Pretty good.
Miss Woodward.
And if I say no, I shall at least be able to boast of a proposal.
Gunning.
That"s so.
Miss Woodward.
Not that there"s much satisfaction in that to a practical mind.
Gunning.
No? [Goes to her.] Try the other.
Miss Woodward.
But we don"t love each other.
Gunning.
Another big advantage. Love is the rock upon which so many well-intentioned young persons split. They engage to marry each other while the intelligence is perverted, the reason unbalanced, and the judgment obscured by an overpowering sentiment. They enter into a solemn life-binding contract in a highly emotional and altogether unnormal moral condition. The disastrous results of such folly we see examples of daily. We will escape that snare. [He comes close to her.] Of course if the sentiment should subsequently come, if that particular kind of emotion should by chance supervene, we"ll deal with it as best we may.
Miss Woodward.
[Sits on arm of sofa.] Still there must be something in love-making. I remember my sister and the curate seemed to have a very good time. We all thought them fussy, but I know they liked it.
Gunning.
I made love to you in the garden this morning.
Miss Woodward.
Did you? I thought it was pity, and resented it Gunning.
You refused me a rose, and gave one-- Miss Woodward.
I refused you because I thought you pitied me, and gave one to Mr. Parbury because I pitied him.
Gunning.
I"d like you to pity me.
Miss Woodward.
I should if I said yes. [Leaves him.] But I mean to say no.
Gunning.
[Following her.] You are afraid.
Miss Woodward.
Of what?
Gunning.
Of what people call my "nasty sneering way," for instance.
Miss Woodward.
[Confidently.] Oh, I could deal with that all right.
Gunning.
I"m sure you could. [Goes near to her.] Say yes, Hyacinth.
Enter Evans, L.
Evans.
Your cab is here, Miss.
Gunning.
[To Miss Woodward, in low voice.] Send it away. [She hesitates.] Do.
Miss Woodward.
Thank you, Evans. Let it wait.
[Gunning moves away to C. with a satisfied smile.
Evans.
Yes, Miss.
[Exit L.
Miss Woodward.
Good-bye, Mr. Gunning. If you were entirely different from what you are, I think I could have liked you; or if I were entirely different from what I am, I think I might have married you. But you are hopelessly modern and cold-blooded, and I am only an old-fashioned, healthy English girl, and a healthy English girl doesn"t want to make experiments, she wants to be loved.
[Suddenly Gunning throws his arm round her, and bends forward to kiss her. She quickly raises her clenched hand as if to strike him in the face. He looks her in the eyes without flinching.
Gunning.
Perhaps she wants a master.
Miss Woodward.
[Softly.] Perhaps.
[Her hand slowly drops; he kisses her.
Colonel.
[Outside L.] No, my dear; I can"t wait any longer.
Gunning.
[In a low voice to Miss Woodward.] The garden. Will you come and find me a rose?
Miss Woodward.
Yes.
Enter Colonel Armitage, L., Mrs. Parbury, and Mr. Parbury.
[Miss Woodward and Gunning exeunt quickly to garden, R.
[Mrs. Parbury comes down L. and sits on sofa. Parbury goes R. and sits, Armitage remains C. They are all silent and uneasy. A considerable pause, during which they are occupied with avoiding each other"s eyes.
Colonel.
A cheerful day.
Mr. Parbury.
Yes.
Mrs. Parbury.
Very.
[Another uneasy pause.
Colonel.
Well, I must be going.
Mr. Parbury.
Don"t go.
Mrs. Parbury.
Please stay, father.
[Another pause.
Colonel.
[With much irritation.] Well, you see I"m staying.
Mrs. Parbury.
Thank you.
Mr. Parbury.
Thank you, Colonel.
Colonel.
But I should like to know what the devil for?
Mrs. Parbury.
Father!
Mr. Parbury.
Colonel!
Colonel.
I really think I have cause to be angry. A more depressing function than your luncheon party to-day I"ve never experienced. I think I have a right to a little cheerfulness in my middle age. I"m sure I"ve earned it. I"ve had a great deal to put up with in my life.
Mr. Parbury.
No doubt, no doubt.
Colonel.
Of course I have always accepted my full share of the blame. That I have felt to be only right and manly. [Pause. He looks at Clement.] As for my late dear wife, her heart was rarely deaf to a proper expression of regret. The memory of her I feel to be a blessing to this day. [He blows his nose sympathetically.] One thing I can tell you, Mabel, that when your dear mother and I made it up-well, we did make it up. I am not without some very agreeable recollections-most agreeable. [Pause. He comes to Mrs. Parbury.] I trust you won"t require me tonight, my dear. I have to attend a Masonic Banquet.
Mrs. Parbury.
No, father; I shan"t want you.
Colonel.
Then good-bye. [Aside to her.] Be true to your own good heart. Your dear mother was-sometimes. [He kisses her, and then goes to Parbury.] Good-bye, Clement. [Aside to him.] Bear up; I"ve been there myself. [He goes-aside at door.] Rather tactful, I think-rather tactful.
[Exit L.