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The Lucky One: A Play In Three Acts, a play by A. A. Milne |
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_ ACT III [SCENE.--In the hall at SIR JAMES FARRINGDON'S again. It is autumn nom and there is a fire burning.] [LETTY and TOMMY are on the sofa side by side, holding hands, and looking the picture of peaceful happiness. Indeed, TOMMY has his mouth open slightly.] LETTY. It's your turn to say something, Tommy. TOMMY. Oh, I say. LETTY. Now I suppose it's my turn. TOMMY. I say, you know, I feel too idiotically happy to say anything. I feel I want to talk poetry, or rot like that, only--only I don't quite know how to put it. LETTY (sympathetically). Never mind, darling. TOMMY. I say, you do understand how frightfully--I say, what about another kiss? (They have one.) LETTY. Tommy, I just adore you. Only I think you might have been a little more romantic about your proposal. TOMMY (anxious). I say, do you-- LETTY. Yes. Strictly speaking, I don't think anybody ought to propose with a niblick in his hand. TOMMY. It just sort of came then. Of course I ought to have put it down. LETTY. You dear!... "Letting his niblick go for a moment, Mr. T. Todd went on as follows: 'Letitia, my beloved, many moons have waxed and waned since first I cast eyes of love upon thee. An absence of ducats, coupled with the necessity of getting my handicap down to ten, has prevented my speaking ere this. Now at last I am free. My aged uncle--'" TOMMY (lovingly). I say, you do pull my leg. Go on doing it always, won't you? LETTY. Always, Tommy. We're going to have fun, always. TOMMY. I'm awfully glad we got engaged down here. LETTY. We've had lovely times here, haven't we? TOMMY. I wonder what Gerald will say. A bit of a surprise for him. I say, it would be rather fun if we had a double wedding. You and I, and Gerald and Pamela. LETTY (getting up in pretended indignation). Certainly not! TOMMY (following her). I say, what's the matter? LETTY (waving him back). Go away. Unhand me villain. TOMMY. I say, what's up? LETTY. I want a wedding of my own. I've never been married before, and perhaps I shall never be married again, and I'm going to have a wedding all to myself. I don't mind your being there, but I'm not going to have crowds of other brides and bridegrooms taking up the whole aisle--said she, seizing her engagement-ring and--Oh, bother! I haven't got one yet. (TOMMY rushes up and takes her in his arms. At this moment GERALD comes in by the garden door. He stops on seeing them, and then goes quickly on to the door in front of the staircase.) GERALD (as he passes them). Came in and went tactfully out again. TOMMY (as LETTY frees herself). I say, Gerald, old man. GERALD (stopping at the door, turning round and coming back in the same business-like way). Returned hopefully. TOMMY (in confusion). I say, we're engaged. GERALD (looking at them happily). Oh, hoo-ray! LETTY. Do say you're surprised. GERALD. Awfully, awfully pleased, Letty. Of course, when I saw you--er--thinking together in a corner--By Jove, I _am_ bucked. I did hope so much. LETTY. You dear! GERALD. I feel very fatherly. Bless you, my children. TOMMY. We shall have about tuppence a year, but Letty doesn't mind that. GERALD (to LETTY). You'll have to make him work. (Thoughtfully) He's too old for a caddy. LETTY. Couldn't you find him something in the Foreign Office? He knows the French for pen and ink. TOMMY. What's ink? LETTY. At least, he knows the French for pen. GERALD. Oh, we'll find something. Only I warn you, Tommy, if you dare to get married before Pamela and me, there'll be trouble. TOMMY. Why don't we ever see Pamela now? GERALD (gaily). She is coming, my children--_mes enfants_, as Tommy will say when he gets his job as ribbon starcher to the French ambassador. To-morrow, no less. I've just had a letter. Lord, I haven't seen her for months. LETTY. She's come back? GERALD. Yes. Egypt knows her no more. The Sphinx is inconsolable. To-morrow at 3.30 she comes; I shall go and meet her. TOMMY. I say, won't she be surprised about Letty and me! GERALD. She'll be as bucked as I am. (Looking from one to the other) Has anything else frightfully exciting happened to you since lunch? Because, if not, I've got some more news. LETTY. What is it? I love news. GERALD. All ready? Then one, two, three: Bob is coming this afternoon. LETTY and TOMMY together. No! Rot! GERALD (Singing to the tune of "Here we go gathering nuts and may"). Oh, Bob is coming this afternoon, this afternoon, this afternoon! Oh, Bob is coming this afternoon, all on an autumn morning! Now then, all together. (They join hands and march up the hall and back again, singing together.) ALL TOGETHER (waving imaginary hats). Hooray! Hooray! Hooray! TOMMY. It doesn't make sense, you know, coming back in the afternoon on an autumn morning. GERALD. Who cares for sense? LETTY (squeezing his arm). Oh, Gerald, I _am_ glad. But I thought he had another week or so. GERALD. They always let you out early, you know, if you're good. We knew he was coming soon, but we didn't quite know when. I've just had a telegram. LETTY. Poor Bob! he must have had a time. GERALD. What does it matter? It's over now. TOMMY (struck by an idea). I say, this puts a bit of a stopper on our news. GERALD (pulled up suddenly by this). Oh! LETTY (going over and taking TOMMY'S arm). We'll go to a house where they _do_ make a fuss of us, Tommy. (Very politely) Good-bye, Mr. Farringdon, and thank you for a very pleasant Friday. GERALD. Poor darlings! it's rather bad luck for you. Did I announce my news too soon? I'm awfully sorry. LETTY. It wasn't your fault; you were a dear. GERALD. As a matter of fact, it will be rather lucky, you know. It will give us something to talk about when Bob comes. (Smiling) Thanks very much for arranging it. LETTY. Poor old Bob! I wonder what it feels like coming out of prison. GERALD. Rotten. Now, for the Lord's sake, Tommy, be tactful. LETTY (to GERALD). I think he'd be safer if he wasn't. Tommy's rather dangerous when he's tactful. GERALD (thoughtfully). Yes, there _is_ that. TOMMY. It's all the same to me. Only just let me know which you want. GERALD. Well, as long as you don't overdo it. Don't rub it in that he's just left prison, and--don't rub it out. TOMMY. I suppose it would be quite safe to ask him to pass the mustard? GERALD (laughing). Good old Tommy! LETTY. You'd better talk to me all the time, and then you'll be all right. GERALD. We'll make it go between us. And, of course, Pamela will help to-morrow. Hooray for Pamela! It makes me quite envious seeing you young people together. By the way, I interrupted you just now. LETTY. You did rather. GERALD. Well, I absolutely refuse to go away now. But, of course, if you're longing to show each other the stables or anything--(with a wave of the hand) pray show. Or try anywhere else. Save for Aunt Tabitha's room upstairs and the hall down here, the whole house is at your disposal. LETTY (sitting down firmly). Then I shall stay here. Isn't Aunt Mary back yet? GERALD. They are probably still eating. It's the very latest millionaire from London, so they're having the lunch of their lives, I expect. Afterwards father will put him at his ease by talking about crops. (Picking up a book and settling himself comfortably in front of the fire) Tommy, if you can't find a book, sing or something. LETTY. Oh, come on, Tommy. [She jumps up and goes out of the door in front of the staircase. TOMMY following her.] (Left alone, GERALD closes his book with a slam. He stands up and takes the telegram out of his pocket and reads it again. He suddenly catches sight of MISS FARRINGDON in the gallery shove, calls out "Hullo!" and goes up the stairs to meet her.) GERALD (as he goes). You're just the person I wanted, Aunt Tabitha. I'm full of news. (He kisses her at the top of the stairs.) How are you, dear? (He offers her his arm.) MISS FARRINGDON. If I had wanted help, down the stairs, Gerald, my maid could have given it me. GERALD. Yes, but your maid wouldn't have enjoyed giving it you; I do. MISS FARRINGDON. Charming Gerald. (She comes down the stairs on his arm.) GERALD. No, happy Gerald. MISS FARRINGDON. Is that part of the news? GERALD. It's all because of the news. (He arranges her in her chair by the fire and sits on the coffin-stool near her.) MISS FARRINGDON. I heard Mr. Todd and Letty just now, so I suppose I shan't be the first to hear it. What a pity! GERALD. Ah, but they don't count. MISS FARRINGDON. Why not? GERALD. Well, that's part of the news. They've just got engaged. MISS FARRINGDON. In my young days they'd have been engaged a long time ago. When are we going to see Pamela again? GERALD. That's more of the news. She's coming down to-morrow. MISS FARRINGDON. That will save you a lot in stamps. GERALD (laughing). Aunt Tabitha, you're a witch. How did you know? MISS FARRINGDON. Know what? GERALD. That Pamela and I haven't been writing to each other. MISS FARRINGDON (very innocently). Haven't you? GERALD. No. You see--oh, I hate discussing Pamela with anyone, but you're different. MISS FARRINGDON. I always like that sort of compliment best, Gerald. The unintended sort. GERALD. I think, you know, Pamela felt that Bob's doing to prison might make a difference. I don't mean that she didn't like the disgrace for herself, but that she was afraid that I mightn't like it for her; and so she went away, and beyond a letter or two at the start there hasn't been a Pamela. MISS FARRINGDON. But Gerald went on being successful? GERALD. Oh, Aunt Tabitha, Aunt Tabitha, if ever I were going to be conceited--and I don't think I am really--you'd soon stop it, wouldn't you? I wonder if you _do_ know me as well as you think. You think I'm all outside, don't you, and inside there's nothing? MISS FARRINGDON. Oh, you've got brains, I'll grant you that. You're the first Farringdon that's had any. Of the men, of course. GERALD. Oh, brains--I don't mean brains. But you think that everything only touches me on the surface, and that nothing ever goes deep inside. You don't believe I ever loved Pamela; you don't believe I love her now. You don't believe I've got a heart at all. MISS FARRINGDON. Well, you've never shown it. You've shown a lot of delightful things which silly people mistake for it--but that's all. GERALD (curtly). No, I've never shown my heart to anybody. Some people can't. (Gently) Perhaps I'll show it to Pamela on my wedding-day. MISS FARRINGDON. Dear me, have I been wrong all these years? I shouldn't like to think that. (After a pause) Any more news? GERALD (taking his thoughts off PAMELA). Yes. Now _this_ time, Aunt Tabitha, you'll really be as pleased as I am. MISS FARRINGDON. I wonder. GERALD. Oh yes, you will, because it's about your favourite--Bob. MISS FARRINGDON. So Bob's my favourite? I'm learning a good many things to-day. GERALD. He's coming back this afternoon. MISS FARRINGDON. Poor Bob! I'm glad he's finished with that part of it. GERALD. You think he's got the worst part coming? (Smiling at her) Aunt Tabitha, have you got any influence with your nephew? MISS FARRINGDON. You or Bob? (GERALD smiles and shakes his head.) Oh, you mean James? GERALD. It seems hard to realize that one's father is anybody else's nephew, but you _are_ his aunt, and--Oh, don't let him do anything stupid about Bob. MISS FARRINGDON. Bob's his own master; he's old enough to look after himself. GERALD. Yes, but he's got in the way of being looked after by other people. I wish _you_ would look after him and tell him what to do. It's going to be difficult for him. I expect he'll want to get away from all of us for a bit. Where's he going, and what's he going to do? MISS FARRINGDON (after a pause). When did you say Pamela was coming here? GERALD. To-morrow. _She'll_ help, of course. MISS FARRINGDON. Gerald, you've been very nice to me always; I don't know why I've been rather unkind to you sometimes. GERALD. What an idea! You know I've loved our little skirmishes. MISS FARRINGDON. That's because you've been happy, and haven't minded one way or another. But if ever you were in trouble, Gerald, I don't think I should be unsympathetic. GERALD. You dear, of course you wouldn't. But why do you say that now, just when I _am_ so happy? MISS FARRINGDON (getting up slowly). I'm feeling rather an old woman to-day. I think I'll go and lie down. GERALD (jumping up). I'll ring for your maid. MISS FARRINGDON. No, no; I'm not going upstairs, and I don't want a maid when I've got a great big nephew. Come and tuck me up on the sofa in the drawing-room; I shall be quite happy there. (She puts her hand on his arm, and they go together towards the door in front of the staircase.) MISS FARRINGDON. Poor Gerald! GERALD (laughing). Why poor? [They go out together.] [The door on the right at the back opens quietly and BOB comes in. He stands there for a moment looking at the hall, and then speaks over his shoulder to somebody behind him.] BOB. It's all right, there's nobody here. PAMELA. I wonder where Gerald is. BOB. You're sure he's down here? PAMELA. Yes, I had a letter from him; he told me he was going to be. BOB (going up to her). Pamela, you can't see him alone. PAMELA. I must. You can see him afterwards, but I must see him alone first. Poor Gerald! BOB. He never really loved you. PAMELA. I don't think he did really, but it will hurt him. BOB (eagerly). Say you're not sorry for what you're doing. PAMELA. Aren't I doing it? BOB. Say you love _me_ and not Gerald. Say you really love me, and it's not just because you are sorry for me. PAMELA. Oh, I have so much in my heart for you, Bob. I'm glad I'm marrying you. But you must always love me, and want me as you want me now. BOB (seizing her is his arms). By God! you'll get that. (He kisses her fiercely.) PAMELA (satisfied). Oh, Bob! Oh, Bob! I'm glad I found you at last. (She goes away from him and stands looking into the fire, one hand on the mantelpiece.) BOB. Shall I go and look for Gerald? PAMELA (looking into the fire). Yes. No. He'll come. BOB. You won't let him talk you round? PAMELA (looking up at him in surprise). Oh no; I'm quite safe now. BOB. I can never thank you for all you've done, for all you've been to me. When we are out of this cursed country, and I have you to myself, I will try to show you. (She says nothing, and he walks restlessly about the room. He picks up a hat and says) Hullo, Tommy's here. PAMELA (quickly). I don't want to see him, I don't want to see anybody. We must just tell Gerald and then go. BOB. Anybody might come at any moment. You should have let me write as I wanted to. Or waited till he came back to London. PAMELA. We've given up being cowards. Perhaps you'd better try and find him. We'll only tell Gerald. If we see the others, we'll just have to make the best of it. BOB (moving off towards the door in front of the staircase). All right. If I find him I'll send him in here. [He goes out.] (PAMELA drops into a chair and remains looking at the fire. GERALD, coming down from the gallery above, suddenly catches sight of her.) GERALD (rushing down the stairs). Pamela! Why, Pamela! (Excitedly) Why are you--You said tomorrow. Pamela, you said--Never mind, you're here. Oh, bless you! (PAMELA has got up to meet him, and he is now standing holding her hands, and looking at her happily.) Pamela's here; all's right with the world. (He leans forward to kiss her, but she stops him.) PAMELA (nervously). No, no; I've something to tell you, Gerald. GERALD. I've got a thousand things to tell _you_. PAMELA. Bob's here. GERALD (excited). Bob? Did you come down with him? PAMELA. Yes. GERALD. I had a telegram, but it didn't say--Did you meet him? Why didn't he tell us? Where is he? PAMELA. He just went to look for you. GERALD. I'll soon find him. (He turns away to go after BOB, but PAMELA stops him.) PAMELA. Gerald! GERALD (turning round). Yes. PAMELA. Never mind Bob for the moment. I wanted to see you alone. GERALD (coming back quickly). Of course. Hang Bob! Come on the sofa and tell me everything. Jove! it's wonderful to see you again; you've been away for years. (He takes her hand and tries to lead her towards the sofa, but she stops.) PAMELA. Gerald, you're making it very hard for me; I've got something to tell you. GERALD (afraid suddenly and speaking sharply). What do you mean? PAMELA. Oh, don't look at me like that--I know it will hurt you, but it won't be more than that. I want you to release me from my promise. GERALD. What promise? PAMELA (in a low voice). My promise to marry you. GERALD. I don't understand. Why? PAMELA (bravely). I want to marry Bob. (Keeping his eyes on her all the time, GERALD moves slowly away from her.) GERALD (to himself). Bob! Bob! But you knew Bob first. PAMELA. Yes. GERALD. And then you promised to marry me. You couldn't have been in love with him. I don't understand. PAMELA (sadly). I don't understand either, but that's how it's happened. GERALD. And to think how I've been throwing you in Bob's way, and wanting you and him to be fond of each other. (Fiercely) _That_ didn't make you think that I didn't love you? PAMELA (faltering). I--I don't--you didn't-- GERALD. I was so confident of you. That was your fault. You made me. PAMELA. I think you could have made me love you if you hadn't been so confident. GERALD. I trusted you. You had told me. _I_ knew I should never change, and I thought I knew _you_ wouldn't. PAMELA. I was wrong. I never did love you. GERALD. Then why did you say-- PAMELA (looking at him rather wistfully). You're rather charming, Gerald, you know, and you-- GERALD (turning away from her furiously). _Damn_ charming! That's what you all say. I'm sick of it! You think that if a man's charming, that's the end of him, and that all he's good for is to amuse a few old ladies at a tea party. I'm sick of it! The rude rough man with the heart of gold--that's the only sort that can have a heart at all, according to some of you. PAMELA (utterly surprised by this). Gerald! GERALD. I'm sorry, Pamela. Of course you wouldn't understand. But we were just talking. (With a sudden disarming smile) I don't know whether an apology is overdoing the charm? PAMELA (in distress). Oh, Gerald, you couldn't really have loved me; you don't really now. Of course, it will hurt you, but you'll soon get over it. Oh, what's the good of my talking like this? I've never really known you; I don't know you now. GERALD (quietly). It's no good now, anyway. (He walks away from her and looks out through the windows at the back.) Just tell me one or two things. Were you in love with him when he went to prison? PAMELA. I don't know--really I don't know. I was so dreadfully sorry for him all that time before, and I felt so very friendly towards him, so very--oh, Gerald, so motherly. And I wanted to be wanted so badly, and you didn't seem to want me in that way. That was why, when he had gone, I went right away from you, and asked you not to write to me; I wanted to think it all out--alone. GERALD. But you wrote to Bob? PAMELA. Oh, Gerald, he wanted it so badly. GERALD. I'm sorry. PAMELA. I wrote to him and he wrote to me. I met him when he came out--he told me when to come. I suppose I had decided by then; we came down here to tell you. I had to come at once. GERALD. You do love him, Pamela? It isn't just pity? PAMELA. I do, Gerald; I think I found that out this afternoon. (Timidly) Say you don't hate me very much. GERALD. I wish to God I could.... What are you and Bob going to do? PAMELA. Canada, as soon as we can. I've got friends there. We've a little money between us. Bob ought to have done it a long time ago. (Coming up to him) Just do one more nice thing for me before we go. GERALD (moving away from her on pretence of getting a cigarette). What is it? PAMELA. Bob will want to see you before he goes. GERALD. I don't want to see him. PAMELA. Ah, but you must. GERALD. What have we got to say to each other? PAMELA. I don't know, but I feel you must see him. Otherwise he'll think that he ran away from you. GERALD (with a shrug). All right. You'll go back to London at once, I suppose? PAMELA. Yes. We hired a car. We left it outside at the gates. We didn't want to see anybody but you, if possible. GERALD. Father and mother are out. Aunt Harriet knows--oh, and Tommy and Letty--that Bob was coming to-day; nobody else. But I can make up something. We'll keep Tommy and Letty out of it for the moment. Of course, they'll all have to know in the end. PAMELA. We'll write, of course. GERALD. Yes. Tommy and Letty are engaged, by the way. PAMELA. Oh! (Understanding how he must feel about it) Oh, Gerald! (She makes a movement towards him, but he takes no notice.) I'll send Bob to you; he's waiting outside, I expect. (Timidly) Good-bye, Gerald. GERALD (still with his back to her). Good-bye, Pamela. PAMELA. Won't you-- GERALD (from the bottom of his heart). Go away, go away! I can't bear the sound of your voice; I can't bear to look at you. Go away! PAMELA. Oh, Gerald! [She goes out.] (GERALD looks up as she goes out, and then looks quickly down again. When BOB comes in he is still resting with his arm on the mantelpiece looking into the fire.) GERALD (looking up). Hullo. BOB. Hullo. (After a pause) Is that all you've got to say? GERALD. I've just seen Pamela. BOB (trying not to show his eagerness). Well? GERALD. Well--isn't that enough? BOB. What do you mean? GERALD (bitterly). Do you want me to fall on, your neck, and say take her and be happy? BOB. You never loved her. GERALD. That's a lie, and anyhow we won't discuss it. She's going to marry you, and that's an end of it. BOB (very eagerly). She _is_ going to? GERALD (sharply). Don't you know it? BOB (mumbling). Yes, but she might--Ah, you couldn't charm her away from me this time. GERALD (with an effort). I don't know what you mean by "_this_ time." I think we'd better leave Pamela out of it altogether. She's waiting for you outside. Last time I offered to shake hands with you, you had some fancied grievance against me, and you wouldn't; now if there's any grievance between us, it's on _my_ side. (Holding out his hand) Good-bye, Bob, and--quite honestly--good luck. BOB (ignoring the hand). Magnanimous Gerald! (GERALD looks at him in surprise for a moment. Then he shrugs his shoulders, turns round, and goes back to the mantelpiece, and takes a cigarette from the box there.) GERALD. I'm tired of you, Bob. If you don't want me, I don't want you. (He sits down in a chair and lights his cigarette.) BOB. And now I suppose you're thoroughly pleased with yourself, and quite happy. GERALD (looking at him in absolute wonder). Happy? You fool! (Something in BOB'S face surprises him, and he gets up and says) Why do you suddenly hate me like this? BOB (with a bitter laugh). Suddenly! GERALD (almost frightened). Bob! BOB (letting the jealousy that has been pent up for years come out at last). You're surprised! Surprised! You would be. You've never stopped to think what other people are thinking; you take it for granted that they all love you, and that's all you care about. Do you think I liked playing second fiddle to you all my life? Do you think I've never had any ambitions of my own? I suppose you thought I was quite happy being one of the crowd of admirers round you, all saying, "Oh, look at Gerald, isn't he wonderful?" GERALD (astounded). Bob, I had no idea--I never dreamt-- BOB. They thought something of me when I was young. When I first went to school they thought something of me. I daresay even _you_ thought something of me then; I could come back in the holidays and tell you what school was like, and what a lot they thought of me. They didn't think much of me when _you_ came; you soon put a stop to that. I was just young Farringdon's brother then, and when we came home together, all the talk was of the wonderful things _Gerald_ had done. It was like that at Eton; it was like that at Oxford. It's always been like that. I managed to get away from you a bit after Oxford, but it went on just the same. "How do you do, Mr. Farringdon? Are you any relation to Gerald Farringdon?" (With the utmost contempt) And you actually thought I liked that; you thought I enjoyed it. You thought I smiled modestly and said, "Oh yes, he's my brother, my young brother; isn't he wonderful?" GERALD (hardly able to realise it). And you've felt like this for years? (To himself) For years! BOB (not noticing him). And that wasn't enough for you. They got you into the Foreign Office--they could have got me there. They could have put me into the Army (Almost shouting) Aren't I the eldest son? But no, it didn't matter about the eldest son--never mind about him; put him in the City, anywhere as long as he's out of the way. If we have any influence, we must use it for Gerald--the wonderful Gerald. GERALD. If this is an indictment, it's drawn against the wrong person. BOB (more quietly). Then at last I found a friend; somebody who took me for my own sake. (Bitterly) And like a damned fool I brought her down here, and she saw _you_. I might have known what would happen. GERALD. Pamela! BOB. Yes, and you took her. After taking everything you could all your life, you took _her_. She was Bob's friend--that was quite enough. She must be one more in the crowd of admirers round you. So you took her. (Triumphantly) Ah, but I got her back in the end. I've got her now--and I think I'm square, Gerald. GERALD. Yes, I think you're square now. BOB (rather jauntily, as he leans back against the end of the sofa and feels for his cigarette-case). I seem to have surprised you rather. GERALD. You've thought like that about me for years and you've never said anything? You've felt like that about Pamela and you've never said anything? BOB. I've been thinking it over, particularly these last few months--in prison, Gerald. You have a lot of time for thinking in prison. Oh, I know; you advised me to stand on my head and waggle my legs in the air--something like that. You were full of brilliant ideas. I had a better idea--I _thought_. GERALD (realising his state of mind). My God, what a time you must have had! BOB (furiously). Damn you! I _won't_ be pitied by you. GERALD (coolly). And you're not going to be. You've talked about yourself and thought about yourself quite long enough; now I'm going to talk about _my_self. BOB. And it won't be the first time either. GERALD (quickly). It will be the first time to _you_. You say I've never tried to understand your feelings--have you ever tried to understand mine? My God, Bob! I've thought a good deal more about you than you have about me. Have I ever talked about myself to you? When a boy does well at school he likes talking about it; did I ever bore _you_ with it? Never! Because I knew how you'd feel about it. I knew how _I'd_ feel about it, and so I tried to make it easy for you. BOB. Very noble of you. GERALD (angrily). Don't be such a damned fool, Bob. What's the good of talking like that? If whatever I do is wrong, then you're only convicting yourself; you're not convicting me. According to you, if I talk about myself I'm being conceited and superior, and if I don't talk about myself, I'm being noble and still more superior. In fact, whatever I do, I can't please you. That doesn't condemn me; it condemns yourself. (Wearily) What's the good of talking? BOB. Go on; I like to hear it. GERALD. Very well. We'll take the definite accusations first. Apart from the general charge of being successful--whatever that amounts to--you accuse me of two things. One you didn't mention just now, but it was more or less obvious the last time I saw you. That was that I neglected to help you when you were in trouble, and that through me you went to prison. BOB. Yes, I forgot that this time. (With an unpleasant laugh) But I didn't forget it in prison. GERALD. You had a sense of humour once, Bob. I don't know what's happened to it lately. Don't you think it's rather funny to hate a person steadily for fifteen years, judge all his acts as you'd hardly judge those of your bitterest enemy, and yet, the first time you are in trouble, to expect him to throw everything on one side and rush to your help--and then to feel bitterly ill-used if he doesn't? BOB (rather taken aback). I--you didn't--I didn't-- GERALD (quietly). That's been rather like you all through, Bob. You were always the one who had to be helped; you were always the one who was allowed to have the grievance. Still, that doesn't make it any better for me if I could have helped you and didn't. However, I'm quite certain that I _couldn't_ have helped you then. We'll take the other accusation, that I stole Pamela from you. I've only got two things to say to that. First, that Pamela was not engaged to you, and was perfectly free to choose between us. Secondly, that you never told me, and I hadn't the slightest idea, that you were the least bit fond of her. Indeed, I don't believe you realized it yourself at that time. BOB (rather shamefaced). I've realized it since. GERALD. Yes, and you've taken Pamela back since. I think if I were you I would keep her out of it. (BOB looks away and GERALD goes on) Now we come to the general charge, which seems to be (very deliberately) that I'm better than you at games, that I've got better manners than you, that I'm cleverer than you--in fact, that I'm superior to you in every outward way, and am only inferior to you in--well, in the moral qualities. (Quietly) Bob, what are these moral qualities in which I am so deficient and you so endowed? You judge me by the qualities I am supposed to have shown to you; now what have you shown to _me_? Have _you_ been generous, have _you_ been friendly, have _you_ been sympathetic? No; you've just told me that for fifteen years you've hated me and been jealous of me. Things have been rotten for you, I admit; have you ever tried to make the best of them? You've had disadvantages to fight against; have you ever fought against them? Never! You've turned every trouble into a grievance, and hoarded it up. I said just now I was sick of you. I am--utterly. You said just now you didn't want my pity. You haven't got it; you've only got my contempt.... (He turns away, and then suddenly turns back, and, holding out his hand to BOB, says utterly unexpectedly) And now, damn you! will you shake hands? BOB (incoherent with surprise). What do you--I--you didn't--(GERALD'S hand is still held out, and he is smiling.) Oh, Jerry! (He takes the hand.) GERALD. That's all right. Good-bye, Bob, and good luck. BOB (bewildered). Good-bye. (He tuns round and goes towards the door. Half-way there, he looks over his shoulder and says awkwardly) Had rather a rotten time in prison. (GERALD nods. At the door BOB says) Pamela and I-- [With rather a forced smile, GERALD nods again, and BOB goes out.] (Left alone, GERALD stands looking into the fire and thinking. He tries sitting down to see if that will make thinking any pleasanter; then he tries standing up again. He goes to the door in front of the staircase and opens it to see if there is anybody there; then he goes to the windows at the back and looks through them. Evidently he sees somebody, for he beckons and then returns to his old place by the fire. In a few moments LETTY and TOMMY come in.) TOMMY (excitedly). I say, has Bob come? GERALD. Why? TOMMY. I could have sworn we saw him just now as we were coming in. At least, Letty swore she did-- LETTY. I _know_ I did. TOMMY. So I gave him a shout, but he fairly trekked off. Was it Bob? GERALD. Yes. Now look here, I want you to be two nice people. Don't say anything to anybody. He came, but he didn't want to see the whole crowd of us. He's going to Canada. I'll do all the explaining, if you two just say nothing. Do you see? LETTY. Of course, Gerald. TOMMY. Rather, old boy. Besides, it will make it much better for Letty and me. LETTY. No rival attraction, Tommy means. [Enter SIR JAMES and LADY FARRINGDON from the outer hull, having just returned from their lunch.] SIR JAMES. Ah! here you all are. GERALD. Had a good lunch? SIR JAMES. Lunch was all right, but the people were dull, very dull. LADY FARRINGDON. There were one or two nice ones, I thought, dear. They all knew about _you_, Gerald. TOMMY (proudly). Of course they would. SIR JAMES. Oh, one or two were all right, but _he_ was--well, I was discussing shorthorns with him after lunch, and he hardly seemed interested at all. Dull, very dull. I've got no use for that sort of man. (During this speech the Butler has come in with a telegram for GERALD. ) GERALD (taking it). Just a moment. (He reads it quickly.) No answer. [Exit Butler.] (GERALD reads his telegram again more thoughtfully.) LADY FARRINGDON. From Pamela, dear? GERALD. From the office. I shall have to go up at once. LADY FARRINGDON (very disappointed). Oh, Gerald! SIR JAMES. Something on? GERALD. Rather an important thing really. I never thought I should get it, but there was just a chance. (Looking at his watch) Oh, I can do it comfortably. SIR JAMES (obviously proud that GERALD is in the thick of things). What is it? I suppose you mustn't tell us. GERALD. Something abroad. SIR JAMES. Diplomatic mission, eh? GERALD. Yes. LETTY. That does sound so frightfully exciting. LADY FARRINGDON (proudly). Oh, Gerald! (Thoughtfully). I wish we had known about it this morning, we could have mentioned it at lunch. SIR JAMES. That ought to lead to something. GERALD. Yes. I think it will. It's rather an opportunity: (They are all round him now, just as they have always been. The buzz begins.) SIR JAMES. Aha! you'll be an ambassador yet. What do you think of that, Letty? LETTY. Well done, Gerald. LADY FARRINGDON. How like you, Gerald! TOMMY. Good old Gerald! I never knew such a chap. You really _are_! GERALD (softly). I wish I weren't, Tommy! Oh, I wish I weren't! (They don't hear him; they are still buzzing.) [THE END] _ |
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