MRS CLANDON. I never discovered his feelings. I discovered his temper, and his – [she shivers] the rest of his common humanity.
M’COMAS [wistfully] Women can be very hard, Mrs Clandon.
VALENTINE. Thats true.
GLORIA [angrily] Be silent. [He subsides].
M’COMAS [rallying all his forces] Let me make one last appeal. Mrs Clandon: believe me, there are men who have a good deal of feeling, and kind feeling too, which they are not able to express. What you miss in Crampton is that mere veneer of civilization, the art of shewing worthless attentions and paying insincere compliments in a kindly charming way. If you lived in London, where the whole system is one of false good-fellowship, and you may know a man for twenty years without finding out that he hates you like poison, you would soon have your eyes opened. There we do unkind things in a kind way: we say bitter things in a sweet voice: we always give our friends chloroform when we tear them to pieces. But think of the other side of it! Think of the people who do kind things in an unkind way! people whose touch hurts, whose voices jar, whose tempers play them false, who wound and worry the people they love in the very act of trying to conciliate them, and who yet need affection as much as the rest of us. Crampton has an abominable temper, I admit. He has no manners, no tact, no grace. He’ll never be able to gain anyone’s affection unless they will take his desire for it on trust. Is he to have none? not even pity? from his own flesh and blood?
DOLLY [quite melted] Oh how beautiful, Finch! How nice of you!
PHILIP [with conviction] Finch: this is eloquence: positive eloquence.
DOLLY. Oh mamma, let us give him another chance. Let us have him to dinner.
MRS CLANDON [unmoved] No, Dolly: I hardly got any lunch. My dear Finch: there is not the least use in talking to me about Fergus. You have never been married to him: I have.
M’COMAS [to Gloria] Miss Clandon: I have hitherto refrained from appealing to you, because, if what Mr Crampton told me be true, you have been more merciless even than your mother.
GLORIA [defiantly] You appeal from her strength to my weakness!
M’COMAS. Not your weakness, Miss Clandon. I appeal from her intellect to your heart.
GLORIA. I have learnt to mistrust my heart. [With an angry glance at Valentine] I would tear my heart out and throw it away if I could. My answer to you is my mother’s answer.
M’COMAS [defeated] Well, I am sorry. Very sorry. I have done my best. [He rises and prepares to go, deeply dissatisfied].
MRS CLANDON. But what did you expect, Finch? What do you want us to do?
M’COMAS. The first step for both you and Crampton is to obtain counsel’s opinion as to whether he is bound by the deed of separation or not. Now why not obtain this opinion at once, and have a friendly meeting [her face hardens] or shall we say a neutral meeting? to settle the difficulty? Here? In this hotel? Tonight? What do you say?
MRS CLANDON. But where is the counsel’s opinion to come from?
M’COMAS. It has dropped down on us cut of the clouds. On my way back here from Crampton’s I met a most eminent Q. C. : a man whom I briefed in the case that made his name for him. He has come down here from Saturday to Monday for the sea air, and to visit a relative of his who lives here. He has been good enough to say that if I can arrange a meeting of the parties he will come and help us with his opinion. Now do let us seize this chance of a quiet friendly family adjustment. Let me bring my friend here and try to persuade Crampton to come too. Come: consent.
MRS CLANDON [rather ominously, after a moment’s consideration] Finch: I dont want counsel’s opinion, because I intend to be guided by my own opinion. I dont want to meet Fergus again, because I dont like him, and dont believe the meeting will do any good. However [rising], you have persuaded the children that he is not quite hopeless. Do as you please.
M’COMAS [taking her hand and shaking it] Thank you, Mrs Clandon. Will nine o’clock suit you?
MRS CLANDON. Perfectly. Phil: will you ring, please. [Phil rings the bell]. But if I am to be accused of conspiring with Mr Valentine, I think he had better be present.
VALENTINE [rising] I quite agree with you. I think it’s most important.
M’COMAS. There can be no objection to that, I think. I have the greatest hopes of a happy settlement. Goodbye for the present. [He goes out, meeting the waiter, who holds the door open for him].
MRS CLANDON. We expect some visitors at nine, William. Can we have dinner at seven instead of half past?
WAITER [at the door] Seven, maam? Certainly, maam. It will be a convenience to us this busy evening, maam. There will be the band and the arranging of the fairy lights and one thing or another, maam.
DOLLY. Fairy lights!
PHILIP. A band! William: what mean you?
WAITER. The fancy ball, miss.
DOLLY AND PHILIP [simultaneously rushing to him] Fancy ball!!!
WAITER. Oh yes, sir. Given by the regatta committee for the benefit of the Life-boat, sir. [To Mrs Clandon] We often have them, maam: Chinese lanterns in the garden, maam: very bright and pleasant, very gay and innocent indeed. [To Phil] Tickets downstairs at the office, sir, five shillings: ladies half price if accompanied by a gentleman.
PHILIP [seizing his arm to drag him off] To the office, William!
DOLLY [breathlessly, seizing his other arm] Quick, before theyre all sold. [They rush him out of the room between them].
MRS CLANDON [following them] But they mustnt go off dancing this evening. They must be here to meet – [She disappears].
Gloria stares coolly at Valentine, and then deliberately looks at her watch.
VALENTINE. I understand. Ive stayed too long. I’m going.
GLORIA [with disdainful punctiliousness] I owe you some apology, Mr Valentine. I am conscious of having spoken to you somewhat sharply. Perhaps rudely.
VALENTINE. Not at all.
GLORIA. My only excuse is that it is very difficult to give consideration and respect when there is no dignity of character on the other side to command it.
VALENTINE. How is a man to look dignified when he’s infatuated?
GLORIA [angrily] Dont say those things to me. I forbid you. They are insults.
VALENTINE. No: theyre only follies. I cant help them.
GLORIA. If you were really in love, it would not make you foolish: it would give you dignity! earnestness! even beauty.
VALENTINE. Do you really think it would make me beautiful? [She turns her back on him with the coldest contempt]. Ah, you see youre not in earnest. Love cant give any man new gifts. It can only heighten the gifts he was born with.
GLORIA [sweeping round at him again] What gifts were you born with, pray.
VALENTINE. Lightness of heart.
GLORIA. And lightness of head, and lightness of faith, and lightness of everything that makes a man.
VALENTINE. Yes, the whole world is like a feather dancing in the light now; and Gloria is the sun. [She rears her headhaughtily]. Beg pardon: I’m off. Back at nine. Goodbye. [He runs off gaily, leaving her standing in the middle of the room staring after him].
GLORIA [at the top of her voice; suddenly furious with him for leaving her] Idiot!
ACT IV
The same room. Nine o’clock. Nobody present. The lamps are lighted; but the curtains are not drawn. The window stands wide open; and strings of Chinese lanterns are glowing among the trees outside, with the starry sky beyond. The band is playing dance-music in the garden, drowning the sound of the sea.
The waiter enters, shewing in Crampton and M’Comas. Crampton looks cowed and anxious. He sits down wearily and timidly on the ottoman.
WAITER. The ladies have gone for a turn through the grounds to see the fancy dresses, sir. If you will be so good as to take seats, gentlemen, I shall tell them. [He is about to go into the garden through the window when M’Comas stops him].
M’COMAS. Stop a bit. If another gentleman comes, shew him in without any delay: we are expecting him.
WAITER. Ri
ght, sir. What name, sir?
M’COMAS. Boon. Mr Boon. He is a stranger to Mrs Clandon; so he may give you a card. If so, the name is spelt B. O. H. U. N. You will not forget.
WAITER [smiling] You may depend on me for that, sir. My own name is Boon, sir, though I am best known down here as Balmy Walters, sir. By rights I should spell it with the aitch you, sir; but I think it best not to take that liberty, sir. There is Norman blood in it, sir; and Norman blood is not a recommendation to a waiter.
M’COMAS. Well, well: ‘True hearts are more than coronets, and simple faith than Norman blood.’
WAITER. That depends a good deal on one’s station in life, sir. If you were a waiter, sir, youd find that simple faith would leave you just as short as Norman blood. I find it best to spell myself B. double-O. N., and to keep my wits pretty sharp about me. But I’m taking up your time, sir. Youll excuse me, sir: your own fault for being so affable, sir. I’ll tell the ladies youre here, sir. [He goes out into the garden through the window].
M’COMAS. Crampton: I can depend on you, cant I?
CRAMPTON. Yes, yes. I’ll be quiet. I’ll be patient. I’ll do my best.
M’COMAS. Remember: Ive not given you away. Ive told them it was all their fault.
CRAMPTON. YOU told me that it was all my fault.
M’COMAS. I told you the truth.
CRAMPTON [plaintively] If they will only be fair to me!
M’COMAS. My dear Crampton, they wont be fair to you: it’s not to be expected from them at their age. If youre going to make impossible conditions of this kind, we may as well go back home at once.
CRAMPTON. But surely I have a right –
M’COMAS [intolerantly] You wont get your rights. Now, once for all, Crampton, did your promise of good behavior only mean that you wont complain if theres nothing to complain of? Because, if so – [He moves as if to go].
CRAMPTON [miserably] No, no: let me alone, cant you? Ive been bullied enough: Ive been tormented enough. I tell you I’ll do my best. But if that girl begins to talk to me like that and to look at me like – [He breaks off and buries his head in his hands].
M’COMAS [relenting] There, there: itll be all right, if you will only bear and forbear. Come: pull yourself together: theres someone coming. [Crampton, too dejected to care much, hardly changes his attitude. Gloria enters from the garden. M’Comas goes to meet her at the window; so that he can speak to her without being heard by Crampton]. There he is, Miss Clandon. Be kind to him. I’ll leave you with him for a moment. [He goes into the garden].
Gloria comes in and strolls coolly down the middle of the room.
CRAMPTON [looking round in alarm] Wheres M’Comas?
GLORIA [listlessly, but not unsympathetically] Gone out. To leave us together. Delicacy on his part, I suppose. [She stops beside him and looks quaintly down at him] Well, father?
CRAMPTON [submissively] Well, daughter?
They look at one another with a melancholy sense of humor, though humor is not their strong point.
GLORIA. Shake hands. [They shake hands].
CRAMPTON [holding her hand] My dear: I’m afraid I spoke very improperly of your mother this afternoon.
GLORIA. Oh, dont apologize. I was very high and mighty myself: but Ive come down since: oh, yes: Ive been brought down. [She sits down on the floor beside his chair].
CRAMPTON. What has happened to you, my child?
GLORIA. Ch, never mind. I was playing the part of my mother’s daughter then; but I’m not: I’m my father’s daughter. [Looking at him forlornly] Thats a come down, isnt it?
CRAMPTON [angry] What! [Her expression does not alter. He surrenders]. Well, yes, my dear: I suppose it is, I suppose it is. I’m afraid I’m sometimes a little irritable; but I know whats right and reasonable all the time, even when I dont act on it. Can you believe that?
GLORIA. Believe it! Why, thats myself: myself all over. I know whats right and dignified and strong and noble, just as well as she does; but oh, the things I do! the things I do! the things I let other people do!!
CRAMPTON [a little grudgingly in spite of himself] As well as she does? You mean your mother?
GLORIA [quickly] Yes, mother. [She turns to him on her knees and seizes his hands]. Now listen. No treason to her: no word, no thought against her. She is our superior: yours and mine: high heavens above us. Is that agreed?
CRAMPTON. Yes, yes. Just as you please, my dear.
GLORIA [not satisfied, letting go his hands and drawing back from him] You dont like her?
CRAMPTON. My child: you havnt been married to her. I have. [She raises herself slowly to her feet, looking at him with growing coldness]. She did me a great wrong in marrying me without really caring for me. But after that, the wrong was all on my side, I daresay. [He offers her his hand again].
GLORIA [taking it firmly and warningly] Take care. Thats my dangerous subject. My feelings – my miserable cowardly womanly feelings – may be on your side; but my conscience is on hers.
CRAMPTON. I’m very well content with that division, my dear. Thank you.
Valentine arrives. Gloria immediately becomes deliberately haughty.
VALENTINE. Excuse me; but it’s impossible to find a servant to announce one: even the never failing William seems to be at the ball. I should have gone myself; only I havnt five shillings to buy a ticket. How are you getting on, Crampton? Better, eh?
CRAMPTON. I am myself again, Mr Valentine, no thanks to you.
VALENTINE. Look at this ungrateful parent of yours, Miss Clandon! I saved him from an excruciating pang; and he reviles me!
GLORIA [coldly] I am sorry my mother is not here to receive you, Mr Valentine. It is not quite nine o’clock; and the gentleman of whom Mr M’Comas spoke, the lawyer, has not yet come.
VALENTINE. Oh yes he has. Ive met him and talked to him. [With gay malice] Youll like him, Miss Clandon: he’s the very incarnation of intellect. You can hear his mind working.
GLORIA [ignoring the jibe] Where is he?
VALENTINE. Bought a false nose and gone to the fancy ball.
CRAMPTON [crustily, looking at his watch] It seems that everybody has gone to this fancy ball instead of keeping to our appointment here.
VALENTINE. Oh, he’ll come all right enough: that was half an hour ago. I didnt like to borrow five shillings from him and go in with him; so I joined the mob and looked through the railings until Miss Clandon disappeared into the hotel through the window.
GLORIA. So it has come to this, that you follow me about in public to stare at me.
VALENTINE. Yes: somebody ought to chain me up.
Gloria turns her back on him and goes to the fireplace. He takes the snub very philosophically, and goes to the opposite side of the room. The waiter appears at the window, ushering in Mrs Clandon and M’Comas.
MRS CLANDON. I am so sorry to have kept you all waiting.
A grotesquely majestic stranger, in a domino and false nose with goggles, appears at the window.
WAITER [to the stranger] Beg pardon, sir; but this is a private apartment, sir. If you will allow me, sir, I will shew you the American bar and supper rooms, sir. This way, sir.
He goes into the garden, leading the way under the impression that the stranger is following him. The majestic one, however, comes straight into the room to the end of the table, where, with impressive deliberation, he takes off the false nose and then the domino, rolling up the nose in the domino and throwing the bundle on the table like a champion throwing down his glove. He is now seen to be a tall stout man between forty and fifty, clean shaven, with a midnight oil pallor emphasized by stiff black hair, cropped short and oiled, and eyebrows like early Victorian horsehair upholstery. Physically and spiritually a coarsened man: in cunning and logic a ruthlessly sharpened one. His bearing as he enters is sufficiently imposing and disquieting; but when he speaks, his powerful menacing voice, impressively articulated speech, strong inexorable manner, and a terrifying power of intensely critical listening, raise the impressi
on produced by him to absolute tremendousness.
THE STRANGER. My name is Bohun. [General awe]. Have I the honor of addressing Mrs Clandon? [Mrs Clandon bows. Bohun bows]. Miss Clandon? [Gloria bows. Bohun bows]. Mr Clandon?
CRAMPTON [insisting on his rightful name as angrily as he dares] My name is Crampton, sir.
BOHUN. Oh, indeed. [Passing him over without further notice and turning to Valentine] Are you Mr Clandon?
VALENTINE [making it a point of honor not to be impressed by him] Do I look like it? My name is Valentine. I did the drugging.
BOHUN. Ah, quite so. Then Mr Clandon has not yet arrived?
WAITER [entering anxiously through the window] Beg pardon, maam; but can you tell me what became of that – [He recognizes Bohun, and loses all his self-possession. Bohun waits rigidly for him to pull himself together]. Beg pardon, sir, I’m sure, sir. [Brokenly] Was – was it you, sir?
BOHUN [remorselessly] It was I.
WAITER [Unable to restrain his tears] You in a false nose, Walter! [He clings to a chair to support himself]. I beg your pardon, maam. A little giddiness –
BOHUN [commandingly] You will excuse him, Mrs Clandon, when I inform you that he is my father.
WAITER [heartbroken] Oh no, no, Walter. A waiter for your father on top of a false nose! What will they think of you?
MRS CLANDON. I am delighted to hear it, Mr Bohun. Your father has been an excellent friend to us since we came here.
Bohun bows gravely.
WAITER [shaking his head] Oh no, maam. It’s very kind of you: very ladylike and affable indeed, maam; but I should feel at a great disadvantage off my own proper footing. Never mind my being the gentleman’s father, maam: it is only the accident of birth after all, maam. Youll excuse me, I’m sure, having interrupted your business. [He begins to make his way along the table, supporting himself from chair to chair, with his eye on the door].
BOHUN. One moment. [The waiter stops, with a sinking heart]. My father was a witness of what passed today, was he not, Mrs Clandon?
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