by Half Hours
CHARLES. You said you hated the public.
MRS. PAGE. It was mamma said that. They are my slaves and my playthings, and I toss them nuts. (He knows not how she got there, but for a moment of time her head caressingly skims his shoulder , and she is pouting in his face.) Every one forgives me but you, Charles, every one but you.
CHARLES (delirious). Beatrice, you unutter able delight
MRS. PAGE (worlds away). Don't forgive me if you would rather not.
Here *s a sigh to those who love me, And a smile to those who hate.
CHARLES (pursuing her). There is no one like you on earth, Beatrice. Marry me, marry me (as if he would catch her).
MRS. PAGE (cruelly). As a staff for my de clining years ?
CHARLES. Forget that rubbish and marry me, you darling girl.
150 ROSALIND
MRS. PAGE. I can't and I won't, but I'm glad I am your darling girl. (Very likely she is about to be delightful to him, but suddenly she sees her spoil-sport of a bag.) I am trusting to you not to let me miss the train.
CHARLES. I am coming with you all the way. (As if she needed to be told.) We had better be off.
MRS. PAGE (seizing the bag). Charles, as we run to the station we will stop at every telegraph post and carve something sweet on it 'From the East to Western Ind'
CHARLES (inspired). "No jewel is like Rosa lind'
MRS. PAGE. 'Middle-age is left behind'
CHARLES. 'For ever young is Rosalind.' Oh, you dear, Motley 's the only wear.
MRS. PAGE. And all the way up in the train, Charles, you shall woo me exquisitely. Nothing will come of it, but you are twenty-three again, and you will have a lovely time.
ROSALIND 151
CHARLES. I '11 win you, I '11 win you. MBS. PAGE. And eventually you will marry the buxom daughter of the wealthy
tallow-chandler
CHARLES. Never, I swear. MRS. PAGE (screwing her nose). And bring your children to see me playing the Queen in Hamlet.
(Here CHARLES ROCHE, bachelor, kisses the famous BEATRICE PAGE. Another sound is heard.}
CHARLES. The whistle of the train. MRS. PAGE. Away, away! 'Tis Touchstone calling. Fool, I come, I come. (To bedroom door) Ta-ta, mamma. (They are gone.)
THE WILL
THE WILL
THE scene is any lawyer's office.
It may be, and no doubt will be, the minute reproduction of some actual office, with all the characteristic appurtenances thereof, every blot of ink in its proper place; but for the purpose in hand any bare room would do just as well. The only thing essential to the room, save the two men sitting in it, is a framed en- graving on the wall of Queen Victoria, which dates sufficiently the opening scene, and will be changed presently to King Edward; afterwards to King George, to indicate the passing of time. No other alteration is called for. Doubtless different furniture came in, and the tiling of the fire-place was renewed, and at last some one discovered that the flowers in the window- box were dead, but all that is as immaterial to the action as the new blue-bottles; the succession of monarchs will convey allegori-
155
156 THE WILL
catty the one thing necessary, that time is passing, but that the office of Devizes, Devizes, and Devizes goes on.
The two men are DEVIZES SENIOR and JUNIOR. SENIOR, who is middle-aged, suc ceeded to a good thing years ago, and as the curtain rises we see him bent over his table making it a better thing. It is pleasant to think that before he speaks he adds another thirteen and fourpence, say, to the fortune of the firm.
JUNIOR is quite a gay dog, twenty-three, and we catch him skilfully balancing an office ruler on his nose. He is recently from Oxford
If you show him in Hyde Park, lawk, how they will
stare, Tho' a very smart figure in Bloomsbury Square.
Perhaps JUNIOR is a smarter figure in the office (among the clerks') than he was at Oxford, but this is one of the few things about him that his shrewd father does not know.
There moves to them by the only door into the room a middle-aged clerk called SURTEES,
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ivho is perhaps worth looking at, though his manner is that of one who has long ceased to think of himself as of any importance to either God or man. Look at him again, however (which few would do), and you may guess that he has lately had a shock touched a living wire and is a little dazed by it. He brings a card to MR. DEVIZES, SENIOR, who looks at it and shakes his head.
MR. DEVIZES. "Mr. Philip Ross.' Don't
know him.
SURTEES (who has an expressionless voice). He says he wrote you two days ago, sir, explaining his business. MR. DEVIZES. I have had no letter from a
Philip Ross. ROBERT. Nor I.
(He is more interested in his feat with the ruler than in a possible client, but SURTEES looks at him oddly.) MR. DEVIZES. Surtees looks as if he thought you had.
158 THE WILL
(ROBERT obliges by reflecting in the light of SURTEES'S countenance.)
ROBERT. Ah, you think it may have been that one, Surty ?
MR. DEVIZES (sharply). What one?
ROBERT. It was the day before yesterday. You were out, father, and Surtees brought me in some letters. His mouth was wide open. (Thoughtfully) I suppose that was why I did it.
MR. DEVIZES. What did you do?
ROBERT. I must have suddenly recalled a game we used to play at Oxford. You try to fling cards one by one into a hat. It requires great skill. So I cast one of the letters at Surtees's open mouth, and it missed him and went into the fire. It may have been Philip Ross's letter.
MR. DEVIZES (wrinkling his brows). Too bad, Robert.
ROBERT (blandly). Yes, you sec I am out of practice.
SURTEES. He seemed a very nervous person,
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sir, and quite young. Not a gentleman
of much consequence. ROBERT (airily). Why not tell him to write
again ? MR. DEVIZES. Not fair.
SURTEES. But she
ROBERT. She? Who?
SURTEES. There is a young lady with him,
sir. She is crying. ROBERT. Pretty? SURTEES. I should say she is pretty, sir, in
a quite inoffensive way. ROBERT (for his own gratification). Ha ! MR. DEVIZES. Well, when I ring show them in. ROBERT (with roguish finger). And let this
be a lesson to you, Surty, not to go about
your business with your mouth open.
(SURTEES tries to smile as requested, but
with poor success.} Nothing the matter,
Surty? You seem to have lost your
sense of humour. SURTEES (humbly enough). I 'm afraid I have,
sir. I never had very much, Mr. Robert.
160 THE WILL
(He goes quietly. There has been a suppressed emotion about him that makes the incident poignant.) ROBERT. Anything wrong with Surtees,
father? MR. DEVIZES. Never mind him. I am very
angry with you, Robert.
ROBERT (like one conceding a point in a de bating society). And justly. MR. DEVIZES (frowning). All we can do is
to tell this Mr. Ross that we have not
read his letter. ROBERT (bringing his knowledge of the world
to bear). Is that necessary? MR. DEVIZES. We must admit that we don't
know what he has come about. ROBERT (tolerant of his father's limitations).
But don't we ? MR. DEVIZES. Do you ? ROBERT. I rather think I can put two and
two together. MR. DEVIZES. Clever boy ! Well, I shall
leave them to you.
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ROBERT. Right.
MR. DEVIZES. Your first case, Robert.
ROBERT (undismayed). It will be as good as
a play to you to sit there and watch me
discovering before they have been two
minutes in the room what is the naughty
thing that brings them here. MR. DEVIZES (drily). I am always ready to
take a lesson from the new generati
on.
But of course we old fogies could do
that also. ROBERT. How?
MR. DEVIZES. By asking them. ROBERT. Pooh. What did I go to Oxford
for?
MR. DEVIZES. God knows. Are you ready ? ROBERT. Quite.
(MR. DEVIZES rings.} MR. DEVIZES. By the way, we don't know
the lady's name.
ROBERT. Observe me finding it out. MR. DEVIZES. Is she married or single ? ROBERT. I '11 know at a glance. And mark
162 THE WILL
me, if she is married it is our nervous gentleman who has come between her and her husband; but if she is single it is little Wet Face who has come between him and his wife. MR. DEVIZES. A Daniel !
(A young man and woman are shown in: very devoted to each other, though ROBERT does not know it. Yet it is the one thing obvious about them; more obvious than his cheap suit, which she presses so carefully beneath the mattress every night, or than the strength of his boyish face. Think ing of him as he then was by the light of subsequent events one wonders whether if he had come alone some- thing disquieting could have been read in that face which was not there while she was by. Probably not; it was certainly already there, but had not yet reached the surface. With her, too, though she is to be what is called
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changed before we see them again, all seems serene; no warning signals; no thing in the way of their happiness in each other but this alarming visit to a lawyer's office. The stage direc tion might be 'Enter two lovers. 9 He is scarcely the less nervous of the two, but he enters stoutly in front of her as if to receive the first charge. She has probably nodded valiantly to him outside the door, where she let go his hand.)
ROBERT (master of the situation). Come in, Mr. Ross (and he bows reassuringly to the lady). My partner indeed my father. (MR. DEVIZES bows but remains in the background.)
PHILIP (with a gulp). You got my letter? ROBERT. Yes yes. PHILIP. I gave you the details in it. ROBERT. Yes, I have them all in my head. (Cleverly) You will sit down, Miss I don't think I caught the name.
164 THE WILL
(As much as to say, ' You see, father, I spotted that she was single at once. 9 ) MR. DEVIZES (who has also formed his opinion),
You didn't ask for it, Robert. ROBERT (airily). Miss ? PHILIP. This is Mrs. Ross, my wife.
(ROBERT is a little taken aback, and has a conviction that his father is smiling.) ROBERT. Ah yes, of course; sit down, please, Mrs. Ross.
(She sits as if this made matters rather
worse.) PHILIP (standing guard by her side). My wife
is a little agitated.
ROBERT. Naturally. (He tries a ( feeler. 9 ) These affairs very painful at the time out one gradually forgets. EMILY (with large eyes). That is what Mr. Ross says, but somehow I can't help (the eyes fill). You see, we have been married only four months. ROBERT. Ah that does make it yes, cer-
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tainly. (He becomes the wife's champion,
and frowns on PHILIP.) PHILIP. I suppose the sum seems very small
to you ?
ROBERT (serenely). I confess that is the im pression it makes on me. PHILIP. I wish it was more. ROBERT (at a venture). You are sure you
can't make it more ? PHILIP. How can I ? ROBERT. Ha! EMILY (with sudden spirit). I think it's a
great deal.
PHILIP. Mrs. Ross is so nice about it. ROBERT (taking a strong line). I think so.
But she must not be taken advantage of.
And of course we shall have something
to say as to the amount. PHILIP (blankly). In what way? There it is. ROBERT (guardedly). Hum. Yes, in a sense. EMILY (breaking down) . Oh dear ! ROBERT (more determined than ever to do his
best for this wronged woman). I am very
166 THE WILL
sorry, Mrs. Ross. (Sternly) I hope, sir, you realise that the mere publicity to a sensitive woman
PHILIP. Publicity?
ROBERT (feeling that lie has got him on the run). Of course for her sake we shall try to arrange things so that the names do not appear. Still
PHILIP. The names ?
(By this time EMILY is in tears.)
EMILY. I can't help it. I love him so.
ROBERT (still benighted). Enough to forgive him ? (Seeing himself suddenly as a media tor) Mrs. Ross, is it too late to patch things up ?
PHILIP (now in flame). What do you mean, sir?
MR. DEVIZES (who has been quietly enjoying himself). Yes, Robert, what do you mean precisely ?
ROBERT. Really I (he tries brow-beating) I must tell you at once, Mr. Ross, that unless a client gives us his fullest con-
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Science we cannot undertake a case of
this kind. PHILIP. A case of what kind, sir? If you
are implying anything against my good
name
ROBERT. On your honour, sir, is there
nothing against it ? PHILIP. I know of nothing, sir. EMILY. Anything against my husband, Mr.
Devizes ! He is an angel. ROBERT (suddenly seeing that little Wet Face
must be the culprit). Then it is you. EMILY. Oh, sir, what is me ? PHILIP. Answer that, sir. ROBERT. Yes, Mr. Ross, I will. (But he
finds he cannot.) On second thoughts I
decline. I cannot believe it has been all
this lady's fault, and I decline to have
anything to do with such a painful case. MB. DEVIZES (promptly). Then I will take
it up. PHILIP (not to be placated). I think your son
has insulted me.
168 THE WILL
EMILY. Philip, come away.
MR. DEVIZES. One moment, please. As I
did not see your letter, may I ask Mr.
Ross what is your business with us ? PHILIP. I called to ask whether you would
be so good as to draw up my will. ROBERT (blankly} . Your will ! Is that all ? PHILIP. Certainly.
MR. DEVIZES. Now we know, Robert. ROBERT. But Mrs. Ross's agitation ? PHILIP (taking her hand). She feels that to
make my will brings my death nearer. ROBERT. So that 's it. PHILIP. It was all in the letter. MR. DEVIZES (coyly). Anything to say,
Robert? ROBERT. Most ah extremely (He has an
inspiration.) But even now I 'm puzzled.
You are Edgar Charles Ross ? PHILIP. No, Philip Ross. ROBERT (brazenly). Philip Ross? We have
made an odd mistake, father. (There is
a twinkle in MR. DEVIZES'S eye. He
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watches interestedly to see how his son is to emerge from the mess.} The fact is, Mrs. Ross, we are expecting to-day a Mr. Edgar Charles Ross on a matter well of a kind Ah me. (With fitting gravity) His wife, in short.
EMILY (who has not read the newspapers in vain). How awful. How sad.
ROBERT. Sad indeed. You will quite under stand that professional etiquette pre vents my saying one word more.
PHILIP. Yes, of course we have no desire But I did write.
ROBERT. Assuredly. But about a will. That is my father's department. No doubt you recall the letter now, father ?
MR. DEVIZES (who if he won't hinder won't help). I can't say I do.
ROBERT (unabashed). Odd. You must have overlooked it.
MR. DEVIZES. Ha. At all events, Mr. Ross, I am quite at your service now.
PHILIP. Thank you.
170 THE WILL
ROBERT (still ready to sacrifice himself on the call of duty). You don't need me any more, father?
MR. DEVIZES. No, Robert; many thanks. You run off to your club now and have a bit of lunch. You must be tired. Send Surtees in to me. (To his clients) My son had his first case to-day.
PHILIP (politely). I hope successfully.
MR. DEVIZES. Not so bad. He rather bungled it at first, but he got out of a hole rather cleverly. I think you '11 make a lawyer yet, Robert.
ROBERT. Thank you, father. (He goes jauntily, with a flower in his button-hole.)
MR. DEVIZES. Now, Mr. Ross.<
br />
(The young wife's hand goes out for comfort and finds PHILIP'S waiting for it.)
PHILIP. What I want myself is that the will should all go into one sentence, '1 leave everything of which I die possessed to my beloved wife.'
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MR. DEVIZES (thawing to the romance of this young couple). Well, there have been many worse wills than that, sir. (EMILY is emotional.)
PHILIP. Don't give way, Emily.
EMILY. It was those words, "of which I die possessed.' (Imploringly) Surely he doesn't need to say that please, Mr. Devizes ?
MR. DEVIZES . Certainly not. I am confident I can draw up the will without mention ing death at all.
EMILY (huskily). Oh, thank you.
MR. DEVIZES. At the same time, of course, in a legal document in which the widow
is the sole
(EMILY again needs attention.)
PHILIP (reproachfully). What was the need of saying 'widow' ?
MR. DEVIZES. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Ross. I unreservedly withdraw the word 'widow.' Forgive a stupid old solicitor. (She smiles gratefully through her tears.
172 THE WILL
SURTEES comes in.) Surtees, just take a few notes, please. (SURTEES sits in the background and takes notes.) The facts of the case, as I understand, Mrs. Ross, are these: Your husband (Quickly) who is in the prime of health but knows life to be uncertain
EMILY. Oh!
MR. DEVIZES. though usually, as we learn from holy script itself, it lasts seven times ten years and believing that he will in all probability live the allotted span, never theless, because of his love of you thinks it judicious to go through the form it is a mere form of making a will.
EMILY (fervently). Oh, thank you.
MR. DEVIZES, Any details, Mr. Ross ?
PHILIP. I am an orphan. I live at Belvedere, 14 Tulphin Road, Hammersmith.