NORA. I--[her tears choke her; but the keeps up appearances desperately].
LARRY [quite unconscious of his cruelty]. In a week or so we shall be quite old friends again. Meanwhile, as I feel that I am not making myself particularly entertaining, I"ll take myself off. Tell Tom I"ve gone for a stroll over the hill.
NORA. You seem very fond of Tom, as you call him.
LARRY [the triviality going suddenly out of his voice]. Yes I"m fond of Tom.
NORA. Oh, well, don"t let me keep you from him.
LARRY. I know quite well that my departure will be a relief.
Rather a failure, this first meeting after eighteen years, eh?
Well, never mind: these great sentimental events always are failures; and now the worst of it"s over anyhow. [He goes out through the garden door].
Nora, left alone, struggles wildly to save herself from breaking down, and then drops her face on the table and gives way to a convulsion of crying. Her sobs shake her so that she can hear nothing; and she has no suspicion that she is no longer alone until her head and breast are raised by Broadbent, who, returning newly washed and combed through the inner door, has seen her condition, first with surprise and concern, and then with an emotional disturbance that quite upsets him.
BROADBENT. Miss Reilly. Miss Reilly. What"s the matter? Don"t cry: I can"t stand it: you mustn"t cry. [She makes a choked effort to speak, so painful that he continues with impulsive sympathy] No: don"t try to speak: it"s all right now. Have your cry out: never mind me: trust me. [Gathering her to him, and babbling consolatorily] Cry on my chest: the only really comfortable place for a woman to cry is a man"s chest: a real man, a real friend. A good broad chest, eh? not less than forty-two inches--no: don"t fuss: never mind the conventions: we"re two friends, aren"t we? Come now, come, come! It"s all right and comfortable and happy now, isn"t it?
NORA [through her tears]. Let me go. I want me hankerchief.
BROADBENT [holding her with one arm and producing a large silk handkerchief from his breast pocket]. Here"s a handkerchief. Let me [he dabs her tears dry with it]. Never mind your own: it"s too small: it"s one of those wretched little cambric handkerchiefs--
NORA [sobbing]. Indeed it"s a common cotton one.
BROADBENT. Of course it"s a common cotton one--silly little cotton one--not good enough for the dear eyes of Nora Cryna--
NORA [spluttering into a hysterical laugh and clutching him convulsively with her fingers while she tries to stifle her laughter against his collar bone]. Oh don"t make me laugh: please don"t make me laugh.
BROADBENT [terrified]. I didn"t mean to, on my soul. What is it?
What is it?
NORA. Nora Creena, Nora Creena.
BROADBENT [patting her]. Yes, yes, of course, Nora Creena, Nora acushla [he makes cush rhyme to plush].
NORA. Acushla [she makes cush rhyme to bush].
BROADBENT. Oh, confound the language! Nora darling--my Nora--the Nora I love--
NORA [shocked into propriety]. You mustn"t talk like that to me.
BROADBENT [suddenly becoming prodigiously solemn and letting her go]. No, of course not. I don"t mean it--at least I do mean it; but I know it"s premature. I had no right to take advantage of your being a little upset; but I lost my self-control for a moment.
NORA [wondering at him]. I think you"re a very kindhearted man, Mr Broadbent; but you seem to me to have no self-control at all [she turns her face away with a keen pang of shame and adds] no more than myself.
BROADBENT [resolutely]. Oh yes, I have: you should see me when I am really roused: then I have TREMENDOUS self-control. Remember: we have been alone together only once before; and then, I regret to say, I was in a disgusting state.
NORA. Ah no, Mr Broadbent: you weren"t disgusting.
BROADBENT [mercilessly]. Yes I was: nothing can excuse it: perfectly beastly. It must have made a most unfavorable impression on you.
NORA. Oh, sure it"s all right. Say no more about that.
BROADBENT. I must, Miss Reilly: it is my duty. I shall not detain you long. May I ask you to sit down. [He indicates her chair with oppressive solemnity. She sits down wondering. He then, with the same portentous gravity, places a chair for himself near her; sits down; and proceeds to explain]. First, Miss Reilly, may I say that I have tasted nothing of an alcoholic nature today.
NORA. It doesn"t seem to make as much difference in you as it would in an Irishman, somehow.
BROADBENT. Perhaps not. Perhaps not. I never quite lose myself.
NORA [consolingly]. Well, anyhow, you"re all right now.
BROADBENT [fervently]. Thank you, Miss Reilly: I am. Now we shall get along. [Tenderly, lowering his voice] Nora: I was in earnest last night. [Nora moves as if to rise]. No: one moment. You must not think I am going to press you for an answer before you have known me for 24 hours. I am a reasonable man, I hope; and I am prepared to wait as long as you like, provided you will give me some small a.s.surance that the answer will not be unfavorable.
NORA. How could I go back from it if I did? I sometimes think you"re not quite right in your head, Mr Broadbent, you say such funny things.
BROADBENT. Yes: I know I have a strong sense of humor which sometimes makes people doubt whether I am quite serious. That is why I have always thought I should like to marry an Irishwoman.
She would always understand my jokes. For instance, you would understand them, eh?
NORA [uneasily]. Mr Broadbent, I couldn"t.
BROADBENT [soothingly]. Wait: let me break this to you gently, Miss Reilly: hear me out. I daresay you have noticed that in speaking to you I have been putting a very strong constraint on myself, so as to avoid wounding your delicacy by too abrupt an avowal of my feelings. Well, I feel now that the time has come to be open, to be frank, to be explicit. Miss Reilly: you have inspired in me a very strong attachment. Perhaps, with a woman"s intuition, you have already guessed that.
NORA [rising distractedly]. Why do you talk to me in that unfeeling nonsensical way?
BROADBENT [rising also, much astonished]. Unfeeling! Nonsensical!
NORA. Don"t you know that you have said things to me that no man ought to say unless--unless--[she suddenly breaks down again and hides her face on the table as before] Oh, go away from me: I won"t get married at all: what is it but heartbreak and disappointment?
BROADBENT [developing the most formidable symptoms of rage and grief]. Do you mean to say that you are going to refuse me? that you don"t care for me?
NORA [looking at him in consternation]. Oh, don"t take it to heart, Mr Br--
BROADBENT [flushed and almost choking]. I don"t want to be petted and blarneyed. [With childish rage] I love you. I want you for my wife. [In despair] I can"t help your refusing. I"m helpless: I can do nothing. You have no right to ruin my whole life. You--[a hysterical convulsion stops him].
NORA [almost awestruck]. You"re not going to cry, are you? I never thought a man COULD cry. Don"t.
BROADBENT. I"m not crying. I--I--I leave that sort of thing to your d.a.m.ned sentimental Irishmen. You think I have no feeling because I am a plain unemotional Englishman, with no powers of expression.
NORA. I don"t think you know the sort of man you are at all.
Whatever may be the matter with you, it"s not want of feeling.
BROADBENT [hurt and petulant]. It"s you who have no feeling.
You"re as heartless as Larry.
NORA. What do you expect me to do? Is it to throw meself at your head the minute the word is out o your mouth?
BROADBENT [striking his silly head with his fists]. Oh, what a fool! what a brute I am! It"s only your Irish delicacy: of course, of course. You mean Yes. Eh? What? Yes, yes, yes?
NORA. I think you might understand that though I might choose to be an old maid, I could never marry anybody but you now.