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Mr. Pim Passes By: A Comedy In Three Acts, a play by A. A. Milne |
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_ ACT I (The morning-room at Marden House (Buckinghamshire) decided more than a hundred years ago that it was all right, and has not bothered about itself since. Visitors to the house have called the result such different adjectives as "mellow" "old-fashioned," "charming"--even "baronial" and "antique"; but nobody ever said it was "exciting." Sometimes OLIVIA wants it to be more exciting, and last week she let herself go over some new curtains. At present they are folded up and waiting for her; she still has the rings to put on. It is obvious that the curtains alone will overdo the excitement; they will have to be harmonised with a new carpet and cushions. OLIVIA has her eye on just the things, but one has to go carefully with GEORGE. What was good enough for his great-great-grandfather is good enough for him. However, we can trust OLIVIA to see him through it, although it may take time.) (There are two ways of coming into the room; by the open windows leading from the terrace or by the door. On this pleasant July morning MR. PIM chooses the latter way--or rather ANNE chooses it for him; and old MR. PIM, wistful, kindly, gentle, little MR. PIM, living in some world of his own whither we cannot follow, ambles after her.) ANNE. I'll tell Mr. Marden you're here, sir. Mr. Pim, isn't it? PIM (coming back to this world). Yes--er--Mr. Carraway Pim. He doesn't know me, you understand, but if he could just see me for a moment--er--(He fumbles in his pockets) I gave you that letter? ANNE. Yes, sir, I'll give it to him. PIM (bringing out a letter which is not the one he was looking for, but which reminds him of something else he has forgotten). Dear me! ANNE. Yes, sir? PIM. I ought to have sent a telegram, but I can do it on my way back. You have a telegraph office in the village? ANNE. Oh yes, sir. If you turn to the left when you get outside the gates, it isn't more than a hundred yards down the hill. PIM. Thank you, thank you. Very stupid of me to have forgotten. [ANNE goes out.] (MR. PIM wanders about the room humming to himself, and looking vaguely at the pictures. He has his back to the door as DINAH comes in. She is nineteen, very pretty, very happy, and full of boyish high spirits and conversation.) DINAH. Hullo! PIM (turning round). Ah, good morning, Mrs. Marden. You must forgive my--er-- DINAH. Oh I say, I'm not Mrs. Marden. I'm Dinah. PIM (with a bow). Then I will say, Good morning, Miss Diana. DINAH (reproachfully). Now, look here, if you and I are going to be friends you mustn't do that. Dinah, _not_ Diana. Do remember it, there's a good man, because I get so tired of correcting people. Have you come to stay with us? PIM. Well no, Miss--er--Dinah. DINAH (nodding). That's right. I can see I shan't have to speak to _you_ again. Now tell me _your_ name, and I bet you I get it right first time. And do sit down. PIM (sitting down). Thank you. My name is--er--Pim, Carraway Pim-- DINAH. Pim, that's easy. PIM. And I have a letter of introduction to your father-- DINAH. Oh no; now you're going wrong again, Mr. Pim. George isn't my father; he's my uncle. _Uncle_ George--he doesn't like me calling him George. Olivia doesn't mind--I mean she doesn't mind being called Olivia, but George is rather touchy. You see, he's been my guardian since I was about two, and then about five years ago he married a widow called Mrs. Telworthy--that's Olivia--so she became my Aunt Olivia, only she lets me drop the Aunt. Got that? PIM (a little alarmed). I--I think so, Miss Marden. DINAH (admiringly). I say, you _are_ quick, Mr. Pim. Well, if you take my advice, when you've finished your business with George, you will hang about a bit and see if you can't see Olivia. She's simply devastating. I don't wonder George fell in love with her. PIM. It's only the merest matter of business--just a few minutes with your uncle--I'm afraid I shall hardly-- DINAH. Well, you must please yourself, Mr. Pim. I'm just giving you a friendly word of advice. Naturally, I was awfully glad to get such a magnificent aunt, because, of course, marriage _is_ rather a toss up, isn't it, and George might have gone off with anybody. It's different on the stage, where guardians always marry their wards, but George couldn't marry _me_ because I'm his niece. Mind you, I don't say that I should have had him, because between ourselves he's a little bit old-fashioned. PIM. So he married--er--Mrs. Marden instead. DINAH. Mrs. Telworthy--don't say you've forgotten already, just when you were getting so good at names. Mrs. Telworthy. You see, Olivia married the Telworthy man and went to Australia with him, and he drank himself to death in the bush, or wherever you drink yourself to death out there, and Olivia came home to England, and met my uncle, and he fell in love with her and proposed to her, and he came into my room that night--I was about fourteen--and turned on the light and said, "Dinah, how would you like to have a beautiful aunt of your very own?" And I said: "Congratulations, George." That was the first time I called him George. Of course, I'd seen it coming for _weeks_. Telworthy, isn't it a funny name? PIM. Very singular. From Australia, you say? DINAH. Yes, I always say that he's probably still alive, and will turn up here one morning and annoy George, because that's what first husbands always do in books, but I'm afraid there's not much chance. PIM (shocked). Miss Marden! DINAH. Well, of course, I don't really _want_ it to happen, but it _would_ be rather exciting, wouldn't it? However, things like that never seem to occur down here, somehow. There was a hay-rick burnt last year about a mile away, but that isn't quite the same thing, is it? PIM. No, I should say that that was certainly different. DINAH. Of course, something very, very wonderful did happen last night, but I'm not sure if I know you well enough---- (She looks at him hesitatingly.) PIM (uncomfortably). Really, Miss Marden, I am only a--a passer-by, here to-day and gone to-morrow. You really mustn't---- DINAH. And yet there's something about you, Mr. Pim, which inspires confidence. The fact is--(in a stage whisper)--I got engaged last night! PIM. Dear me, let me congratulate you. DINAH. I expect that's why George is keeping you such a long time. Brian, my young man, the well-known painter--only nobody has ever heard of him--he's smoking a pipe with George in the library and asking for his niece's hand. Isn't it exciting? You're really rather lucky, Mr. Pim--I mean being told so soon. Even Olivia doesn't know yet. PIM (getting up). Yes, yes. I congratulate you, Miss Marden. Perhaps it would be better---- [ANNE comes in.] ANNE. Mr. Marden is out at the moment, sir---- Oh, I didn't see you, Miss Dinah. DINAH. It's all right, Anne. _I'm_ looking after Mr. Pim. ANNE. Yes, Miss. [She goes out.] DINAH (excitedly). That's me. They can't discuss me in the library without breaking down, so they're walking up and down outside, and slashing at the thistles in order to conceal their emotion. _You_ know. I expect Brian---- PIM (looking at his watch). Yes, I think, Miss Marden, I had better go now and return a little later. I have a telegram which I want to send, and perhaps by the time I came back---- DINAH. Oh, but how disappointing of you, when we were getting on together so nicely. And it was just going to be your turn to tell me all about _your_self. PIM. I have really nothing to tell, Miss Marden. I have a letter of introduction to Mr. Marden, who in turn will give me, I hope, a letter to a certain distinguished man whom it is necessary for me to meet. That is all. (Holding out his hand) And now, Miss Marden---- DINAH. Oh, I'll start you on your way to the post office. I want to know if you're married, and all that sort of thing. You've got heaps to tell me, Mr. Pim. Have you got your hat? That's right. Then we'll--hullo, here's Brian. (BRIAN STRANGE comes in at the windows. He is what GEORGE calls a damned futuristic painter-chap, aged twenty-four. To look at, he is a very pleasant boy, rather untidily dressed.) BRIAN (nodding). How do you do? DINAH (seizing him). Brian, this is Mr. Pim. Mr. Carraway Pim. He's been telling me all about himself. It's so interesting. He's just going to send a telegram, and then he's coming back again. Mr. Pim, this is Brian--_you_ know. BRIAN (smiling and shaking hands). How do you do? DINAH (pleadingly). You _won't_ mind going to the post office by yourself, will you, because, you see, Brian and I--(she looks lovingly at BRIAN). PIM (because they are so young). Miss Dinah and Mr.--er--Brian, I have only come into your lives for a moment, and it is probable that I shall now pass out of them for ever, but you will allow an old man---- DINAH. Oh, not old! PIM (chuckling happily). Well, a middle-aged man--to wish you both every happiness in the years that you have before you. Good-bye, good-bye. [He disappears gently through the windows.] DINAH. Brian, he'll get lost if he goes that way. BRIAN (going to the windows and calling after him). Round to the left, sir. . . . That's right. (He comes back into the room) Rum old bird. Who is he? DINAH. Darling, you haven't kissed me yet. BRIAN (taking her in his arms). I oughtn't to, but then one never ought to do the nice things. DINAH. Why oughtn't you? (They sit on the sofa together.) BRIAN. Well, we said we'd be good until we'd told your uncle and aunt all about it. You see, being a guest in their house---- DINAH. But, darling child, what _have_ you been doing all this morning _except_ telling George? BRIAN. _Trying_ to tell George. DINAH (nodding). Yes, of course, there's a difference. BRIAN. I think he guessed there was something up, and he took me down to see the pigs--he said he had to see the pigs at once--I don't know why; an appointment perhaps. And we talked about pigs all the way, and I couldn't say, "Talking about pigs, I want to marry your niece----" DINAH (with mock indignation). Of course you couldn't. BRIAN. No. Well, you see how it was. And then when we'd finished talking about pigs, we started talking _to_ the pigs---- DINAH (eagerly). Oh, _how_ is Arnold? BRIAN. The little black-and-white one? He's very jolly, I believe, but naturally I wasn't thinking about him much. I was wondering how to begin. And then Lumsden came up, and wanted to talk pig-food, and the atmosphere grew less and less romantic, and--and I gradually drifted away. DINAH. Poor darling. Well, we shall have to approach him through Olivia. BRIAN. But I always wanted to tell her first; she's so much easier. Only you wouldn't let me. DINAH. That's _your_ fault, Brian. You would tell Olivia that she ought to have orange-and-black curtains. BRIAN. But she _wants_ orange-and-black curtains. DINAH. Yes, but George says he's not going to have any futuristic nonsense in an honest English country house, which has been good enough for his father and his grandfather and his great-grandfather, and--and all the rest of them. So there's a sort of strained feeling between Olivia and George just now, and if Olivia were to--sort of recommend you, well, it wouldn't do you much good. BRIAN (looking at her). I see. Of course I know what _you_ want, Dinah. DINAH. What do I want? BRIAN. You want a secret engagement, and notes left under door-mats, and meetings by the withered thorn, when all the household is asleep. _I_ know you. DINAH. Oh, but it is such fun! I love meeting people by withered thorns. BRIAN. Well, I'm not going to have it. DINAH (childishly). Oh, George! Look at us being husbandy! BRIAN. You babe! I adore you. (He kisses her and holds her away from him and looks at her) You know, you're rather throwing yourself away on me. Do you mind? DINAH. Not a bit. BRIAN. We shall never be rich, but we shall have lots of fun, and meet interesting people, and feel that we're doing something worth doing, and not getting paid nearly enough for it, and we can curse the Academy together and the British Public, and--oh, it's an exciting life. DINAH (seeing it). I shall love it. BRIAN. I'll make you love it. You shan't be sorry, Dinah. DINAH. You shan't be sorry either, Brian. BRIAN (looking at her lovingly). Oh, I know I shan't. . . . What will Olivia think about it? Will she be surprised? DINAH. She's never surprised. She always seems to have thought of things about a week before they happen. George just begins to get hold of them about a week _after_ they've happened. (Considering him) After all, there's no reason why George _shouldn't_ like you, darling. BRIAN. I'm not his sort, you know. DINAH. You're more Olivia's sort. Well, we'll tell Olivia this morning. OLIVIA (coming in). And what are you going to tell Olivia this morning? (She looks at them with a smile) Oh, well, I think I can guess. (Shall we describe OLIVIA? But you will know all about her before the day is over.) DINAH (jumping up). Olivia, darling! BRIAN (following). Say you understand, Mrs. Marden. OLIVIA. Mrs. Marden, I am afraid, is a very dense person, Brian, but I think if you asked Olivia if she understood---- BRIAN. Bless you, Olivia. I knew you'd be on our side. DINAH. Of course she would. OLIVIA. I don't know if it's usual to kiss an aunt-in-law, Brian, but Dinah is such a very special sort of niece that--(she inclines her cheek and BRIAN kisses it). DINAH. I say, you _are_ in luck to-day, Brian. OLIVIA (going over to her chair by the work-table and getting to business with the curtains) And how many people have been told the good news? BRIAN. Nobody yet. DINAH. Except Mr. Pim. BRIAN. Oh, does _he_-- OLIVIA. Who's Mr. Pim? DINAH. Oh, he just happened--I say, are those _the_ curtains? Then you're going to have them after all? OLIVIA (with an air of surprise). After all what? But I decided on them long ago. (to BRIAN) You haven't told George yet? BRIAN. I began to, you know, but I never got any farther than "Er--there's just--er--" DINAH. George _would_ talk about pigs all the time. OLIVIA. Well, I suppose you want me to help you. DINAH. Do, darling. BRIAN. It would be awfully decent of you. Of course, I'm not quite his sort really-- DINAH. You're _my_ sort. BRIAN. But I don't think he objects to me, and-- (GEORGE comes in, a typical, narrow-minded, honest country gentleman of forty odd.) GEORGE (at the windows). What's all this about a Mr. Pim? (He kicks some of the mud off his boots) Who is he? Where is he? I had most important business with Lumsden, and the girl comes down and cackles about a Mr. Pim, or Ping, or something. Where did I put his card? (Bringing it out) Carraway Pim. Never heard of him in my life. DINAH. He said he had a letter of introduction, Uncle George. GEORGE. Oh, _you_ saw him, did you? Yes, that reminds me, there _was_ a letter--(he brings it out and reads it). DINAH. He had to send a telegram. He's coming back. OLIVIA. Pass me those scissors, Brian. BRIAN. These? (He picks them up and comes close to her.) OLIVIA. Thank you. (She indicates GEORGE'S back. "Now?" says BRIAN with his eyebrows. She nods.) GEORGE (reading). Ah well, a friend of Brymer's. Glad to oblige him. Yes, I know the man he wants. Coming back, you say, Dinah? Then I'll be going back. Send him down to the farm, Olivia, when he comes. (to BRIAN) Hallo, what happened to _you_? OLIVIA. Don't go, George, there's something we want to talk about. GEORGE. Hallo, what's this? BRIAN (to OLIVIA). Shall I----? OLIVIA. Yes. BRIAN (stepping out). I've been wanting to tell you all this morning, sir, only I didn't seem to have an opportunity of getting it out. GEORGE. Well, what is it? BRIAN. I want to marry Dinah, sir. GEORGE. You want to marry Dinah? God bless my soul! DINAH (rushing to him and putting her cheek against his coat). Oh, do say you like the idea, Uncle George. GEORGE. Like the idea! Have you heard of this nonsense, Olivia? OLIVIA. They've just this moment told me, George. I think they would be happy together. GEORGE (to BRIAN). And what do you propose to be happy together _on_? BRIAN. Well, of course, it doesn't amount to much at present, but we shan't starve. DINAH. Brian got fifty pounds for a picture last March! GEORGE (a little upset by this). Oh! (Recovering gamely) And how many pictures have you sold since? BRIAN. Well, none, but-- GEORGE. None! And I don't wonder. Who the devil is going to buy pictures with triangular clouds and square sheep? And they call that Art nowadays! Good God, man, (waving him to the windows) go outside and _look_ at the clouds! OLIVIA. If he draws round clouds in future, George, will you let him marry Dinah? GEORGE. What--what? Yes, of course, you _would_ be on his side--all this Futuristic nonsense. I'm just taking these clouds as an example. I suppose I can see as well as any man in the county, and I say that clouds _aren't_ triangular. BRIAN. After all, sir, at my age one is naturally experimenting, and trying to find one's (with a laugh)--well, it sounds priggish, but one's medium of expression. I shall find out what I want to do directly, but I think I shall always be able to earn enough to live on. Well, I have for the last three years. GEORGE. I see, and now you want to experiment with a wife, and you propose to start experimenting with _my_ niece? BRIAN (with a shrug). Well, of course, if you-- OLIVIA. You could help the experiment, darling, by giving Dinah a good allowance until she's twenty-one. GEORGE. Help the experiment! I don't _want_ to help the experiment. OLIVIA (apologetically). Oh, I thought you did. GEORGE. You will talk as if I was made of money. What with taxes always going up and rents always going down, it's as much as we can do to rub along as we are, without making allowances to everybody who thinks she wants to get married. (to BRIAN) And that's thanks to you, my friend. BRIAN (surprised) To me? OLIVIA. You never told me, darling. What's Brian been doing? DINAH (indignantly). He hasn't been doing anything. GEORGE. He's one of your Socialists who go turning the country upside down. OLIVIA. But even Socialists must get married sometimes. GEORGE. I don't see any necessity. OLIVIA. But you'd have nobody to damn after dinner, darling, if they all died out. BRIAN. Really, sir, I don't see what my politics and my art have got to do with it. I'm perfectly ready not to talk about either when I'm in your house, and as Dinah doesn't seem to object to them-- DINAH. I should think she doesn't. GEORGE. Oh, you can get round the women, I daresay. BRIAN. Well, it's Dinah I want to marry and live with. So what it really comes to is that you don't think I can support a wife. GEORGE. Well, if you're going to do it by selling pictures, I don't think you can. BRIAN. All right, tell me how much you want me to earn in a year, and I'll earn it. GEORGE (hedging). It isn't merely a question of money. I just mention that as one thing--one of the important things. In addition to that, I think you are both too young to marry. I don't think you know your own minds, and I am not at all persuaded that, with what I venture to call your outrageous tastes, you and my niece will live happily together. Just because she thinks she loves you, Dinah may persuade herself now that she agrees with all you say and do, but she has been properly brought up in an honest English country household, and--er--she--well, in short, I cannot at all approve of any engagement between you. (Getting up) Olivia, if this Mr.--er--Pim comes, I shall be down at the farm. You might send him along to me. (He walks towards the windows.) BRIAN (indignantly). Is there any reason why I shouldn't marry a girl who has been properly brought up? GEORGE. I think you know my views, Strange. OLIVIA. George, wait a moment, dear. We can't quite leave it like this. GEORGE. I have said all I want to say on the subject. OLIVIA. Yes, darling, but I haven't begun to say all that _I_ want to say on the subject. GEORGE. Of course, if you have anything to say, Olivia, I will listen to it; but I don't know that this is quite the time, or that you have chosen--(looking darkly at the curtains)--quite the occupation likely to--er--endear your views to me. DINAH (mutinously). I may as well tell you, Uncle George, that _I_ have got a good deal to say, too. OLIVIA. I can guess what you are going to say, Dinah, and I think you had better keep it for the moment. DINAH (meekly). Yes, Aunt Olivia. OLIVIA. Brian, you might take her outside for a walk. I expect you have plenty to talk about. GEORGE. Now mind, Strange, no love-making. I put you on your honour about that. BRIAN. I'll do my best to avoid it, sir. DINAH (cheekily). May I take his arm if we go up a hill? OLIVIA. I'm sure you'll know how to behave--both of you. BRIAN. Come on, then, Dinah. DINAH. Righto. GEORGE (as they go). And if you do see any clouds, Strange, take a good look at them. (He chuckles to himself) Triangular clouds--I never heard of such nonsense. (He goes back to his chair at the writing-table) Futuristic rubbish. . . . Well, Olivia? OLIVIA. Well, George? GEORGE. What are you doing? OLIVIA. Making curtains, George. Won't they be rather sweet? Oh, but I forgot--you don't like them. GEORGE. I don't like them, and what is more, I don't mean to have them in my house. As I told you yesterday, this is the house of a simple country gentleman, and I don't want any of these new-fangled ideas in it. OLIVIA. Is marrying for love a new-fangled idea? GEORGE. We'll come to that directly. None of you women can keep to the point. What I am saying now is that the house of my fathers and forefathers is good enough for me. OLIVIA. Do you know, George, I can hear one of your ancestors saying that to his wife in their smelly old cave, when the new-fangled idea of building houses was first suggested. "The Cave of my Fathers is--" GEORGE. That's ridiculous. Naturally we must have progress. But that's just the point. (Indicating the curtains) I don't call this sort of thing progress. It's--ah--retrogression. OLIVIA. Well, anyhow, it's pretty. GEORGE. There I disagree with you. And I must say once more that I will not have them hanging in my house. OLIVIA. Very well, George. (But she goes on working.) GEORGE. That being so, I don't see the necessity of going on with them. OLIVIA. Well, I must do something with them now I've got the material. I thought perhaps I could sell them when they're finished--as we're so poor. GEORGE. What do you mean--so poor? OLIVIA. Well, you said just now that you couldn't give Dinah an allowance because rents had gone down. GEORGE (annoyed). Confound it, Olivia! Keep to the point! We'll talk about Dinah's affairs directly. We're discussing our own affairs at the moment. OLIVIA. But what is there to discuss? GEORGE. Those ridiculous things. OLIVIA. But we've finished that. You've said you wouldn't have them hanging in your house, and I've said, "Very well, George." Now we can go on to Dinah and Brian. GEORGE (shouting). But put these beastly things away. OLIVIA (rising and gathering up the curtains). Very well, George. (She puts them away, slowly, gracefully. There is an uncomfortable silence. Evidently somebody ought to apologise.) GEORGE (realising that he is the one). Er--look here, Olivia, old girl, you've been a jolly good wife to me, and we don't often have rows, and if I've been rude to you about this--lost my temper a bit perhaps, what?--I'll say I'm sorry. May I have a kiss? OLIVIA (holding up her face). George, darling! (He kisses her.) Do you love me? GEORGE. You know I do, old girl. OLIVIA. As much as Brian loves Dinah? GEORGE (stiffly). I've said all I want to say about that. (He goes away from her.) OLIVIA. Oh, but there must be lots you want to say--and perhaps don't like to. Do tell me, darling. GEORGE. What it comes to is this. I consider that Dinah is too young to choose a husband for herself, and that Strange isn't the husband I should choose for her. OLIVIA. You were calling him Brian yesterday. GEORGE. Yesterday I regarded him as a boy, now he wants me to look upon him as a man. OLIVIA. He's twenty-four. GEORGE. And Dinah's nineteen. Ridiculous! OLIVIA. If he'd been a Conservative, and thought that clouds were round, I suppose he'd have seemed older, somehow. GEORGE. That's a different point altogether. That has nothing to do with his age. OLIVIA (innocently). Oh, I thought it had. GEORGE. What I am objecting to is these ridiculously early marriages before either party knows its own mind, much less the mind of the other party. Such marriages invariably lead to unhappiness. OLIVIA. Of course, _my_ first marriage wasn't a happy one. GEORGE. As you know, Olivia, I dislike speaking about your first marriage at all, and I had no intention of bringing it up now, but since you mention it--well, that is a case in point. OLIVIA (looking back at it). When I was eighteen, I was in love. Or perhaps I only thought I was, and I don't know if I should have been happy or not if I had married him. But my father made me marry a man called Jacob Telworthy; and when things were too hot for him in England--"too hot for him"--I think that was the expression we used in those days--then we went to Australia, and I left him there, and the only happy moment I had in all my married life was on the morning when I saw in the papers that he was dead. GEORGE (very uncomfortable). Yes, yes, my dear, I know. You must have had a terrible time. I can hardly bear to think about it. My only hope is that I have made up to you for it in some degree. But I don't see what bearing it has upon Dinah's case. OLIVIA. Oh, none, except that _my_ father _liked_ Jacob's political opinions and his views on art. I expect that that was why he chose him for me. GEORGE. You seem to think that I wish to choose a husband for Dinah. I don't at all. Let her choose whom she likes as long as he can support her and there's a chance of their being happy together. Now, with regard to this fellow-- OLIVIA. You mean Brian? GEORGE. He's got no money, and he's been brought up in quite a different way from Dinah. Dinah may be prepared to believe that--er--all cows are blue, and that--er--waves are square, but she won't go on believing it for ever. OLIVIA. Neither will Brian. GEORGE. Well, that's what I keep telling him, only he won't see it. Just as I keep telling you about those ridiculous curtains. It seems to me that I am the only person in the house with any eyesight left. OLIVIA. Perhaps you are, darling; but you must let us find out our own mistakes for ourselves. At any rate, Brian is a gentleman; he loves Dinah, Dinah loves him; he's earning enough to support himself, and you are earning enough to support Dinah. I think it's worth risking, George. GEORGE (stiffly). I can only say the whole question demands much more anxious thought than you seem to have given it. You say that he is a gentleman. He knows how to behave, I admit; but if his morals are as topsy-turvy as his tastes and--er--politics, as I've no doubt they are, then--er--In short, I do _not_ approve of Brian Strange as a husband for my niece and ward. OLIVIA (looking at him thoughtfully). You _are_ a curious mixture, George. You were so very unconventional when you married me, and you're so very conventional when Brian wants to marry Dinah. . . . George Marden to marry the widow of a convict! GEORGE. Convict! What do you mean? OLIVIA. Jacob Telworthy, convict--I forget his number--surely I told you all this, dear, when we got engaged? GEORGE. Never! OLIVIA. I told you how he carelessly put the wrong signature to a cheque for a thousand pounds in England; how he made a little mistake about two or three companies he'd promoted in Australia; and how-- GEORGE. Yes, yes, but you never told me he was _convicted_! OLIVIA. What difference does it make? GEORGE. My dear Olivia, if you can't see that--a convict! OLIVIA. So, you see, we needn't be too particular about our niece, need we? GEORGE. I think we had better leave your first husband out of the conversation altogether. I never wished to refer to him; I never wish to hear about him again. I certainly had not realised that he was actually--er--_convicted_ for his--er-- OLIVIA. Mistakes. GEORGE. Well, we needn't go into that. As for this other matter, I don't for a moment take it seriously. Dinah is an exceptionally pretty girl, and young Strange is a good-looking boy. If they are attracted to each other, it is a mere outward attraction which I am convinced will not lead to any lasting happiness. That must be regarded as my last word in the matter, Olivia. If this Mr.--er--what was his name, comes, I shall be down at the farm. [He goes out by the door.] (Left alone, OLIVIA brings out her curtains again, and gets calmly to work upon them.) (DINAH and BRIAN come in by the windows.) DINAH. Finished? OLIVIA. Oh no, I've got all these rings to put on. DINAH. I meant talking to George. BRIAN. We walked about outside-- DINAH. Until we heard him _not_ talking to you any more-- BRIAN. And we didn't kiss each other once. DINAH. Brian was very George-like. He wouldn't even let me tickle the back of his neck. (She goes up suddenly to OLIVIA and kneels by her and kisses her) Darling, being George-like is a very nice thing to be--I mean a nice thing for other people to be--I mean--oh, you know what I mean. But say that he's going to be decent about it. OLIVIA. Of course he is, Dinah. BRIAN. You mean he'll let me come here as--as-- DINAH. As my young man? OLIVIA. Oh, I think so. DINAH. Olivia, you're a wonder. Have you really talked him round? OLIVIA. I haven't said anything yet. But I daresay I shall think of something. DINAH (disappointedly). Oh! BRIAN (making the best of it). After all, Dinah, I'm going back to London to-morrow-- OLIVIA. You can be good for one more day, Dinah, and then when Brian isn't here, we'll see what we can do. DINAH. Yes, but I didn't want him to go back to-morrow. BRIAN (sternly). Must. Hard work before me. Earn thousands a year. Paint the Mayor and Corporation of Pudsey, life-size, including chains of office; paint slice of haddock on plate. Copy Landseer for old gentleman in Bayswater. Design antimacassar for middle-aged sofa in Streatham. Earn a living for you, Dinah. DINAH (giggling). Oh, Brian, you're heavenly. What fun we shall have when we're married. BRIAN (stiffly). Sir Brian Strange, R.A., if you please, Miss Marden. Sir Brian Strange, R.A., writes: "Your Sanogene has proved a most excellent tonic. After completing the third acre of my Academy picture 'The Mayor and Corporation of Pudsey' I was completely exhausted, but one bottle of Sanogene revived me, and I finished the remaining seven acres at a single sitting." OLIVIA (looking about her). Brian, find my scissors for me. BRIAN. Scissors. (Looking for them) Sir Brian Strange, R.A., looks for scissors. (Finding them) Aha! Once more we must record an unqualified success for the eminent Academician. Your scissors. OLIVIA. Thank you so much. DINAH. Come on, Brian, let's go out. I feel open-airy. OLIVIA. Don't be late for lunch, there's good people. Lady Marden is coming. DINAH. Aunt Juli-ah! Help! (She faints in BRIAN'S arms) That means a clean pinafore. Brian, you'll jolly well have to brush your hair. BRIAN (feeling it). I suppose there's no time now to go up to London and get it cut? [Enter ANNE, followed by PIM.] ANNE. Mr. Pim! DINAH (delighted). Hullo, Mr. Pim! Here we are again! You can't get rid of us so easily, you see. PIM. I--er--dear Miss Marden-- OLIVIA. How do you do, Mr. Pim? I can't get up, but do come and sit down. My husband will be here in a minute. Anne, send somebody down to the farm-- ANNE. I think I heard the Master in the library, madam. OLIVIA. Oh, will you tell him then? ANNE. Yes, madam. [ANNE goes out.] OLIVIA. You'll stay to lunch, of course, Mr. Pim? DINAH. Oh, do! PIM. It's very kind of you, Mrs. Marden, but-- DINAH. Oh, you simply must, Mr. Pim. You haven't told us half enough about yourself yet. I want to hear all about your early life. OLIVIA. Dinah! PIM. Oh, we are almost, I might say, old friends, Mrs. Marden. DINAH. Of course we are. He knows Brian, too. There's more in Mr. Pim than you think. You _will_ stay to lunch, won't you? PIM. It's very kind of you to ask me, Mrs. Marden, but I am lunching with the Trevors. OLIVIA. Oh, well, you must come to lunch another day. DINAH. The reason why we like Mr. Pim so much is that he was the first person to congratulate us. We feel that he is going to have a great influence on our lives. PIM (to OLIVIA). I, so to speak, stumbled on the engagement this morning and--er-- OLIVIA. I see. Children, you must go and tidy yourselves up. Run along. BRIAN. Sir Brian and Lady Strange never run; they walk. (Offering his arm) Madam! DINAH (taking it). Au revoir, Mr. Pim. (Dramatically) We--shall--meet--_again_! PIM (chuckling). Good morning, Miss Dinah. BRIAN. Good morning. [He and DINAH go out.] OLIVIA. You must forgive them, Mr. Pim. They're such children. And naturally they're rather excited just now. PIM. Oh, not at all, Mrs. Marden. OLIVIA. Of course you won't say anything about their engagement. We only heard about it five minutes ago, and nothing has been settled yet. PIM. Of course, of course! [Enter GEORGE.] GEORGE. Ah, Mr. Pim, we meet at last. Sorry to have kept you waiting before. PIM. The apology should come from me, Mr. Marden for having--er-- GEORGE. Not at all. Very glad to meet you now. Any friend of Brymer's. You want a letter to this man Fanshawe? OLIVIA. Shall I be in your way at all? PIM. Oh, no, no, please don't. GEORGE. It's only just a question of a letter. (Going to his desk) Fanshawe will put you in the way of seeing all that you want to see. He's a very old friend of mine. (Taking a sheet of notepaper) You'll stay to lunch, of course? PIM. I'm afraid I am lunching with the Trevors-- GEORGE. Oh, well, they'll look after you all right. Good chap, Trevor. PIM (to OLIVIA). You see, Mrs. Marden, I have only recently arrived from Australia after travelling about the world for some years, and I'm rather out of touch with my--er--fellow-workers in London. OLIVIA. Oh yes. You've been in Australia, Mr. Pim? GEORGE (disliking Australia). I shan't be a moment, Mr. Pim. (He frowns at OLIVIA.) PIM. Oh, that's all right, thank you. (to OLIVIA) Oh yes, I have been in Australia more than once in the last few years. OLIVIA. Really? I used to live at Sydney many years ago. Do you know Sydney at all? GEORGE (detesting Sydney). H'r'm! Perhaps I'd better mention that you are a friend of the Trevors? PIM. Thank you, thank you. (to OLIVIA) Indeed yes, I spent several months in Sydney. OLIVIA. How curious. I wonder if we have any friends in common there. GEORGE (hastily). Extremely unlikely, I should think. Sydney is a very big place. PIM. True, but the world is a very small place, Mr. Marden. I had a remarkable instance of that, coming over on the boat this last time. GEORGE. Ah! (Feeling that the conversation is now safe, he resumes his letter.) PIM. Yes. There was a man I used to employ in Sydney some years ago, a bad fellow, I'm afraid, Mrs. Marden, who had been in prison for some kind of fraudulent company-promoting and had taken to drink and--and so on. OLIVIA. Yes, yes, I understand. PIM. Drinking himself to death I should have said. I gave him at the most another year to live. Yet to my amazement the first person I saw as I stepped on board the boat that brought me to England last week was this fellow. There was no mistaking him. I spoke to him, in fact; we recognised each other. OLIVIA. Really? PIM. He was travelling steerage; we didn't meet again on board, and as it happened at Marseilles, this poor fellow--er--now what _was_ his name? A very unusual one. Began with a--a T, I think. OLIVIA (with suppressed feeling). Yes, Mr. Pim, yes? (She puts out a hand to GEORGE.) GEORGE (in an undertone). Nonsense, dear! PIM (triumphantly). I've got it! Telworthy! OLIVIA. Telworthy! GEORGE. Good God! PIM (a little surprised at the success of his story). An unusual name, is it not? Not a name you could forget when once you had heard it. OLIVIA (with feeling). No, it is not a name you could forget when once you had heard it. GEORGE (hastily coming over to PIM). Quite so, Mr. Pim, a most remarkable name, a most odd story altogether. Well, well, here's your letter, and if you're sure you won't stay to lunch-- PIM. I'm afraid not, thank you. You see, I-- GEORGE. The Trevors, yes. I'll just see you on your way--(to OLIVIA) Er--my dear-- OLIVIA (holding out her hand, but not looking at him). Good-bye, Mr. Pim. PIM. Good-bye, good-bye! GEORGE (leading the way through the windows). This way, this way. Quicker for you. PIM. Thank you, thank you. [GEORGE hurries MR. PIM out.] (OLIVIA sits there and looks into the past. Now and then she shudders.) [GEORGE comes back.] GEORGE. Good God! Telworthy! Is it possible? (Before OLIVIA can answer, LADY MARDEN is announced. They pull themselves together and greet her.) _ |
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