________________________________________________
_ ACT II
[The next day after dinner. Culver _and_ Parlourmaid.]
CULVER (_handing_ Parlourmaid _a letter_). That's for the post. Is Miss
Starkey here?
PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir. She is waiting.
CULVER. Ask her to be good enough to keep on waiting. She may come in
when I ring twice.
PARLOURMAID. Yes, sir.
[Enter_ Mrs. Culver, _back_.]
MRS. CULVER (_to_ Parlourmaid, _stopping her as she goes out,
dramatically_). Give me that letter. (_She snatches the letter from the_
Parlourmaid.) You can go. (Culver _rises_.) (_Exit_ Parlourmaid.)
MRS. CULVER. I am determined to make a stand this time.
CULVER (_soothingly_). So I see, darling.
MRS. CULVER. I have given way to you all my life. But I won't give way
now. This letter shall not go.
CULVER. As you like, darling.
MRS. CULVER. No. (_She tears the envelope open, without having looked at
it, and throws the letter into the fire. In doing so she lets fall a
cheque_.)
CULVER (_rising and picking up the cheque_). I'll keep the cheque as a
memento.
MRS. CULVER. Cheque? What cheque?
CULVER. Darling, once in the old, happy days--I think it was last
week--you and I were walking down Bond Street, almost hand in hand, but
not quite, and you saw a brooch in a shop window. You simply had to have
that brooch. I offered it to you for a Christmas present. You are
wearing it now, and very well it suits you. This (_indicating the
cheque_) was to pay the bill.
MRS. CULVER. Arthur!
CULVER. Moral: Look before you burn. Miss Starkey will now have to write
a fresh letter.
MRS. CULVER. Arthur! You must forgive me. I'm in a horrid state of
nerves, and you said you were positively going to write to Lord Woking
to-night to refuse the title.
CULVER. I did say so.
MRS. CULVER (_hopefully_). But you haven't written?
CULVER. I haven't.
MRS. CULVER. You don't know how relieved I am!
CULVER (_sitting down, drawing her to him, and setting her on his
knee_). Infant! Cherub! Angel! Dove!... Devil! (_Caressing her_.) Are we
friends?
MRS. CULVER. It kills me to quarrel with you. (_They kiss_.)
CULVER. Darling, we are absurd.
MRS. CULVER. I don't care.
CULVER. Supposing that anyone came in and caught us!
MRS. CULVER. Well, we're married.
CULVER.--But it's so long since. Hildegarde's twenty-one! John,
seventeen!
MRS. CULVER. It seems to me like yesterday.
CULVER. Yes, you're incurably a girl.
MRS. CULVER. I'm not.
CULVER. You are. And I'm a boy. I say we are absurd. We're continually
absurd. We were absurd all last evening when we pretended before the
others, with the most disastrous results, that nothing was the matter.
We were still more absurd when we went to our twin beds and argued
savagely with each other from bed to bed until four o'clock this
morning. Do you know that I had exactly one hour and fifty-five minutes'
sleep? (_Yawns_.) Do you know that owing to extreme exhaustion my
behaviour at my office to-day has practically lost the war? But the most
absurd thing of all was you trying to do the Roman matron business at
dinner to-night. Mind you, I adore you for being absurd, but--
MRS. CULVER (_very endearingly, putting her hand on his mouth_).
Dearest, you needn't continue. I know you're wiser and stronger than me
in every way. But I love that. Most women wouldn't; but I do. (_Kisses
him_.) Oh! I'm so glad you've at last seen the force of my arguments
about the title.
CULVER (_gently warning_). Now, now! You're behaving like a journalist.
MRS. CULVER. Like a journalist?
CULVER. Journalists say a thing that they know isn't true, in the hope
that if they keep on saying it long enough it _will_ be true.
MRS. CULVER. But you do see the force of my arguments!
CULVER. Quite. But I also see the force of mine, and, as an impartial
judge, I'm bound to say that yours aren't in it with mine.
MRS. CULVER. Then you've refused the title after all?
CULVER (_ingratiatingly_). No. I told you I hadn't. But I'm going to. I
was just thinking over the terms of the fatal letter to Lord Woking when
you came in. Starkey is now waiting for me to dictate it. You see it
positively must be posted to-night.
MRS. CULVER (_springing from his knee_). Arthur, you're playing with me!
CULVER. No doubt. Like a mouse plays with a cat.
MRS. CULVER. Surely it has occurred to you--
CULVER (_firmly, but very pleasantly_). Stop! You had till four o'clock
this morning to deliver all your arguments. You aren't going to begin
again. I understand you've stayed in bed all day. Quite right! But if
you stayed in bed merely to think of fresh arguments while I've been
slaving away at the office for my country, I say you're taking an unfair
advantage of me, and I won't have it.
MRS. CULVER (_with dignity_). No. I haven't any fresh arguments; and if
I had, I shouldn't say what they were.
CULVER. Oh! Why?
MRS. CULVER. Because I can see it's useless to argue with a man like
you.
CULVER. Now that's what I call better news from the Front.
MRS. CULVER. I was only going to say this. Surely it has occurred to you
that on patriotic grounds alone you oughtn't to refuse the title. I
quite agree that Honours have been degraded. Quite! The thing surely is
to try and make them respectable again. And how are they ever to be
respectable if respectable men refuse them?
CULVER. This looks to me suspiciously like an argument.
MRS. CULVER. Not at all. It's simply a question.
CULVER. Well, the answer is, I don't want Honours to be respectable any
more. Proverb: When fish has gone bad ten thousand decent men can't take
away the stink.
MRS. CULVER. Now you're insulting your country. I know you often pretend
your country's the slackest place on earth, but it's only pretence. You
don't really think so. The truth is that inside you you're positively
conceited about your country. You think it's the greatest country that
ever was. And so it is. And yet when your country offers you this honour
you talk about bad fish. I say it's an insult to Great Britain.
CULVER. Great Britain hasn't offered me any title. The fact is that
there are a couple of shrewd fellows up a devil of a tree in Whitehall,
and they're waving a title at me in the hope that I shall come and stand
under the tree so that they can get down by putting their dirty boots on
my shoulders. Well, I'm not going to be a ladder.
MRS. CULVER. I wish you wouldn't try to be funny.
CULVER. I'm not _trying_ to be funny. I _am_ being funny.
MRS. CULVER. You might be serious for once.
CULVER. I am serious. Beneath this amusing and delightful exterior,
there is hidden the most serious, determined, resolute, relentless,
inexorable, immovable man that ever breathed. And let me tell you
something else, my girl--something I haven't mentioned before because of
my nice feelings. What has this title affair got to do with you? What
the dickens has it got to do with you? The title isn't offered as a
reward for _your_ work; it's offered as a reward for _my_ work. _You_
aren't the Controller of Accounts, _I_ happen to be the Controller of
Accounts. I have decided to refuse the title, and I shall refuse it.
_Nothing will induce me to accept it_. Do I make myself clear, or
(_smiling affectionately_) am I lost in a mist of words?
MRS. CULVER (_suddenly furious_). You are a brute. You always were. You
never think of anybody but yourself. My life has been one long
sacrifice, and you know it perfectly well. Perfectly well! You talk
about _your_ work. What about my work? Why! You'd be utterly useless
without me. You can't even look after your own collars. Could you go
down to your ridiculous office without a collar? I've done everything
for you, everything! And now! (_Weeping_). I can't even be called 'my
lady.' I only wanted to hear the parlourmaid call me 'my lady.' It seems
a simple enough thing--
CULVER (_persuasively and softly, trying to seize her_). You divine
little snob!
MRS. CULVER (_in a supreme, blazing outbreak escaping him_). Let me
alone! I told you at the start I should never give way. And I never
will. Never! If you send that letter of refusal, do you know what I
shall do? I shall go and see the War Cabinet myself. I shall tell them
you don't mean it. I'll make the most horrible scandal.... When I think
of the Duke of Wellington--
CULVER (_surprised and alarmed_). The Duke of Wellington?
MRS. CULVER (_drawing herself up at the door, L_). The Duke of
Wellington didn't refuse a title! Hildegarde shall sleep in our room,
and you can have hers! (_Exit violently, L_.)
CULVER (_intimidated, as she goes_). Look here, hurricane! (_He rushes
out after her_.)
_Enter_ Hildegarde _and_ Tranto, _back_.
HILDEGARDE (_seeing the room empty_). Well, I thought I heard them.
TRANTO (_catching noise of high words from the boudoir_.) I fancy I _do_
hear them.
HILDEGARDE. Perhaps we'd better go.
TRANTO. But I want to speak to you--just for a moment.
HILDEGARDE (_moving uneasily_). What about?
TRANTO. I don't know. Anything. It doesn't matter what ... I don't hear
them now.
HILDEGARDE (_listening and hearing nothing; reassured_). I should have
thought you wouldn't have wanted to come here any more for a long time.
TRANTO. Why?
HILDEGARDE. After the terrible experiences of last night, during dinner
and after dinner.
TRANTO. The general constraint?
HILDEGARDE. The general constraint.
TRANTO. The awkwardness? HILDEGARDE. The awkwardness.
TRANTO. The frightful silences and the forced conversations?
HILDEGARDE (_nods_). Why _did_ you come?
TRANTO. Well--
HILDEGARDE. I suppose you're still confined to this house.
TRANTO (_in a new confidential tone_). I wish you'd treat me as your
father does.
HILDEGARDE. But of course I will--
TRANTO. That's fine. He treats me as an intimate friend.
HILDEGARDE. But you must treat me as you treat papa.
TRANTO (_slightly dashed_). I'll try. I might tell you that I had two
very straight talks with your father last night.
HILDEGARDE. Two?
TRANTO. Yes; one before dinner, and the other just before I left--when
you'd gone to bed. He began them--both of them.
HILDEGARDE. Oh! So that you may be said to know the whole situation.
TRANTO. Yes. Up to last thing last night, that is.
HILDEGARDE. Since then it's developed on normal lines. What do you think
of it?
TRANTO. I adore your mother, but I think your father's quite right.
HILDEGARDE. Well, naturally! I take that for granted. I was expecting
something rather more original.
TRANTO. You shall have it. I think that you and I are very largely
responsible for the situation. I think our joint responsibility binds us
inextricably together.
HILDEGARDE. Mr. Tranto!
TRANTO. Certainly. There's no doubt in my mind that your father was
enormously influenced by Sampson Straight's article on the Honours
scandal. In fact he told me so. And seeing that you wrote it and I
published it--
HILDEGARDE (_alarmed_). You didn't tell him I'm Sampson Straight?
TRANTO. Can you imagine me doing such a thing?
HILDEGARDE. I hope not. Shall I tell you what _I_ think of the
situation?
TRANTO. I wish you would.
HILDEGARDE. I think such situations would never arise if parents weren't
so painfully unromantic. I'm not speaking particularly of papa and
mamma. I mean all parents. But take mamma. She's absolutely
matter-of-fact. And papa's nearly as bad. Of course I know they're
always calling each other by pet names; but that's mere camouflage for
their matter-of-factness. Whereas if they both had in them a little of
the real romance of life--everything would be different. At the same
time I needn't say that in this affair that we're now in the middle
of--there's no question of ratiocination.
TRANTO. Of what?
HILDEGARDE. Ratiocination. Reasoning. On either side.
TRANTO. Oh no!
HILDEGARDE. It's simply a question of mutual attitude, isn't it? Now, if
only--. But there! What's the use? Parents are like that, poor dears!
They have forgotten! (_With emphasis_.) They have forgotten--what makes
life worth living.
TRANTO. You mean, for instance, your mother never sits on your father's
knee.
HILDEGARDE (_bravely, after hesitation_). Yes! Crudely--that's what I do
mean.
TRANTO. Miss Hildegarde, you are the most marvellous girl I ever met.
You are, really! You seem to combine all qualities. It's amazing to me.
I'm more and more astounded. Every time I come here there's a fresh
revelation. Now you mention romance. I'm glad you mentioned it first.
But I _saw_ it first. I saw it in your eyes the first time I ever met
you. Yes! Miss Hilda, do you see it in mine? Look. Look closely.
(_Approaching her_.) Because it's there. I must tell you. I can't wait
any longer. (_Feeling for her hand, vainly_.)
HILDEGARDE (_drawing back_). Mr. Tranto, is this the way you treat
father?
[Enter_ Mr. Culver, _back_.]
CULVER (_quickly_). Hilda, go to your mother. She's upstairs.
HILDEGARDE. What am I to do?
CULVER. I don't know. (_With meaning_.) Think what the sagacious Sampson
Straight would do, and do that.
(Hildegarde _gives a sharp look first at_ Culver, _and then at_ Tranto,
_and exit, back_.)
CULVER (_turning to_ Tranto). My dear fellow, the war is practically
over.
TRANTO. Good heavens! There was nothing on the tape when I left the
Club.
CULVER. Oh! I don't mean your war. I mean the twenty-two years' war.
TRANTO. The twenty-two years' war?
CULVER. My married life. Over! Finished! Napoo!
TRANTO. Do you know what you're saying?
CULVER. Look here, Tranto. You and I don't belong to the same
generation. In fact, if I'd started early enough I might have been your
father. But we got so damned intimate last night, and I'm in such a
damned hole, and you're so damned wise, that I feel I must talk to you.
Not that it'll be any use.
TRANTO. But what's the matter?
CULVER. The matter is--keeping a woman in the house.
TRANTO. Mr. Culver! You don't mean--
CULVER. I mean my wife--of course. I've just had the most ghastly rumpus
with my wife. It was divided into two acts. The first took place here,
the second in the boudoir (_indicating boudoir_). The second act was the
shortest but the worst.
TRANTO. But what was it all about?
CULVER. Now for heaven's sake don't ask silly questions. You know
perfectly well what it was about. It was about the baronetcy. I have
decided to refuse that baronetcy, and my wife has refused to let me
refuse it.
TRANTO. But what are her arguments?
CULVER. I've implored you once not to ask silly questions. 'What are her
arguments' indeed! She hasn't got any arguments. You know that. You're
too wise not to know it. She merely wants the title, that's all.
TRANTO. And how did the second act end?
CULVER. I don't quite remember.
TRANTO. Let me suggest that you sit down. (Culver _sits_.) Thanks. Now
I've always gathered from my personal observation, that you, if I may
say so, are the top dog here when it comes to the point--the crowned
head, as it were.
CULVER. Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown. At least, it did last
night, and I shall be greatly surprised if it doesn't to-night.
TRANTO. Naturally. A crown isn't a night-cap. But you are the top dog.
In the last resort, what you say, goes. That is so, isn't it? I only
want to be clear.
CULVER. Yes, I think that's pretty right.
TRANTO. Well, you have decided on public grounds, and as a question of
principle, to refuse the title. You intend to refuse it.
CULVER. I--I do.
TRANTO. Nobody can stop you from refusing it.
CULVER. Nobody.
TRANTO. Mrs. Culver can't stop you from refusing it?
CULVER. Certainly not. It concerns me alone.
TRANTO. Well, then, where is the difficulty? A rumpus--I think you
said. What of that? My dear Mr. Culver, believe me, I have seen far more
of marriage than you have. You're only a married man. I'm a bachelor,
and I've assisted at scores of married lives. A rumpus is nothing. It
passes--and leaves the victor more firmly established than ever before.
CULVER (_rising_). Don't talk to me of rumpuses. I know all about
rumpuses. This one is an arch-rumpus. This one is like no other rumpus
that ever was. It's something new in my vast experience. I shall win. I
have won. But at what cost? (_With effect_.) The cost may be that I
shall never kiss the enemy again. The whole domestic future is in grave
jeopardy.
TRANTO. Seriously?
CULVER. Seriously.
TRANTO. Then you musn't win.
CULVER. But what about my public duty? What about my principles? I can't
sacrifice my principles.
TRANTO. Why not?
CULVER. I never have.
TRANTO. How old are you?
CULVER. Forty-four.
TRANTO. And you've never sacrificed a principle?
CULVER. Never.
TRANTO. Then it's high time you began. And you'd better begin, before
it's too late. Besides, there are no principles in married life.
CULVER. Tranto, you are remarkable. How did you find that out?
TRANTO. I've often noticed it.
CULVER. It's a profound truth. It throws a new light on the entire
situation.
TRANTO. It does.
CULVER. Then you deliberately advise me to give way about the title?
TRANTO. I do.
CULVER. Strange! (_Casually_.) I had thought of doing so, but I never
dreamt you'd agree, and I'd positively determined to act on your advice.
You know, you're taking an immense responsibility.
TRANTO. I can bear that. What I couldn't bear is any kind of real
trouble in this house.
CULVER. Why? What's it got to do with you?
TRANTO. Nothing! Nothing! Only my abstract interest in the institution
of marriage.
CULVER (_ringing the bell twice_). Ah, well, after all, I'm not utterly
beaten yet. I've quite half an hour before post goes, and I shall fight
to the last ditch.
TRANTO. But hasn't Mrs. Culver retired?
CULVER. Yes.
TRANTO. May I suggest that it would be mistaken tactics to--er--run
after her?
CULVER. It would.
TRANTO. Well then?
CULVER. She will return.
TRANTO. How do you know?
CULVER. She always does.... No, Tranto, I may yet get peace on my own
terms. You see I'm an accountant. No ordinary people, accountants! For
one thing they make their money by counting other people's. I've known
accountants do marvellous stunts.
_Enter_ Miss Starkey, _back_.
TRANTO. I'll leave you.
CULVER. You'll find John somewhere about. I shan't be so very long--I
hope. Miss Starkey, kindly take down these two letters. How much time
have we before post goes?
(_Exit_ Tranto, _back_.)
MISS STARKEY. Forty minutes.
CULVER. Excellent.
MISS STARKEY (_indicating some papers which she has brought_). These
things ought to be attended to to-night.
CULVER. Possibly. But they won't be.
MISS STARKEY. The Rosenberg matter is very urgent. He leaves for Glasgow
to-morrow.
CULVER. I wish he'd leave for Berlin. I won't touch it to-night. Please
take down these two letters.
MISS STARKEY. Then it will be necessary for you to be at the office at
9.30 in the morning.
CULVER. I decline to be at the office at 9.30 in the morning.
MISS STARKEY. But I've an appointment for you. I was afraid you wouldn't
do anything to-night.
CULVER (_resigned_). Very well! Very well! Tell them to call me, and see
cook about breakfast. (_Beginning to dictate_.) 'My dear Lord Woking'--
MISS STARKEY (_sitting_). Excuse me, is this letter about the title?
CULVER. Yes.
MISS STARKEY. Then it ought to be an autograph letter. That's the
etiquette.
CULVER. How do you know?
MISS STARKEY. General knowledge.
CULVER. In this case the rule will be broken. That's flat.
MISS STARKEY. Then I must imitate your handwriting.
CULVER. Can you?
MISS STARKEY. You ought to know, Mr. Culver--by this time.
CULVER. I don't know officially. However, have your own way. Forge the
whole thing, signature and all. I don't care. 'My dear Lord Woking.
Extreme pressure of--er--government business has compelled me to leave
till last thing to-night my reply to your letter in which you are good
enough to communicate to me the offer of a baronetcy. I cannot
adequately express to you my sense of the honour in contemplation, but,
comma, for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you,
comma, I feel bound, with the greatest respect and the greatest
gratitude, to ask to be allowed to refuse. (Miss Starkey _shows
emotion_.) I am sure I can rely on you to convey my decision to the
proper quarter with all your usual tact. Believe me, my dear Lord
Woking, Cordially yours.' (_To_ Miss Starkey.) What in heaven's name is
the matter with you?
MISS STARKEY. Mr. Culver. I shall have to give you a month's notice.
CULVER (_staggered_). Have--have you gone mad too?
MISS STARKEY. Not that I am aware of. But I must give a month's
notice--for certain personal reasons with which I need not trouble you.
CULVER. Young woman, you know that you are absolutely indispensable to
me. You know that without you I should practically cease to exist. I am
quite open with you as to that--and as to everything. You are acquainted
with the very depths of my character and the most horrible secrets of my
life. I conceal nothing from you, and I demand that you conceal nothing
from me. What are your reasons for giving me notice in this manner?
MISS STARKEY. My self respect would not allow me to remain with a
gentleman who had refused a title. Oh, Mr. Culver, to be the private
secretary to a baronet has been my life's dream. And--and--I have just
had the offer of a place where a _peerage_ is in prospect. Still, I
wouldn't have, taken even that if you had not--if you had
not--(_controlling herself, coldly_). Kindly accept my notice. I give it
at once because I shall have no time to lose for the peerage.
CULVER. Miss Starkey, you drive me to the old, old conclusion--all women
are alike.
MISS STARKEY. Then my leaving will cause you no inconvenience, because
you'll easily get another girl exactly like me.
CULVER. You are a heartless creature. (_In an ordinary voice_.) Did we
finish the first letter? This is the second one. (_Dictates_.) 'My dear
Lord Woking'--
MISS STARKEY. But you've just given me that one.
CULVER (_firmly_.) 'My dear Lord Woking.' Go on the same as the first
one down to 'I cannot adequately express to you my sense of the honour
in contemplation.' 'Full stop. I need hardly say that, in spite of my
feeling that I have done only too little to deserve it, I accept it with
the greatest pleasure and the greatest gratitude. Believe me, etc.'
MISS STARKEY. But--
CULVER. Don't imagine that your giving me notice has affected me in the
slightest degree. It has not. I told you I had two letters. I have not
yet decided whether to accept or refuse the title. (_Enter_ Mrs. Culver,
_back_.) Go and copy both letters and bring them in to me in a quarter
of an hour, whether I ring or not. That will give you plenty of time for
post. Now--run! (_Exit_ Miss Starkey, _back_. Culver _rises, clears his
throat, and obviously braces himself for a final effort of firmness_.
Mrs. Culver _calmly rearranges some flowers in a vase_.) Well, my dear,
I was expecting you.
MRS. CULVER (_very sweetly_), Arthur, I was wrong.
CULVER (_startled_). Good God! (Mrs. Culver _bends down to examine the
upholstery of a chair_. Culver _gives a gesture, first of triumph, and
then of apprehension_.)
MRS. CULVER (_looking straight at him_). I say I was wrong.
CULVER (_lightly, but uneasily_). Oh no! Oh no!
MRS. CULVER. Of course I don't mean wrong in my arguments about the
title. Not for a moment. I mean I was wrong not to sacrifice my own
point of view. I'm only a woman, and it's the woman's place to submit.
So I do submit. Naturally I shall always be a true wife to you, but--
CULVER. Now child, don't begin to talk like that. I don't mind _reading_
novels, but I won't have raw lumps of them thrown _at_ me.
MRS. CULVER (_with a gentle smile_), I _must_ talk like this. I shall do
everything I can to make you comfortable, and I hope nobody, and
especially not the poor children, will notice any difference in our
relations.
CULVER (_advancing, with a sort of menace_). But?
MRS. CULVER. But things can never be the same again.
CULVER. I knew the confounded phrase was coming. I knew it. I've read it
scores of times. (_Picking up the vase_.) Hermione, if you continue in
that strain, I will dash this vase into a thousand fragments.
MRS. CULVER (_quietly taking the vase from him and putting it down_).
Arthur, I could have forgiven you everything. What do I
care--really--about a title? (_Falsely_.) I only care for your
happiness. But I can't forgive you for having laid a trap for me last
night--and in front of the children and a stranger too.
CULVER. Laid a trap for you?
MRS. CULVER. You knew all about the title when you first came in last
night and you deliberately led me on.
CULVER. Oh! That! Ah well! One does what one can. You've laid many a
trap for me, my girl. You're still about ten up and two to play in the
trap game.
MRS. CULVER. I've never laid a trap for you.
CULVER. Fibster! Come here. (Mrs. Culver _hesitates_.) Come hither--and
be kissed. (_She_ _approaches submissively, and then, standing like a
marble statue, allows herself to be kissed_. Culver _assumes the
attitude of the triumphant magnanimous male_.) There! That's all right.
MRS. CULVER (_having moved away; still very sweetly and coldly_). Can I
do anything else for you before I go to bed?
CULVER (_ignoring the question; grandly and tolerantly_). Do you
suppose, my marble statue, that after all I've said at the Club about
the rascality of this Honours business, I could ever have appeared there
as a New Year Baronet? The thing's unthinkable. Why, I should have had
to resign and join another Club!
MRS. CULVER (_calmly and severely_). So that's it, is it? I might have
known what was really at the bottom of it all. Your Club again! You have
to choose between your wife and your Club, and of course it's your wife
that must suffer. Naturally!
CULVER. Go on! You'll be saying next that I've committed bigamy with my
Club.
MRS. CULVER (_with youthful vivacity_). I'm an old woman--
CULVER (_flatteringly_). Yes, look at you! Hag! When I fell in love
with you your hair was still down. The marvel to me is that I ever let
you put it up.
MRS. CULVER. I'm only an old woman now. You have had the best part of my
life. You might have given me great pleasure with this title. But no!
Your Club comes first. And what a child you are! As if there's one
single member of your Club who wouldn't envy you your baronetcy!
However, I've nothing more to say. (_Moving towards the door, back_.) Oh
yes, I have. (_Casually_.) I've decided to go away to-morrow and stay
with grandma for a long holiday. She needs me, and if I'm not to break
down entirely I must have a change. I've told Hildegarde
our--arrangements. The poor girl's terribly upset. Please don't disturb
me in the morning. I shall take the noon train. Good-night.
CULVER. Hermione!
MRS. CULVER (_returning a little from the direction of the door,
submissively_). Yes, Arthur.
CULVER. If you keep on playing the martyr much longer there will be
bloodshed, and you'll know what martyrdom is.
MRS. CULVER (_in a slightly relenting tone_). Arthur, you were always
conscientious. Your conscience is working.
CULVER. I have no conscience. Never had.
MRS. CULVER (_persuasively, and with much charm_). Yes you have, and
it's urging you to give way to your sensible little wife. You know
you're only bluffing.
CULVER. Indeed I'm not.
MRS. CULVER. Yes, you are. Mr. Tranto advised you to give way, and you
think such a lot of his opinion.
CULVER. Who told you Tranto advised me to give way?
MRS. CULVER. He did.
CULVER. Damn him!
MRS. CULVER (_soothingly_). Yes, yes.
CULVER. No, no!
MRS. CULVER. And your dear, indispensable Miss Starkey thinks the same.
(_She tries to kiss him_.) CULVER. No, no! (Mrs. Culver _succeeds in
kissing him_.)
[Enter Miss Starkey.]
(_The other two spring apart. A short pause_.)
CULVER. Which is the refusal?
MISS STARKEY. This one.
CULVER. Put it in the fire. (Miss Starkey _obeys. Both the women show
satisfaction in their different ways_.) Give me the acceptance. (_He
takes the letter of acceptance and reads it_.)
MRS. CULVER (_while he is reading the letter_). Miss Starkey, you look
very pale. Have you had any dinner?
MISS STARKEY. Not yet, madam.
MRS. CULVER. You poor dear! (_She strokes_ Miss Starkey. _They both look
at the tyrannical male_.) I'll order something for you at once.
MISS STARKEY. I shall have to go to the post first.
CULVER (_glancing up_). I'll go to the post myself. I must have air,
air! Where's the envelope? (_Exit_ Miss Starkey _quickly, back_.) (Mrs.
Culver _gently takes the letter from her husband and reads it_. Culver
_drops into a chair_.)
MRS. CULVER (_putting down the letter_). Darling!
CULVER. I thought I was a brute?
MRS. CULVER (_caressing and kissing him_). I do so love my brute, and I
am so happy. Darling! But you are a silly old darling, wasting all this
time.
CULVER. Wasting all what time?
MRS. CULVER. Why, the moment I came in again I could see you'd decided
to give way. (_With a gesture of delight_.) I must run and tell the
children. (_Exit, L_.)
[Enter Miss Starkey _back_.]
MISS STARKEY. Here's the envelope.
CULVER (_taking it_). Tell them to get me my hat and overcoat.
MISS STARKEY. Yes, Sir Arthur. (Culver _starts_.) (_Exit_ Miss Starkey,
_back_.)
CULVER (_as he puts the letter in the envelope; with an air of
discovery_). I suppose I _do_ like being called 'Sir Arthur.'
_Enter_ Hildegard _and_ John _both disgusted, back_.
JOHN (_to_ Hildegarde, _as they come in_). I told you last night he
couldn't control even the mater. However, I'll be even with her yet.
CULVER. What do you mean, boy?
JOHN. I mean I'll be even with the mater yet. You'll see.
HILDEGARDE. Papa, you've behaved basely. Basely! What an example to us!
I intend to leave this house and live alone.
CULVER. You ought to marry Mr. Sampson Straight. (Hildegarde _starts and
is silent_.)
JOHN. Fancy me having to go back to school the son of a rotten baronet,
and with the frightful doom of being a rotten baronet myself. What price
the anti-hereditary-principle candidate! Dad, I hope you won't die just
yet--it would ruin my political career. Stay me with flagons!
CULVER. Me too!
[CURTAIN.] _
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