BOB. You can"t. He"s a devil to get away from. (There is silence for a little.) When I was a small boy, I used to pray very hard on the last day of the holidays for a telegram to come saying that the school had been burnt down.... It never had.
PAMELA. Oh, Bob!
BOB. I suppose I"ve got about ten minutes more. But nothing will happen.
PAMELA (in a hopeless effort to be hopeful). Perhaps after all you might--
BOB. Why can"t the world end suddenly now? It wouldn"t matter to anybody. They wouldn"t know; they wouldn"t have time to understand. (He looks up and sees her face of distress and says) All right, Pamela, you needn"t worry. I"m going through with it all right.
PAMELA. You must keep thinking of the afterwards. Only of the afterwards. The day when you come back to us.
BOB. Will that be such a very great day? (PAMELA is silent.) Triumphant procession through the village. All the neighbours hurrying out to welcome the young squire home. Great rush in the City to offer him partnerships.
PAMELA (quietly). Do you want to go back to the City?
BOB. Good G.o.d, no!
PAMELA. Then why are you being sarcastic about it? Be honest with yourself, Bob. You made a mess of the City. Oh, I know you weren"t suited to it, but men have had to do work they didn"t like before now, and they haven"t _all_ made a mess of it. You"re getting your punishment now--much more than you deserve, and we"re all sorry for you--but men have been punished unfairly before now and they have stood it. You"ll have your chance when you come back; I"ll stand by you for one, and you"ve plenty of other friends; but we can"t help a man who won"t help himself, you know.
Bon (sulkily). Thank you, Pamela.
PAMELA (shaking him). Bob, Bob, don"t be such a baby. Oh, I want to laugh at you, and yet my heart just aches for you. You"re just a little boy, Bob (with a sigh), on the last day of his holidays.
BOB (after a pause). Are you allowed to have letters in prison?
PAMELA. I expect so. Every now and then.
BOB. You will write to me?
PAMELA. Of course, dear; whenever I may.
BOB. I suppose some beast will read it. But you won"t mind that, will you?
PAMELA. No, dear.
BOB. I"ll write to you whenever they let me. That will be something to look forward to. Will you meet me when I come out?
PAMELA (happily). Yes, Bob. So very gladly.
BOB. I"ll let you know when it is. I expect I"ll be owed to.
PAMELA. You must just think of that day all the time. Whenever you are unhappy or depressed or angry, you must look forward to that day.
BOB. You"ll let it be a fine day, won"t you? What shall we do?
PAMELA (rather startled). What?
BOB. What shall we do directly after I come out?
PAMELA. Well, I suppose we--I mean you--well, we"ll come up to London together, I suppose, and you"ll go to your old rooms. At least, if you still have them.
BOB (instantly depressed again). My old rooms. That"ll be lively.
PAMELA. Well, unless you"d rather--
BOB. I"m not going home, if that"s what you mean. The prodigal son, and Gerald falling on my neck.
PAMELA (stroking his head). Never mind Gerald, Baby. (He turns round suddenly and seizes her hands.)
BOB (in a rush). Whatever happens, you mustn"t desert me when I come out. I want you. I"ve got to know you"re there, waiting for me. I"m not making love to you, you"re engaged to somebody else, but you were my friend before you were his, and you"ve got to go on being my friend. I want you--I want you more than he does. I"m not making love to you; you can marry him if you like, but you"ve got to stand by me. I want you.
PAMELA. Haven"t I stood by you?
BOB (in a low voice). You"ve been an angel. (He kisses her hands and then gets up and walks away from her; with his back to her, looking out of the window, he says) When are you marrying him?
PAMELA (taken by surprise). I--I don"t know, Bob. We _had_ thought about--but, of course, things are different now. We haven"t talked about it lately.
BOB (casually). I wonder if you"d mind promising me something.
PAMELA. What is it?
BOB. Not to get married till after I come out. (After waiting for PAMELA to speak) You will have about forty years together afterwards. It isn"t much to ask.
PAMELA. Why should it make a difference to you?
BOB. It would.
PAMELA. It isn"t a thing I like making promises about. But I don"t suppose for a moment--Would it help you very much, Bob?
BOB (from the bottom of his heart). I don"t want Gerald"s wife to be waiting for me when I come out; I want my friend.
PAMELA (standing up and facing him as he turns round towards her). All right, Bob, she shall be there.
(They stand looking at each other intently for a moment. Voices are heard outside, and SIR JAMES, LADY FARRINGDON, and GERALD come into the room.)
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.