear Sir Charles, I like you; you 
 are so frank, and, for a man of the world, so unsophisti- 
 cated. Circumstances have changed since I implored your 
 secrecy. I was not aware then of the veneration in which 
 your daughter held you. I did not know that in her eyes 
 you were a very Bayard, a Sir Galahad, the embodiment of 
 all that is good and pure and noble. Tell her, then, of my 
 
[Act hi. TROUBLED WATERS. 55 
 
 shameful past, and of your share in it, and see yourself, her 
 ideal, fall shattered from the pedestal of her heart. She 
 may regain a husband, but she will lose a father, and you 
 a daughter. What do you say, Sir Charles? Is it I who 
 should now implore your silence ? Or you mine ? 
 
 {As she speaks Sir Charles becomes petrified. Mrs. 
 RoLLiTT regards him with a look of triumph as she 
 exits L.) 
 
 Sir C. — {With a groan.) That cursed past of mine ! but I 
 mustn't for a moment allow her to think that I would not 
 make the sacrifice if necessary. {Alout to folloiv Mrs. Rol- 
 litt) And yet; I cannot ! There must be other means of 
 warding ofl^ this danger from Gladys ; yes, yes, there must 
 be other means ! {Turns to go and meets Errington it'Ao 
 enters c.) Arnold ! You here ? I thought you were going 
 to stop the night at Deneham ? 
 
 Erring. — (Shortti/.) My plans have changed. Where's 
 Treherne? 
 
 Sir C. — Somewhere in the garden, I believe. (Errington 
 at a loss, as if pondering ivhat to do.) What do you want 
 with him ? 
 
 Erring. — Oh, nothing. 
 
 Sir C. — Let's go home, then. {Moves to door c.) 
 
 Erring. — Stay, there is something — 
 
 Sir C— {Aside.) Thought so. {Aloud.) Well? 
 
 Erring. — Sir Charles, have you — {Pauses, then with an 
 effort) have you noticed any change in Gladys lately ? 
 ' Sir a- -{ill at ease.) Change? No—? 
 
 Erring. — Not that she has become cold and distant to me, 
 ever since — ? 
 
 Sir C. — Since when? 
 
 Erring. — Since Treherne came here — {qnicMij.) But no 
 doubt it is only fancy — 
 
 ^iV C— Of course. Cold! Distant! Rubbish! Liver! 
 She's been out of sorts lately, that's all. But you didn't 
 return from Deneham merely to tell me this ? (Looks at 
 Errington, toho averts his gaze ; then suddenly ;) No, by 
 George, there's something else ! 
 
56 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Erring. — Aye, there is ; something I bate to think of, for 
 when I think of it, I despise myself. 
 
 Sir C. — Don't think of it. Sj^ea^ of it. What is it ? 
 
 Erring. — A few hours ago I received at my hotel in Dene- 
 ham an anonymous letter. {Takes it from his pocket.) 
 
 Sir G. — And this is what brought you back ? 
 
 Erring. — Yes. Oh, I know the value of anonymous letters. 
 I know them to be vile and malicious ; they rouse in me 
 contempt and disgust. And yet, yet, when I try to forget 
 this, I can't ; against my will, against my reason, it has 
 taken possession of my thoughts, and weighs on my brain 
 like a sense of evil. 
 
 Sir C. — ^Do you suspect anyone ? 
 
 Erring. — No ; the handwriting is strange to me, and till 
 to-day I did not know I had an enemy in the world. 
 
 Sir C. — Let me see. {Takes it.) 
 
 Erring. — You want to read it ? {Arresting Ms hand.) 
 
 Sir C. — I want a clue to the writer. {Beads to himself 
 quietly at first, more and more hurriedly, as he gets to the 
 end.) What ! {crumpling letter in his hand.) Gladys an as- 
 signation with Treherne here in his studio at 11 to-morrow 
 night ! 
 
 Erring. — No, to-night ! It is dated yesterday- 
 
 Sir C. — An infamous calumny! {Aside.) A disguised 
 hand, but a woman's ! {Looking again at letter.) {Beads.) 
 " From an unknown friend." {Aside.) No, Mrs. Kollitt ; 
 neither a friend, nor unknown ! 
 
 JErring. — Well ? 
 
 Sir C. — What do you mean to do ? 
 
 Erring. — There's only one thing to be done. {Takes let- 
 ter.) 
 
 Sir a— To destroy it? 
 
 Erring. — No, to show it to Treherne. 
 
 Sir G. — You do mistrust him ? 
 
 Erring. — No, no, but it is right and fair that he should 
 see it ; the enemy may be his, not mine. {Takes letter.) 
 
 gir (7, — {Aside.) {Binging the hell.) Not a bad idea, it 
 may pull the fellow up short — {aloud.) {Enter Servant l.) 
 Do you happen to know if Mr. Treherne has come in? 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 57 
 
 Servant. — I don't think so, sir. He's not in his bedroom, 
 and he'd be sure to be either there or here. 
 
 Sir a— Ah! Thank you. 
 
 Servant. — Beg pardon, sir, but may I take the lamp ? 
 
 Sir G. — (Certainly. (Sekvant takes large lamp, leaving 
 Treherne's reading lamp, and exits, lights half doivn. Er- 
 RINGTON sits.) You are going to wait his return ? 
 
 Erring. — Yes. 
 
 Sir G. — Why not leave it till to-morrow ? 
 
 Erring. — No, no, I couldn't sleep with this on my mind. 
 
 Sir G. — At all events we might stroll up to the Abbey and 
 return. You don't wish to disturb Gladys to-night, and 
 you'd better arrange for a shake- down before all the ser- 
 vants are in bed. 
 
 Erring. — As you please. 
 
 Sir G. — Come along, then — (aside) I may yet be in time 
 to prevent her coming here. 
 
 (Exeunt by door c.) 
 
 (Ethel enters hy window B.C., foUoived by Langton.) 
 
 Ethel. — (Stopping in the window and holding out her hand.) 
 Now, Dr. Langton, you must say good-night ; remember 
 you've a long drive home, and it's nearly 11 o'clock. 
 
 Lang. —Very well. Miss Ethel, if I must, I must. I shall 
 see you to-morrow ? 
 
 Ethel— ^h&W you ? Do I look ill ? 
 
 Lang. — No, no ; but I'm coming over to see Mrs. Erring- 
 ton, and I hope — 
 
 Ethel. — To find her better ? I hope so too. By the way, 
 what's the matter with Mrs. Errington '? 
 
 Lang. — Honestly, I'm puzzled; there is something I can't 
 make out ; but you, now. Miss Ethel, to whom she has 
 taken such a fancy, can you not give me a hint? 
 
 Ethel. — Even were I able, do you think I should tell you 
 anything she has not chosen to tell you herself ? 
 
 Lang. — Are you able ? 
 
 Ethel. — (After a pause.) No, no — Dr. Langton, you must 
 study human nature on your own account. 
 
58 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Lang. — I try to, but feminine liuman nature is utterly 
 beyond my comprehension. For instance, wliy don't you 
 marry me ? 
 
 Ethel. — Judging by my parents, do you think matrimony 
 particularly tempting ? 
 
 Lang. — Tlieir case is exceptional. 
 
 Ethel. — It may be, but perhaps that sort of thing is heredi- 
 tary — my father says I take after my mother, and my 
 mother that I take after my father, and I suppose they 
 ought to know. 
 
 Lang. — Not necessarily ; they only see each other's short- 
 comings. 
 
 Ethel. — The inference being that I have the faults of 
 both ? 
 
 Lang. — No, no, I didn't mean — 
 
 Ethel. — (Literrupting.) Don't make it worse. But just 
 think. Dr. Langton, if, after I married you, the terrible 
 taint of antiquarianism were to break out in me ? 
 
 Lang. — Then I'd turn antiquary, and we'd grow old to- 
 gether. 
 
 Ethel. — Or worse still, if I were to develop a bias toward 
 imaginary ailments and patent medicines ? 
 
 Lang. — Then you'd have a doctor on the premises to cure 
 the one, and throw the other out of the window. Come, 
 Ethel, you know I love you — I 
 
 Ethel. — Yes, you told me so yesterday, and the day be- 
 fore, and the day before that. 
 
 Lang. — And I mean to tell you to-morrow, and the day 
 after, and every day until — 
 
 Ethel— Vntil ?— 
 
 Lang. — You tell me you love me. (A pause.) Come, 
 Ethel, it's cruel to keep me in suspense. 
 
 Ethel. — It's cruel to keep me up so late. 
 
 Lang. — P'shaw! {Goes outside the ivindoiu, then turns.) 
 Will you give me a definite answer to-morrow ? 
 
 Ethel. — Yes ! (Langton delighted.) Or the day after. 
 Good-night, Dr. Langton! {Shuts the ivindoiv as he turns 
 aioay and goes in disgust.) Poor fellow! It's too bad to 
 treat him so? But it's all my parent's fault. If they hadn't 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 5^ 
 
 so persistently thrown me at his head, I should have given 
 him an answer long ago. As it is, I object to being disposed 
 of by them, merely to relieve them of a responsibility which 
 they've brought on themselves. 
 
 (Gladys enters c. abruptly, and stops short on seeing 
 Ethel.) 
 
 Gladys. — Ethel ! You here ? 
 
 Ethel. — Fin staying here, Mrs. Errington, but you ? 
 
 Gladys. — Ethel, don't yo^l misunderstand me — 
 
 Ethel. — Mrs. Errington, what am I to think ? The day 
 after Mr. Treherne's arrival I was with you in the Abbey 
 grounds, when a letter was given you by a girl whom I 
 knew to have been hired by him from Deneham as a model. 
 You seemed much troubled, but after a few moments of 
 doubt you turned to me, handing me the letter, begged me 
 by some means or other to restore it to Mr. Treherne. 
 (Pause.) I am not like most girls, my bringing up has 
 taught me a good deal of the world, and I own to you I was 
 suspicious, but as you did not open the letter, I could see 
 no harm in doing as you desired. Since then I have done 
 the same thing every other day. You begged me to be 
 silent on the subject, and I have respected your wish ; I 
 have done more ; I have not attempted to learn your 
 secret. I don't want to know it. But when I find you 
 here, alone and at this hour, I ask myself, have I done 
 
 right ? 
 
 Gladys. — Yes, if to do right is to have followed the im- 
 pulse of your generous heart, and helped me, a weak, de- 
 fenseless woman, to battle with an evil that threatens to 
 destroy my happiness ; you have nothing to reproach your- 
 self with. I am here because I cannot help myself. 
 
 Ethel. — Cannot your husband help you ? 
 
 Gladys. — No, no ! He, least of all ! 
 
 ^^AeZ.— Your father? 
 
 Gladys. — Dear father ! So good, so noble ! I dared not 
 tell him ! I feared his anger for myself and still more the 
 violence of this man's passionate nature for him. 
 
6o TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Ethel. — What may be tlie tie between you and Mr. Tre- 
 lierne I don't know, except that it cannot be for good. 
 Break it, I implore you ! Come with me ; there is yet time. 
 No, don't repulse me ! Dear Mrs. Errington, on my knees 
 I beg of you to come with me ! 
 
 Gladys. — Impossible ! Impossible ! This is the last 
 time I shall willingly see him, but see him I must, and 
 alone ! {With a sudden impulse.) Ethel, I know I can trust 
 you ; I am here to obtain from Mr. Treherne a letter, harm- 
 less in reality ; most terribly compromising in appearance ; 
 a letter which, were it to come to my husband's knowledge, 
 would wreck our lives. Fear nothing for me ; my one 
 object at this moment is to save his honor, and mine ! For 
 my sake, go ! (exhausted she falls into a chair, and covers 
 her face -with her hands.) 
 
 (Ethel, after hesitation, exits l.) 
 
 Gladys. — {Looks round slowly.) Gone ? {Sigh of relief.) 
 My coming here would have been useless had she stayed ; 
 he would never have given me the letter. But where is he? 
 What can be detaining him? {Up to loiiidow.) 
 
 (Mrs. Bollitt opens door l., looks in cautiously and 
 sees Gladys.) 
 
 Mrs. B. — {aside.) One bird in the trap. {Withdraws, 
 closing and locking door outside.) 
 
 Gladys. — {Turning at the sound.) What's that? {At the 
 same moment Treherne enters c.) 
 
 Tre. — {Coming for, and speaking tenderly.) Gladys! 
 
 Gladys. — {Shrinking.) Don't mistake me, Mr. Treherne ; 
 I am here for one purpose only, to regain possession of 
 that fatal letter. You sent word to me that I must come 
 for it. You threatened me if I did not come — 
 
 Tre. — I was desperate when I did so. You had refused 
 to see me. The letters I wrote you were returned to me, I 
 know not how. I felt that I must speak to you once again, 
 or I should go mad, and I used the only means left to 
 me to secure an interview. 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 6i 
 
 Gladys. — A cowardly plea ! You know our meeting can 
 only bring pain to both, and yet to gratify your wounded 
 vanitj'', and show your power over me, you have forced me 
 to come here. 
 
 Tre. — No, no, you mistake? Gladys, have pity on me! 
 It was a mean, despicable action, I know, but it was born 
 of my love, my passionate love, for you ! 
 
 Gladys. — What love can that be, that has so vile an off- 
 spring ? 
 
 Tre. — Is the sin of the child to be visited on the parent ? 
 
 Gladys. — I cannot argue with you. I only know your so- 
 called love is wholly selfish. Were I a man I would have 
 welcomed death, sooner than have risked sullying the name 
 of the woman I professed to love ! Give me my letter and 
 let me go. 
 
 Tre. — Go if you will, but not like that; in memory of past 
 days — not like that — ! 
 
 Gladys. — My letter ! 
 
 Tre. — You shall have it, but speak one word of comfort 
 to me; look on me once more as you looked on me when 
 first we met in the Chapel of the Brussels Convent ! Don't 
 you remember, Gladys, you came in with one of the 
 sisters ? Till that moment I had had little pleasure in my 
 work, but your presence glorified the surroundings, and 
 gave warmth to the wintry sunshine that lit the bare, white- 
 washed interior of the Chapel. It lent a depth of colour to 
 the poor daubs that I was restoring, and it illumined in my 
 breast a flame that neither time, grief, nor disappoint- 
 ment has been able to quench ! I see you have not forgot- 
 ten; let memory aid me further, and whisper in your ear 
 how well you loved me— loved me ! and how on the altar of 
 my heart you placed the first fruits of your maiden fancy ! 
 Gladys! my Gladys ! You have come to me ! Stay with me, 
 my love ! my life! (kisses her.) 
 
 {During this speech Gladys has been carried away 
 by Teeherne's 'pU<^ding, and at the close is almost in 
 his arms. His kiss recalls her to herself, and she 
 recoils from him.) 
 
(i2 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Gladys. — Ali, no ! not tliat ! not that ! What have you 
 done ? And what am I to have suffered it ? 
 
 Tre. — Gladys, is it too late ? Leave this man who has 
 come between us ! He won you from me by treachery ! 
 
 Gladys. — It's a lie ! How dare you speak such words to 
 me? 
 
 Tre. — Gladys ! Gladys ! Hear me ! 
 
 Gladys. — I will hear nothing ! Let me go, I say ! Fool 
 that I was to yield to your threats, believing in the specious 
 promises by which you enticed me here ! Keep the letter, 
 Mr. Treherne, and make what use of it you like. This is 
 the last time you will have a chance of outraging and in- 
 sulting me as you have done this night ! 
 
 {She goes to door c, opens it, shuts it qidcMy.) 
 
 Gladys. — My husband ! 
 
 Tre. — Come this way — ! {Running upstairs and trying 
 door L.) Ah ! — Locked on the outside ! {Descends.) 
 
 Gladys. — Locked ! Ah ! I see it all ! This is a scheme 
 of yours to entrap and ruin me ! 
 
 Tre. — No, no ! In here ! {Puts her behind curtain l., 
 fakes chalk, and pretends to be sketching .) 
 
 (Sir Chaeles enters c.) 
 
 Sir C. — {Seizing Treherne's arm.) Gladys! She's here? 
 (Treherne shrugs shoulders.) Ten minutes since, I found 
 her room empty. Be tha,nkful it loas I, and not her hus- 
 band ! Where is she? 
 
 (Treherne starts, and involuntary looks towards cur- 
 tain. ) 
 Sir C. — Ah ! I see ! Hush ! Errington ! 
 (Erring-ton enters c.) 
 
 Tre. — {With an assumption of ease.) Ah, Arnold! You 
 too ! Anything wrong ? 
 
 Erring. — Nothing, my dear Cyril, that we two cannot put 
 right. Look, to-day I received this letter, {giving it to Tre.) 
 My first impulse was to treat it with the contempt it de- 
 serves, and to destroy it, but it concerns you so deeply that 
 I decided you should see it without delay. 
 
[Act III. TROUBLED WATERS. 63 
 
 Tre. — {Who has shimmed the letter, aside.) Betrayed! By 
 whom ? 
 
 Erring.— WeW? 
 
 Tre. — I - I don't understand it. {Hands letter bach to 
 Errington.) 
 
 Erring. — Is that all you have to say to so monstrous an 
 accusation ? 
 
 Sir C. — {Aside.) The fool will betray himself ! 
 
 Tre. — You, you don't believe it ? 
 
 Erring. — Should that hinder you from denouncing the 
 falsehood ? My heavens ! Were I in your place, no words 
 would be too strong, no voice too loud, in which to give the 
 lie to such a charge ! 
 
 Tre. — You are so hasty — You give me no time ! 
 
 Erring. — For what ? To prepare an answer ? No one 
 should want time in such a case — unless the charge were 
 true. 
 
 Tre. — {Blustering.) Do you mean to insult me? 
 
 Erring. — There is no insult if the charge be false. Speak ! 
 
 Tre. — It is false ! 
 
 Erring. — A lie ! She is here. 
 
 Sir. C — {Coming between them.) My dear Arnold, Mr. 
 Treherne is right, you are too hasty, much too hasty. Your 
 suspicion of an old friend is not worthy of you, but, since 
 you've lost your sense, damme ! search the place ! There's 
 a curtain, {pointing to recess L.) and here's a cupboard, 
 {crossi)ig to press r. a)id oj^oiing it.) Empty! Try the 
 curtain ! 
 
 Tre. — {Aside to Sir Charles) Are you mad ? 
 
 Sir C. — {Aside) No, desperate ! I know him better than 
 you. 
 
 (Errington after a few moments of indecision, during 
 which he glances from Sir Charles to Treherne, goes 
 to curtain and lays his hand upon it to drato it bach. 
 After a pause lie dashes curtain from him and turns to 
 Treherne.) 
 
 Erring. — No, I am no detective. Take my hand, look 
 into my face, and tell me on your word of honour that I am 
 mistaken ! 
 
64 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act III. 
 
 Tre. — {Taking his hand) On my word of lionour! You 
 are mistaken ! 
 
 Erring. — [Shaking his hand) Then I ask your pardon. 
 [Tears the letter, goes to door c.) Forget it. Come, Sir 
 Charles ! 
 
 [Exit Eekington c.) 
 
 Sir C. — [To Tkeherne, pointing to curtain.) Act 
 promptly ! 
 
 [Exit c.) 
 [The moment the door closes behind Sir Charles, 
 Gladys comes out and goes straight to it. Treherne 
 interposes.) 
 
 Gladys. — Let me pass ! 
 
 Tre. — Hear me ! 
 
 Gladys. — No, I have escaped detection by a hair's 
 breadth ; do your worst, I will listen to you no more — ! 
 
 Tre. — [Aside.) If she goes like this, I lose her forever. 
 [A sudden thought strikes him.) Ah ! You will go ? 
 
 Gladys. — Yes, and to my husband ! 
 
 Tre. — Go, then, [throwing door open) and see how your 
 husband receives you ! 
 
 Gladys. — What do you mean? 
 
 Tre. — That when I perjured myself for your sake, he did 
 not believe me — 
 
 Gladys. — But — he accepted your denial ? 
 
 Tre. — You only heard his words — but when I took his 
 hand it was cold and nerveless ; when I looked in his face, 
 his eyes fell. Oh, yes, he knew that I had lied ! 
 
 Gladys. — Then, why — why? [Unable to finish.) 
 
 Tre. — Why did he not draw the curtain ? Because he 
 dared not ! Because he knew that you were there ! Be- 
 cause to expose you was to make his dishonour public. 
 Now choose between his scorn and my love— (/S'/^e turns to 
 go.) Stay, your letter — [handing it out to her.) Take it, — you 
 have earned it ! 
 
 Gladys. — [Taking letter.) At what a price ! Oh God ! At 
 what a price ! 
 
 [Exit as Curtain falls Treherne standing doggedly 
 ivith his back to her, doivn l.) 
 
 Curtain. 
 End of Act III. 
 
ACT IV. 
 
 October. A month is supposed to have elapsed. 
 
 Scene. Same as Act I. Sir Charles, convalescent after an 
 illness, on sofa. Langton, by him. 
 
 Lang. — (concluding examination of his patient) Capital ! 
 Sir Charles, capital! I shall have you well now in no 
 time ! 
 
 Sir C— You're a good fellow, Langton, a deuced good 
 fellow. It isn't everyone who would have given a fortnight 
 out of a hard earned holiday to play the good Samaritan, 
 especially when his heart was elsewhere, eh ! Are you not 
 sorry you took Naples on your way to Sicily ? 
 
 Lang. — Not a bit. I wrote and told Miss Parlbury how 
 and why I was prevented joining her and her father, as soon 
 as I had intended. 
 
 Sir C. — She's a dear girl, and will make you a good wife. 
 
 Lang. — If she ever makes up her mind to be my wife. 
 
 Sir C. — If ? My dear fellow, there are some things about 
 women you must take for granted. Some say " Yes " when 
 they mean " No "; and others say " No " when they mean 
 " Yes ;" but when they say neither one nor the other, it's a 
 hundred to one they mean " Yes." You're a lucky dog, sir, 
 though you don't know it. 
 
 Lang. — I think I am, if you're right, for she's one in a thou- 
 sand, though her parents don't half appreciate her. In fact, 
 I belive they will be glad to get rid of her. 
 
 Sir C. — Happy people ! 
 
 Lang. — Happy ? 
 
66 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 Sir G. — Yes, I envy tliem. Had I cared as little for my 
 daughter, I should not now be breaking my heart ! {much 
 agitated.) 
 
 Lang. — Sir Charles, I can't have you excite yourself; I 
 have purposely avoided speaking of this hitherto. 
 
 Sir C. — It is a relief to me. Ah, Langton, it is a terrible 
 thing to lose a child, but I had rather Gladys had died 
 twice over, than that she should be lost to me in such a way! 
 
 Lang. — (Jiesitating) But is it certain that she went away 
 with Treherne ? 
 
 Sir C. — Everything points to it. As you know, Arnold 
 and I went immediately to London, but failed to jB.nd any 
 trace. There he left me, to follow, I fear, an imaginary clue, 
 while I returned to my old quarters, thinking perhaps that 
 if repentance came to her, she might seek me here. Then 
 I fell ill, the grief, shame, and the scandal was too much for 
 me ! 
 
 Lang. — Somehow I can't help connecting that Mrs. Eol- 
 litt with her disappearance. I never liked that woman. By 
 the way, I met her this morning. 
 
 Sir G. — Here ? In Naples ? {aside) This confirms my 
 suspicions, {aloud) But come; now that I am convalescent, 
 you must be off to Sicily. 
 
 Lang. — ^No, I'm not going to leave you. Sir Charles, till 
 you're thoroughly on your legs again. 
 
 Sir G. — Nonsense, my boy ! I won't hear of it ! I've been 
 a selfish sort of fellow — selfishness is part of the creed of 
 the world I've lived in — ^but illness and trouble have taught 
 me a hard lesson, and I've taken it to heart. Go my boy, 
 go; your Penelope must not be made to pine longer for her 
 Ulysses. 
 
 Lang. — Thank you, Sir Charles, but as a matter of fact, 
 Ulysses prefers Naples to Sicily just now. 
 
 Sir G. — Why, you don't mean to say that Penelope — ? 
 
 Lang. — Yes, I do, and if I'm not mistaken that's her step. 
 {Goes to door Ij. c, and admits 'E.tb.^i,.) 
 
 Ethel. — (pofssmgr Langton and going to Sik Chaeles) Oh, 
 Sir Charles, I'm so glad to see you better, for you are bet- 
 ter, aren't you ? 
 
[ACT IV. TROUBLED WATERS. 67 
 
 Sir C. — Very much, my dear, thanks to him, (indicating 
 Langton) who, by the way, you seem to have overlooked. 
 
 Ethel. — Oh, I saw him on my arrival this morning. 
 
 Sir C. — Did you, by George ! But what brings you here? 
 
 Ethel. — Hasn't Dr. Langton explained ? 
 
 Lang. — Haven't had time. 
 
 Ethel. — {indignant) I believe you forgot ! — Oh, Sir Charles, 
 the most terrible thing has happened ! — my poor father has 
 been captured by the Brigands ! 
 
 Sir C. — Brigands ! Nonsense ! — How did it happen ? 
 
 Ethel. — We were staying at Taormina, and my father hear- 
 ing of some ruins a few miles up the country, and nothing 
 would do but he must go and see them. So off he started 
 (sobbing) on a donkey, (sobs) poor fellow, with two guides, 
 armed, and when he got there, there were no ruins, only 
 brigands, and the guides belonged to the gang, and so they 
 kept father and sent the donkey back in charge of a boy, 
 with a letter to me. (sobs all through this speech) I tried to 
 get the authorities at Messina to move in the matter; they 
 said they must communicate with the authorities at Paler- 
 mo, but I couldn't wait for that, and knowing Dr. Langton 
 and you, were at Naples, I came here to get his, — and your 
 advice ! 
 
 Sir C. — We must lay the case before our Minister at 
 Rome. 
 
 Lang. — I'll go over by the next train. By the way, Mrs. 
 Parlbury ought to know. 
 
 Ethel. — Oh, I telegraphed to her the moment it occurred, 
 — "Father seized by brigands, ransom X2,000. Come at 
 once to Corso Victor Emanuel, Naples, No. 12." You see, 
 I didn't know what hotel to go to, so I thought she had 
 better meet me here. Was I right. Sir Charles ? 
 
 Sir C. — Perfectly, my dear — I know the Minister at 
 Eiome, and will give you a letter of introduction, Langton. 
 (Going to loriting table.) Stay though, your arm ; I'll write 
 in my bedroom, (aside) unless you particularly wish me to 
 stay. 
 
 (Exit R. U. E.) 
 
68 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 Lang. — ^Cheer up, Miss Parlbury ; your father's in a 
 scrape, no doubt, but X2,000 won't ruin him. 
 
 Ethel. — Ruin him ! Of course not ; he can't pay — ! 
 
 Lang. — Oh ! But surely Mrs. Parlbury will ? 
 
 Ethel. — I hope so; I'm sure she would if it were for 
 drainage or ventilation, but when it comes to father, I have 
 my doubts. 
 
 Lang. — Well, I haven't got much, but I have enough put 
 by, to ransom him, and if she won't pay, I will. 
 
 Ethel. — You're very good and kind — ^but no one but a re- 
 lation — a near relation — has any right to make such a sac- 
 rifice. 
 
 Lang. — Then make me a near relation ; — make me his 
 son. Come, Ethel, you know you like me, and I love you 
 awfully ! 
 
 Ethel. — Is this a time to speak of such things, when I'm 
 in such distress about my father ? 
 
 Lang. — Certainly. Give me the right to restore him to 
 you — Come, say the word ! 
 
 Ethel— Yes ! 
 
 Lang. — Good ! Here goes for Rome, the Minister, and 
 the money ! Wish me good luck ! 
 
 Ethel. — With all my heart! (Holds out her hand.) 
 
 Lang. — (Taking it.) Is your heart in your hand? (She 
 laughs, he draivs her to him and kisses her.) No, I thought 
 not ; — it's where it naturally would be, under such trying 
 circumstances, (kisses her again) — in your mouth. 
 
 (Going 1,. c, lohen the door opens a^id ^krti^, fol- 
 lowed by Mks. Paelbury, appears.) 
 
 Martin — Miss Parlbury is here, ma'am. 
 
 Ethel — (Delighted!) Mother! (Bushes to her.) 
 
 Lang. — (Folloiuing Ethel's lead.) Mother ! Mrs. Parl- 
 bury astonished.) I beg your pardon, Mrs. Parlbury, but 
 I'm really so confused ! 
 
 Mrs. P. — I don't wonder at it. Pretty piece of business, 
 isn't it ? Parlbury was never fit to be trusted alone. If 
 Judson had gone to Sicily with him, instead of throwing 
 him over at the last minute, this never would have hap- 
 pened. What have you done ? 
 
[Act IV. TROUBLED WATERS. 69 
 
 Ethel. — Nothing yet ; Dr. Langton is just off to the Em- 
 bassy at Rome. 
 
 3Irs. P.— What's the use of that ? The Embassy will 
 write yards to the Italian Government, and the Italian Gov- 
 ernment will write yards to the Embassy, and after all that 
 where shall we be? — or where will poor Christopher be? — 
 murdered — most likely ! 
 
 Ethel— Oh, mother ! 
 
 Mrs. P. — Or tortured ! — 
 
 Ethel— ToxivLx&di ! ! 
 
 Mrs. P. — And Christoper, who used to make such a fuss 
 over a mustard plaster! (To Langton.) Can't you suggest 
 anything ? 
 
 Lang. — Pay the ransom. 
 
 Mrs. P. — X2,000 — it seems a good deal for Christopher. 
 
 Ethel. — Oh, mother, how can you ? — 
 
 3Irs. P. — Ah, well, give me a pen ; I thought it might 
 come to this, so I brought with me a letter of credit from 
 my bankers, to their correspondents here. 
 
 Lang. — {Giving pen, etc.) Here you are, Mrs. Parlbury. 
 
 (Parlbury opens door l. c, a7id looks in. He is 
 surprised to see them, and stands 'watching them. They 
 none of them see him.) 
 
 Mrs. P.— {Writing.) X2,000,— poor Christopher ! {Sud- 
 denly stopping as if struck by an idea.) I suppose there 
 really are brigands ? — 
 
 Lang. — Oh, Mrs. Parlbury, you can't think that your 
 husband would- — ? 
 
 3Irs. P. — {Hastily.) No, no, of course not ! — poor Chris- 
 topher! — two thousand pounds! — {^wiping her eyes.) Ah, 
 Dr. Langton, it seems to me I never before knew his true 
 value — ! 
 
 Pari. — Nor I yours, my dear old woman ! 
 
 (Mrs. Parlbury ywwps up, screams, and falls into his 
 arms. Ethel hangs round him, and Langton gets hold 
 of his arm.) 
 Pari. — So you'd actually have paid £2,000 for me to 
 those beastly brigands ? 
 
70 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 Mrs. P. — ■! would indeed, Christoplier, I would indeed ! — 
 {Enter Sir Chaeles r. u, e., -with letter.) 
 
 Sir C. — Here's the letter, Langton. Why, what's this? 
 Mrs. Parlbury ? — and Mr. Parlbury escaped ? {Shaking 
 hands.) 
 
 Pari. — Yes, Sir Charles, yes ; I suppose Ethel has told 
 yon how I fell into the rascals' clutches ? 
 
 Mrs. P. — No; but I'll be bound " ruins " were at the bot- 
 tom of it — ! 
 
 Pari. — ^Well, my dear, I must admit that — 
 
 Mrs. P.- — I knew it, but there, never mind! Let's hear 
 how you got away. 
 
 Pari. — Briefly then, when I was collared by those light- 
 fingered, heavy-handed, cut throats, they carried me off to 
 their camp in the mountains, where for three days I re- 
 signed myself to dirt, discomfort and garlic. On the third 
 day, my hosts gave a little entertainment in celebration of 
 their Captain's birthday, — he will never celebrate another, 
 for in the midst of the revels the camp was surprised 
 and attacked by the Carabinieri. In the confusion I gave 
 my guards the slip, and took to my heels. They favored 
 me with a couple of bullets — 
 
 Mrs. P. — Where ? Christopher, where ? 
 
 Pari. — Through my hat. {Showing it.) As my other gar- 
 ments had no margin for bullets, I judiciously dropped, and 
 was picked up by the soldiers, who, on hearing my story, 
 escorted me to Palermo, where I explained matters to the 
 Consul, and here I am. 
 
 Sir C. — I congratulate you most heartily. It must have 
 been a most unpleasant experience. 
 
 Pari. — It was, but, by Jove, Sir Charles ! It is worth un- 
 dergoing, if only for the pleasure of returning to such a 
 wife, and such a daughter. 
 
 Lang. — And such a son ! 
 
 Mrs. P. 
 
 -Ethel ! 
 
 Pari. 
 
[Act IV. TROUBLED WATERS. 71 
 
 Ethel. — It's quite true. I always cared for Gerald, though 
 I did snub him, but when he offered, as he did this morn- 
 ing, (^Langton tries to stop her), to give up all his savings to 
 release my father, I felt that — I felt that — [turns to Langton, 
 and hides her face on his shoulder.) 
 
 Pari. — (seizing Langton's hand.) God bless you, my boy. 
 (Kisses Ethel, j 
 
 3£rs P. — You've made me very happy ! 
 
 (Ethel and Langton turn up stage.) 
 
 Pari. — When Ethel is married I shall be very lonely for 
 six months in the year. 
 
 Mrs. P. — So shall I — Christopher, an idea! Suppose 
 you come and stay with me for that lonely six months ? 
 
 Par/.— Done ! If you'll stay with me the other six 
 months. 
 
 3Irs. P. — Do you mean it? 
 
 Pari. — Certainly. Henceforth I abjure antiquarianism, 
 and we'll grow young again together. 
 
 Mrs. P. — And I'll throw over the Family Doctor. 
 
 Lang. — Not altogether, I hope, Mrs. Parlbury ? 
 
 Mrs. P. — I mean that I'm not going to fancy myself ill 
 any more, and that reminds me that I've a most healthy 
 appetite; in fact, I've had nothing since six this morn- 
 ing. 
 
 Pari. — Nor I. — Let us go and breakfast at a restaurant. 
 
 3Irs. P. — Good-bye for the present. Sir Charles. Ah, 
 Christopher, I haven't breakfasted for fifteen years ! — 
 
 Pari. — {Looking her up and down.) Good Lord, my 
 dear — ! 
 
 Mrs. P.— With you ! 
 
 {Exeunt Mb. and Mrs. Parlbury, l. c.) 
 
 Sir C. — By Jove, who'd have thought it ! Hymen's 
 smouldering torch fanned into flame again, and by a parcel 
 of brigands ! Where are you off to ? {Seeing Langton tak- 
 ing his hat and stick. 
 
 Lang. — Got a little business to do. {Aside.) Engagement 
 ring, you know. Shant feel easy till that's on, {Aloud.) 
 
72 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 Will you stop and look after my patient, Ethel ? I won't 
 be long, (takes her hand.) Sir Cliarles, liave you noticed 
 how near Vesuvius looks to-day? 
 
 Sir C. — My dear Langton, if you want me to look out 
 of the window, I'll do so with pleasure, but blow Vesuvius! 
 (He turns to the ivindoiv, Langton kisses Ethel and exits 
 
 L. C.) 
 
 Sir C. — Is he gone ? Can I look around ? Ah, he's the 
 best fellow in the world ! You'll be very happy, my dear, 
 if you only remember that a wife should have no secrets 
 from her husband ! 
 
 Ethel. — [Archly) Nor a husband from his wife ? 
 
 Sir C— Ahem ! Not many — 
 
 Ethel. — ^Not any. If he loves her. To my mind true love 
 should be a stronghold, at whose gates neither doubt, sus- 
 picion, nor distrust can enter, whether it be the love of 
 husband and wife, or father and child. ( With meaning.) 
 
 Sir G. — Ethel, your words have a deeper meaning than 
 they express. What is it ? 
 
 Ethel. — Gladys. 
 
 ^,V a— What of her ? 
 
 Ethel. — I know that you suspect her wrongly. 
 
 Sir C. — And yet she went away ? 
 
 (SiE Chaeles makes a movement.) 
 
 Ethel. — Ah, Sir Charles, manlike you bring logic to bear 
 on the most illogical of subjects — the working of a woman's 
 heart. What wonder then that your reasoning leads you 
 astray, where my woman's instinct guides me to the truth. 
 I know she detests the man with whom you think she fled, 
 and knowing it, nothing in the world would make me be- 
 lieve ill of her — she is innocent ! I feel it, I know it ! 
 
 {Enter Maetin with card.) 
 
 Sir C. — P'shaw ! (Impatiently.) I'm engaged, and can- 
 not be disturbed. 
 
 Martin. — Wants to see you alone, and at once, Sir 
 Charles. 
 
[Act IV. TROUBLED WATERS. 73 
 
 Sir 0. — Arnold ! (to Ethel.) I must see him. (Makes a 
 gesture to Martin tvho exits l. c.) But don't go ; wait in 
 here. (Futs her off r. u. e.) 
 
 (Enter Errington l. c.) 
 
 Sir G. — Arnold ! What news ? 
 
 Erring. — I have tracked him to Naples. 
 
 Sir C. — And she was with him? 
 
 Erring. — I couldn't discover. 
 
 Sir C. — Good ! There's comfort in that — had she been, 
 you could hardly have failed to obtain some clue ! — you're 
 lookiug wretchedly ill, my boy ; you must stay with me a 
 few days and rest yourself. 
 
 Erring. — Eest ! I shall never rest till I have settled my 
 scores with him. 
 
 Sir 0. — Remember there must be no scandal. 
 
 Erring. — There shall be none. To that end I have writ- 
 ten to him to meet me here. 
 
 Sir C. — But the cause of quarrel ? 
 
 Erring. — We shall find one. In Italy an unfaithful wife 
 is not the only thing men quarrel and fight about. 
 
 Sir C. — After all, my dear Arnold, we may be mistaken. 
 
 Erring. — (Eagerly. Do you think it possible ? My heart 
 yearns towards her, yet if she be innocent, what could 
 have induced her to take such a step? To tell the truth, 
 as I stand in this room where I first saw her, there rises 
 within me a hope, almost a belief, that she is innocent. 
 (Drawing hack curtain from Gladys' portrait.) I look on 
 this fair face and I say to myself, it is impossible that he 
 could be so false, and she so frail. It was in this room a 
 few month since, you and I, two men of the world, were 
 coldly planning out her future. She came, and the influ- 
 ence of her bright presence changed the current of my 
 thoughts and made its wa}^ unhindered to my heart. (He 
 drops the curtain.) The vision is gone ! Will it ever re- 
 turn? (Goes up agitated to window, and on to balcony out of 
 sight.) 
 
 (The (ioorL. c. opois, and Gladys appeal's.) 
 
 Gladys. — (Faintly.) Father! 
 
74 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 Sir 0. — {Starting up.) Gladys ! 
 
 Gladys.- — (Coming forivard.) Father, speak to me — ! 
 (lays her hand on his arm ; he looks furtively round, hut Ee- 
 EiNGTON has moved out of sight and hearing on to balcony.) 
 
 Sir C. — Gladys, at last you liave come ! Now at least 
 we shall know the truth ! Where have you been ? 
 
 Gladys. — At the Convent at Brussels, where I passed so 
 many happy days. Oh, that I had never left it ! I was 
 kindly received, and for a time thought I had found rest 
 and peace; but two days ago I learnt from an English paper 
 that you were seriously ill at Naples, and so I came to you. 
 You are better ? 
 
 Sir G.— (Absently.) Yes, yes, I am well. Why did you 
 leave your home ? 
 
 Gladys. — Could I stay there after I had forfeited my hus- 
 band's esteem and love ? 
 
 Sir G. — What could possibly have made you fancy that ? 
 
 Gladys. — It was no fancy — how could I hope to retain 
 them, when he knew I was in the studio that night ? 
 
 Sir G — He did not know it ! He never has known it — ! 
 
 Gladys. — But Mr. Treherne told me 
 
 Sir 0. — The liar ! Can you not see his motive ? to force 
 you into his arms ? 
 
 Gladys, — Great Heavens, what have I done ! What must 
 Arnold think of me ! What must you think of me ! ! 
 
 Sir G. — Treherne left the same day as you did. What 
 could we think, but that you had gone together? 
 
 Gladys. — [sinking into chair) Horrible ! Horrible ! ! ! 
 
 Sir G. — What in Heaven's name induced you ever to go 
 to his studio? 
 
 Gladys. — This letter, (producing it.) 
 
 Sir G. — Ah, it was for that you went ? By George, Ethel 
 was right ! I see it all now ! — But the envelope ? — 
 
 Gladys. — That was all he gave me ; what matters the en- 
 velope ? 
 
 Sir G. — Don't you see ? The letter has neither address nor 
 date — with the envelope we could fix both, and show it was 
 
[Act IV. TROUBLED WATERS. 75 
 
 written before yoxir marriage ; without it we can prove noth- 
 ing. Ah, Gladys, see what your mad infatuation for this 
 man has brought you to ! 
 
 Gladys. — Infatuation ! Oh, no, no, you are wrong, you are 
 wrong! That terrible night dispelled the illusion for ever ! 
 The mist lifted from my eyes ; I saw clearly how far astray 
 my girlish fancy had led me, and for the first time I realiz- 
 ed that I loved my husband ! (Movements of Sir Charles.) 
 Yes, father I love him — I am not the first woman who has 
 not known her own heart, nor who has gained the knowledge 
 too late. Yes ! I love him so deeply, that the thought of 
 losing Ms love and esteem almost breaks my heart ! What's 
 that ? See, (pointing to windoiv) the shadow on the wall ; 
 there is someone on the balcony ! {moving towards window) 
 
 Sir C. — (stopping her.) Stop ! He is there ! 
 
 Gladys. — He, Arnold ? Father, I cannot, I dare not face 
 him ! I should die of grief and shame ! Hide me from him, 
 hide me ! 
 
 Sir C. — But if you are to redeem the past, you must meet 
 him. 
 
 Gladys. — Not now ! Not now ! I could not bear it ! Take 
 me away ! Take me away ! Oh, God, am I losing my reason ! 
 
 Sir C. — Come, my child, come with me. (Takes her out by 
 door R. u. E.) 
 
 (Errington appears at window on halcoyiy ; comes 
 down.) 
 
 Erring. — Sir Charles ! (looTcs around.) Gone ! And yet I 
 thought I heard voices ! 
 
 Martin. — (off.) I tell you, ma'ma. Sir Charles cannot see 
 anyone to-day, (Then Enter Mrs. Eollitt l. c, followed 
 by Martin.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — (to Martin.) He will see me — Ah, Mr. Erring- 
 ton ! 
 
 (Errington signs to Martin, who Exits l. c.) 
 
 Erring.— Wv^, Kollitt ! 
 
 Mrs. R. — You are surprised to see me, but I always come 
 South this time of the year — (with pretended impulse) Mr. 
 Errington, I don't know how to say what I want to say, — 
 
76 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 perhaps I am wrong in speaking at all, — ^but I have such a 
 sincere regard for you, that I cannot let this opportunity 
 pass without telling you how deeply I sympathize with you 
 in your trouble. (Eeeington takes her hand silently.) And 
 how still more deeply I regret having to some extent been 
 the unwitting cause of it. 
 
 Erring.— You, Mrs. Eollitt ? How ? 
 
 Mrs. B. — In having asked him to stay at The Firs. 
 
 Erring. — Treherne ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Believe me, I should never have done so had I 
 not understood from Sir Charles that there never was any 
 real attachment between them. 
 
 Erring. — Then Treherne did betray me ? And my wife 
 is a partner in his guilt ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — I thought you knew all — ? 
 
 Erring. — Answer me — ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — Mr. Errington — I beg of you ! — I cannot — I 
 dare not — ! 
 
 Erring. — I am answered — ! 
 
 {Enter M-KSiSi^ folloived by Teeherne e. c.) 
 
 Martin. — Mr. Treherne. {Exit E. c.) 
 
 Mrs. R. — {Alarmed, aside.) What folly is this? 
 
 ( The two men face each other in silence ; Mes. Rol- 
 LiTT looking on anxiously,) 
 
 Erring. — At last we meet ! What have you to say ? 
 
 Tre. — Nothing. Words are unnecessary. 
 
 Erring. — Then it is true ? 
 
 Tre. — Yes. 
 
 Erring.— Yg^ — ! A little word, but it means much — your 
 life or mine. 
 
 Tre. — When and where you please. 
 
 Mrs. R. — (Intercepting him, aside.) A duel? I forbid it! 
 
 Tre. — (Aside to her.) I forgot, an accident to him would 
 upset your plans. 
 
 Mrs. R. — Mr. Errington, it's false !^— Your wife never left 
 her home with him ! (pointing to Teeherne. j 
 
 Erring. — Just now, you insinuated the contrary. 
 
[Act IV. TROUBLED WATERS. 77 
 
 Mrs. B. — Let me explain. 
 
 {Enter Sir Charles r. u. e. He stands at doorway.) 
 
 Tre. — There are some things, Mrs. Kollitt, that don't ad- 
 mit of explanation. (Coolly.) 
 
 Erring. — ^As for instance, how honour in some men's 
 minds stands for perfidy, and friendship for treachery — ! 
 
 Tre. — {Breaking out furiously.) Treachery! You dare to 
 talk to me of treachery ! You, who took advantage of your 
 wealth and position to steal from me — your friend — the 
 woman he loved, and who loved him — ! (Errington stag- 
 gered.) 
 
 Erring. — {Interrupting.) You must be mad ! Why it was 
 only on the day of your arrival at Denethorpe, that I learnt 
 for the first time that any attachment had existed between 
 you and — my wife — 
 
 Sir C. — {Coming doivn stage.) From whom? 
 
 Erring.— From Mrs. Kollitt ! 
 
 I^re. — What! Why! {Turning to M-RS. 'Rouatt.) It was 
 on that very day, you convinced me of his treachery ! 
 
 Mrs. M. — {Coolly.) I was mistaken. {Moves to door l. c.) 
 
 Tre. — {Beivildered.) Mistaken — ! 
 
 Sir C. — {To Mrs. Eollitt.) No, you shall not go like 
 this — Through all this cloud of deceit and falsehood, the 
 light of truth begins to dawn — 
 
 Erring. — Woman ! You have lied to one of us ; which is 
 it? 
 
 Mrs. B. — If you must know, — to him ! 
 
 Tre. — To me ! — to me ! Great Heavens ! Then for your 
 own vile purposes you made me believe in a treachery 
 which never existed — a treachery which alone could have 
 afforded some excuse for the schemes of retaliation and 
 revenge which you so infamously fostered in my mind ! By 
 so doing, you have humiliated and degraded me in his eyes 
 and my own! (To Errington.) I swear to you, whatever 
 this woman may say, I have wronged you in — intention 
 only — ! 
 
 Sir G— Ha ! The truth at last ! 
 
78 TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 Mrs. R. — ^Intention only ! ( With a sneer, then turning to 
 Errington.) Your immaculate wife will no doubt corrobor- 
 ate his statement. She will no doubt tell you wliere she 
 hid herself in his studio the night the anonymous letter 
 brought you back from Deneham. 
 
 Tre. — Then it was you who betrayed us ? 
 
 Mrs. R. — You see lie admits the truth of what I say. 
 
 Erring. — What am I to believe ? 
 
 Sir C. — That she is innocent. But she shall speak for 
 herself! {Opening door) Gladys! 
 
 rp,' ' y — [Aside.) She here! 
 
 Erring .^{Bewildered.) Gladys ! 
 
 . (Gladys enters e., supported by Ethrl ; on seeing 
 Errington she stops short.) 
 
 Gladys. — My husband! Oh, father ! Hides her face on 
 Ethel's shoulder.) 
 
 Sir G. — {To Errington.) Speak to her. 
 
 Erring. — Gladys ! An accusation has been made against 
 you that you were in Mr. Treherne's studio the night before 
 you left me. 
 
 Gladys. — I am innocent ! I have been weak, foolish, but 
 not guilty with that man ! Arnold, Arnold ! indeed, indeed ! 
 I am speaking the truth ! 
 
 Erring. — Wait ! It is not I who accuses you, {turning 
 suddenly on Mrs. Rollitt) but this woman ! If I tell you 
 of it, it is but that you may hear me say to her face that I 
 do not believe her ! — that I love and trust you always ! 
 
 Gladys. — {Overcome.) Ah ! — To Errington ivho moves 
 toivards her.) No, stand apart from me till I have said 
 what I must say ! I am only a woman ; very weak, and 
 unworthy to be the wife of one as noble and generous as 
 you, but I should be ten times more unworthy were I to 
 consent by my silence to win my way back to your heart, 
 by a lie — I was in the studio that night — 
 
 Mrs. R.—Kh ! You see— ! 
 
 Gladys. — But with no evil intention, {to Mrs. Eollitt) as 
 no one knows better than you. Oh, if you have a woman's 
 heart, capable, as a woman's heart should be, of sympathy 
 
[Act IV. TROUBLED WATERS, 79 
 
 and compassion, recall your words, and clear me of this 
 suspicion! (Mrs. Eollitt silent.) You will not speak? 
 
 Tre. — But I will ! Mr. Erringtou, if I have not forfeited 
 all claim to be believed, liear me ! The letter I received the 
 day of my arrival at Danethorpe, was from Mrs. Errington, 
 written before her marriage, but which circumstances had 
 prevented reaching me earlier. I loved her, and maddened 
 to find her your wife, by treachery as I believed, I, — to my 
 shame I say it ! — threatened her that, unless she would 
 listen to me, I would use it to compromise her. To regain 
 possession of it, she came to the studio that fatal night. 
 
 Mrs. B. — {Sarcastically.) Which of course proves her 
 immaculate ? 
 
 Erring. — Can this be true ? 
 
 Sir G. — Yes, she gave me the letter. {To Teeherne.) The 
 envelope. (Teeherne, tcitlwut a, ivord, hands it to Sir 
 Charles)! Take it, Arnold, and read it. You need not 
 fear to do so. 
 
 Erring. — {Putting letter aside.) It is unnecessary ; I am 
 satisfied my wife has been the victim of a vile and mali- 
 cious plot! (7b Mrs. RoLLiTT.) As for you, what injury 
 have we ever done you that you should have sought to mar 
 our happiness? 
 
 J/rs. B. — Ldok back on those few weeks at Malta. Did 
 it never occur to you that you then raised hopes in my 
 breast, which you afterwards so wantonly destroyed? Then 
 learn it now ; and learn too, that a woman such as I, does 
 not readily abandon her love, nor forgive her rival ! 
 
 Erring. — {horror-struck.) You loved her. 
 
 Mrs. B. — Yes, I loved you ! Then you married, and my 
 love turned to hate — my thoughts to revenge. — I found this 
 man an instrument ready to my hand, and by encouraging 
 his passion for your wife — I hoped to separate you from 
 her, and to take her place. I have failed. It is m}^ sole 
 regret ! 
 
 ^Mrs. Eollitt Iwlcs fixedly and furionsly at him, 
 and exits l. c.) 
 
8o TROUBLED WATERS. [Act IV. 
 
 Erring.— M.V. Treherne, liencefortli our paths lie wide 
 apart ! (Teeheene moves to door l. c.) Gladys! My wife ! 
 
 {Takes her in Ms arms, and hisses her. SiE Charles 
 sinks into chair ivith emotion. Ethel standing by him 
 and comforting him.) 
 
 CUETAIN. 
 
 (On Curtain rising again, Langton has re-entered, 
 and is putting ring on 'EiTB.mj's finger. 
 
''TROUBLED WATERS. 
 
 AN ORIGINAL COMEDY 
 IN FOUR ACTS. 
 
 —BY- 
 
 CHARLES THOMAS AND WALTER ELLIS. 
 
 Copyright, 1893, by Charles Thomas and Walter Ellis. 
 
 NEW YORK AND LONDON. 
 
C 32 89 
 

 
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