[She is immediately submerged in the sea that surges through the door, bringing much wreckage with it. In a moment the place is so full that another cupful could not find standing room. Some slippery ones are squeezed upwards and remain aloft as warnings. JOHN has jumped on to the stair, and harangues the flood vainly like another Canute. It is something about freedom and n.o.ble minds, and, though unheard, goes to all heads, including the speaker"s. By the time he is audible sentiment has him for her own.]
JOHN. But, gentlemen, one may have too much even of freedom [No, no.]
Yes, Mr. Adamson. One may want to be tied. [Never, never.] I say yes, Willie Cameron; and I have found a young lady who I am proud to say is willing to be tied to me. I"m to be married. [Uproar.] Her name"s Miss Wylie. [Transport.] Quiet; she"s here now. [Frenzy.] She was here!
Where are you, Maggie? [A small voice--"I"m here." A hundred great voices--"Where--where--where?" The small voice--"I"m so little none of you can see me."]
[Three men, name of Wylie, buffet their way forward.]
DAVID. James, father, have you grip of her?
ALICK. We"ve got her.
DAVID. Then hoist her up.
[The queer little elated figure is raised aloft. With her fingers she can just touch the stars. Not unconscious of the n.o.bility of his behaviour, the hero of the evening points an impressive finger at her.]
JOHN. Gentlemen, the future Mrs. John Shand! [Cries of "Speech, speech!"] No, no, being a lady she can"t make a speech, but---
[The heroine of the evening surprises him.]
MAGGIE. I can make a speech, and I will make a speech, and it"s in two words, and they"re these [holding out her arms to enfold all the members of the Cowcaddens Club]--My Const.i.tuents! [Dementia.]
ACT III
[A few minutes ago the Comtesse de la Briere, who has not recently been in England, was shown into the London home of the Shands. Though not sufficiently interested to express her surprise in words, she raised her eyebrows on finding herself in a charming room; she has presumed that the Shand scheme of decoration would be as impossible as themselves.
It is the little room behind the dining-room for which English architects have long been famous; "Make something of this, and you will indeed be a clever one," they seem to say to you as they unveil it. The Comtesse finds that John has undoubtedly made something of it. It is his "study" (mon Dieu, the words these English use!) and there is nothing in it that offends; there is so much not in it too that might so easily have been there. It is not in the least ornate; there are no colours quarrelling with each other (unseen, unheard by the blissful occupant of the revolving chair); the Comtesse has not even the gentle satisfaction of noting a "suite" in stained oak. Nature might have taken a share in the decorations, so restful are they to the eyes; it is the working room of a man of culture, probably lately down from Oxford; at a first meeting there is nothing in it that pretends to be what it is not. Our visitor is a little disappointed, but being fair-minded blows her absent host a kiss for disappointing her.
He has even, she observes with a twinkle, made something of the most difficult of his possessions, the little wife. For Maggie, who is here receiving her, has been quite creditably toned down. He has put her into a little grey frock that not only deals gently with her personal defects, but is in harmony with the room. Evidently, however, she has not "risen" with him, for she is as ever; the Comtesse, who remembers having liked her the better of the two, could shake her for being so stupid. For instance, why is she not a.s.serting herself in that other apartment?
The other apartment is really a correctly solemn dining-room, of which we have a glimpse through partly open folding-doors. At this moment it is harbouring Mr. Shand"s ladies" committee, who sit with pens and foolscap round the large table, awaiting the advent of their leader.
There are n.o.bly wise ones and some foolish ones among them, for we are back in the strange days when it was considered "unwomanly" for women to have minds. The Comtesse peeps at them with curiosity, as they arrange their papers or are ushered into the dining-room through a door which we cannot see. To her frivolous ladyship they are a species of wild fowl, and she is specially amused to find her niece among them. She demands an explanation as soon as the communicating doors close.]
COMTESSE. Tell me since when has my dear Sybil become one of these ladies? It is not like her.
[MAGGIE is obviously not clever enough to understand the woman question.
Her eye rests longingly on a half-finished stocking as she innocently but densely replies:]
MAGGIE. I think it was about the time that my husband took up their cause.
[The COMTESSE has been hearing tales of LADY SYBIL and the barbarian; and after having the grace to hesitate, she speaks with the directness for which she is famed in Mayfair.]
COMTESSE. Mrs. Shand, excuse me for saying that if half of what I hear be true, your husband is seeing that lady a great deal too often.
[MAGGIE is expressionless; she reaches for her stocking, whereat her guest loses patience.] Oh, mon Dieu, put that down; you can buy them at two francs the pair. Mrs. Shand, why do not you compel yourself to take an intelligent interest in your husband"s work?
MAGGIE. I typewrite his speeches.
COMTESSE. But do you know what they are about?
MAGGIE. They are about various subjects.
COMTESSE. Oh!
[Did MAGGIE give her an unseen quizzical glance before demurely resuming the knitting? One is not certain, as JOHN has come in, and this obliterates her. A "Scotsman on the make," of whom DAVID has spoken reverently, is still to be read--in a somewhat better bound volume--in JOHN SHAND"s person; but it is as doggedly honest a face as ever; and he champions women, not for personal ends, but because his blessed days of poverty gave him a light upon their needs. His self-satisfaction, however, has increased, and he has pleasantly forgotten some things.
For instance, he can now call out "Porter" at railway stations without dropping his hands for the barrow. MAGGIE introduces the COMTESSE, and he is still undaunted.]
JOHN. I remember you well--at Glasgow.
COMTESSE. It must be quite two years ago, Mr. Shand.
[JOHN has no objection to showing that he has had a cla.s.sical education.]
JOHN. Tempus fugit, Comtesse.
COMTESSE. I have not been much in this country since then, and I return to find you a coming man.
[Fortunately his learning is tempered with modesty.]
JOHN. Oh, I don"t know, I don"t know.
COMTESSE. The Ladies" Champion.
[His modesty is tempered with a respect for truth.]
JOHN. Well, well.
COMTESSE. And you are about, as I understand, to introduce a bill to give women an equal right with men to grow beards [which is all she knows about it. He takes the remark literally.]
JOHN. There"s nothing about beards in it, Comtesse. [She gives him time to cogitate, and is pleased to note that there is no result.] Have you typed my speech, Maggie?
MAGGIE. Yes; twenty-six pages. [She produces it from a drawer.]
[Perhaps JOHN wishes to impress the visitor.]
JOHN. I"m to give the ladies" committee a general idea of it. Just see, Maggie, if I know the peroration. "In conclusion, Mr. Speaker, these are the reasonable demands of every intelligent Englishwoman"--I had better say British woman--"and I am proud to nail them to my flag"---
[The visitor is properly impressed.]
COMTESSE. Oho! defies his leaders!
JOHN. "So long as I can do so without embarra.s.sing the Government."
COMTESSE. Ah, ah, Mr. Shand!
JOHN. "I call upon the Front Bench, sir, loyally but firmly"--