Yes, perhaps you’d better. He’s a very bright boy.
Mrs. Dot.
Well, the fact is, Freddie, a dreadful thing has happened. Poor Nellie Sellenger is desperately in love with you.
Freddie.
I don’t see why you should want me to go away on that account.
Blenkinsop.
Good lord, man, don’t be so self-satisfied. Aren’t you surprised, aren’t you dumfounded that a pretty girl should fall in love with you?
Freddie.
I thought it meant something when she dropped that rose.
Blenkinsop.
Bless my stars, the dolt takes it as a matter of course.
Freddie.
I’m awfully flattered and all that sort of thing.
Mrs. Dot.
But not exactly surprised?
Freddie.
It’s not fair to ask a fellow a question like that.
Blenkinsop.
At all events, you see now the necessity for depriving us for a time of your charming society.
Freddie.
Nothing will induce me to desert a post of danger. I’m going to face the music.
Blenkinsop.
Don’t be such an ass. It’s not you we’re thinking of, it’s that unfortunate girl.
Freddie.
I don’t know why you think she’s unfortunate.
Mrs. Dot.
But, my dear boy, she’s engaged to Gerald Hollington. Don’t you see how serious the whole thing is? The only chance is for you to go away. We must try and make her forget you.
Freddie.
I don’t want to do anybody a bad turn. I wouldn’t do anything to queer Gerald’s pitch for worlds.
Blenkinsop.
You must combine with us in order to save her from herself.
Mrs. Dot.
There’s no use in her eating her heart out for you, when she must inevitably marry Gerald.
Freddie.
Poor old Gerald, I told you he wasn’t the sort of chap a girl would be desperately in love with.
Blenkinsop.
The acumen you have shown does credit to your years.
Freddie.
Still, you know, I don’t think it’s wise for me to go away. Don’t you think it would be rather marked? And they always say that absence makes the heart grow fonder.
Blenkinsop.
It was a woman who invented that proverb. There’s no truth in it.
Mrs. Dot.
What else can you suggest? The fact remains that Nellie must be cured of this — of this passion.
Freddie.
My own idea is that the best thing is for me to hang on here as if I knew nothing about it. I’ll take care to be very distant. I’ll ignore her as much as I can.
Mrs. Dot.
Will you promise to do that?
Freddie.
Yes, rather. I’ll let her see that I’m really a deuced dissipated dog.
Blenkinsop.
Don’t let her think you’re too great a devil with the ladies, or that’ll be the last straw. If there’s one thing a woman likes it’s a really bad man. She’ll start reforming you, and then there’ll be no holding her back.
Mrs. Dot.
No, you must seem rather dull and stupid. Let her think you’re a bit of a milksop.
[Freddie looks at them suspiciously.
Freddie.
Look here, you’re not pulling my leg all the time, are you?
Mrs. Dot.
My dear, I should never take such a liberty.
Freddie.
I don’t believe a word of what you’ve told me. Why should she care for me? You’ve simply been humbugging me right and left.
[For a moment Mrs. Dot is taken aback, but she sees Lady Sellenger coming through the garden with Gerald.
Mrs. Dot.
Here’s Lady Sellenger. You won’t accuse her of trying to make a fool of you. [Lady Sellenger and Gerald appear.] I’ve just been talking to Freddie about — about your girl.
Lady Sellenger.
Oh yes. [To Freddie.] My poor boy, you’re in a very difficult position.
Freddie.
Then you know all about it, too?
Lady Sellenger.
I really feel for you very much. You’ll want a great deal of tact and a great deal of courage. But you must do your duty.
[She turns aside to Blenkinsop.
Mrs. Dot.
[In an undertone to Freddie.] Now have I been pulling your leg?
Freddie.
Poor girl!
[He goes into the house.
Lady Sellenger.
[Looking at him as he goes.] What a beautiful and touching thing love is.
Blenkinsop.
You must take care, Lady Sellenger. You’re growing sentimental.
Lady Sellenger.
But I’ve always been as sentimental as a schoolgirl in my heart. Only, so long as Nellie’s future was unarranged, I was obliged to keep a tight hand on myself.
Mrs. Dot.
Of course, Jimmie laughs; he doesn’t know what love is.
Lady Sellenger.
Have you never been loved for yourself, Mr. Blenkinsop?
Blenkinsop.
I have, but I have always found it deuced expensive.
Gerald.
I’m afraid Blenkinsop doesn’t set much store on the gentle sex.
Blenkinsop.
Don’t call them gentle. They’re very much rougher than men.
Mrs. Dot.
Stop him, or he’ll utter a whole string of horrors.
Blenkinsop.
Have you never watched the gentle sex fight and push and scramble as it gets into the Hammersmith bus? I assure you, the unlucky man who finds himself in that seething feminine crowd is fortunate if he escapes without losing an eye or half his teeth. And have you seen the fury of the gentle sex at a sale as they seize some worthless fragment, and the bitterness with which they haggle? The other day I was in the Army and Navy Stores, and two women were standing on the stairs, discussing their servants, so that no one could pass up and down. I took off my hat and said: Excuse me, would you allow me to pass. They moved barely two inches, and one of them said in a loud voice to the other: What an impertinent man. The gentle sex! Yesterday I was hanging on a strap in a crowded train coming from the city, and I saw a pale-faced weary clerk give up his seat to a strong and bouncing girl. She took it without saying thank you, because she was a lady and he wasn’t a gentleman. Then a tired old woman came in and stood, but the bouncing girl never thought of giving up the seat to her. The gentle sex! They have such tender hearts they couldn’t bear to hurt a fly. Have you ever seen a woman get out of a bus ten yards before her destination in order to save the wretched horses another start? Not much. Have you ever known a woman of fashion who sends her maid to bed when she knows she won’t be in till four in the morning? Not much. And is there anything like the insolence with which a woman treats her social inferiors of the same sex? Is it men who put on their backs the sealskins that are torn off the living bodies of helpless brutes? Is it men who put on their hats the beautiful birds of the forest? It’s the gentle sex. Boys are taught manners. They are taught to take off their hats and hold open the door for their sisters. They are taught to fetch and carry for women, and to give up the front seat in life to women. But what are girls taught? Girls are taught etiquette, and that, I suppose, makes them in due course the gentle sex.
Lady Sellenger.
Every one knows you’re a horrible cynic, so there can’t be a word of truth in anything you say.
Blenkinsop.
Q.E.D.
Gerald.
Here comes Nellie.
[Nellie comes in, having changed her dress. She now wears a very pretty white frock, all flounces and furbelows, and a large white hat. At the same moment from the other side Freddie enters. He also has changed, and is now in spotless white.
Mrs. Dot.
[With a laugh, whispering
to Blenkinsop.] They’ve both changed their clothes.
Gerald.
Would you like to come for a row, Nellie?
Nellie.
I’m too tired. Won’t you go with Mrs. Dot? I’ll rest here till tea-time.
[Nellie sits down, and the others go.
Lady Sellenger.
Personally, I must walk. I sacrifice all my inclinations to my fear of growing too stout. I often wonder if we shall get our good dinners in heaven that we’ve done without on earth.
Blenkinsop.
It’s generally understood that we shall only get our deserts.
[Nellie watches them go from over her shoulder. She sees that Freddie is hanging back. She smiles and elaborately disregards him. He comes forward and leans over her chair.
Nellie.
Aren’t you going with the others?
Freddie.
Do you mind if I stay with you?
Nellie.
I like it.
Freddie.
Jolly here, isn’t it?
Nellie.
Awfully jolly.
Freddie.
I’ve not congratulated you on your engagement yet.
Nellie.
I didn’t expect you would.
Freddie.
Why?
Nellie.
Oh, I don’t know.
Freddie.
It seems a long time since we first met, doesn’t it?
Nellie.
Why?
Freddie.
Because I seem to know you so well.
Nellie.
You’re very easy to get to know, aren’t you?
Freddie.
I say, you look just like another rose in this garden.
Nellie.
I suppose you say that to every girl who sits here?
Freddie.
I’ve never said it to any one but you.
Nellie.
They tell me you’re very impressionable.
Freddie.
They lie.
Nellie.
I think I shall take off my hat.
Freddie.
Yes, do.
[She proceeds to do so. She pretends that she cannot.
Nellie.
Oh, how stupid of me! Something has caught.
Freddie.
May I help you?
Nellie.
I’m afraid I’m giving you a lot of trouble.
[He helps her, and she gives a little scream.
Freddie.
Oh, I’m so sorry. Did I hurt you?
Nellie.
No, but it tickled.
[She takes off the hat. One hand of hers remains in his. Their eyes meet for the first time, and they smile.
Freddie.
I say, what a pretty hand you have! It looks so white on mine, doesn’t it?
[Mrs. Dot creeps back and stands behind a bush, so that she cannot be seen.
Nellie.
I rather like your hand. It’s so strong and brown.
Freddie.
You know, you’re awfully easy to get on with. Sometimes I feel dreadfully shy and nervous with women, but I can think of all sorts of things I want to say to you.
Nellie.
I seem to have known you all my life.
Freddie.
[Impulsively.] Isn’t it jolly here?
Nellie.
Awfully jolly.
[He looks at her for a moment.
Freddie.
I want to ask you something. You won’t be angry, will you?
Nellie.
No.
Freddie.
May I kiss you?
Nellie.
No.
Freddie.
It’s awfully unkind of you.
Nellie.
You shouldn’t have asked.
Freddie.
Shouldn’t I? I wanted to, badly.
Nellie.
There are some things one should do without asking.
Freddie.
You are a brick.
[He kisses her. As he does so, Hollington comes in and sees them. He stops for a moment in astonishment, then withdraws.
Freddie.
Let’s go on the river, shall we?
Nellie.
I told Gerald I was too tired.
Freddie.
Oh, hang Gerald!
Nellie.
We might go and play the piano in the drawing-room.
Freddie.
I’m awfully fond of music. Cake-walks, and things like that, you know.
[They get up. Mrs. Dot comes forward.
Mrs. Dot.
Are you going? I thought you were tired.
Nellie.
We’re just going to look at the kitchen garden.
Freddie.
I’ve told Miss Sellenger that you’ve got some most awfully good carrots.
Mrs. Dot.
[As they go to the house.] That’s not the way, you know.
Nellie.
[Coolly.] I’m only just going to get a handkerchief.
Mrs. Dot.
Oh, I see. I beg your pardon.
[They go. Gerald comes forward. He is rather grave and solemn.
Mrs. Dot.
What a picture they make, don’t they? I can’t tell you how much I like Nellie.
Gerald.
You’ve come to the conclusion that the cut of her skirt’s all right.
Mrs. Dot.
Ah, you mustn’t recall what I said when I was in a temper. You know, I’m rather touched by her obvious affection for you.
Gerald.
It’s very good of you to say so.
Mrs. Dot.
It’s so nice to see two people head over ears in love with one another.
Gerald.
I wouldn’t be so presumptuous as to think Nellie was so much in love with me as all that.
Mrs. Dot.
My dear boy, I’ve just had proof of it.
Gerald.
Have you? That’s more than I have.
Mrs. Dot.
And is dear Lady Sellenger going to live with you when you’re married?
Gerald.
Look here, Dot, what’s the meaning of all this?
Mrs. Dot.
[Much surprised.] Of what?
Gerald.
Why did you ask us all down?
Mrs. Dot.
Because I’m of a hospitable turn of mind. Didn’t you want to come? I’m so sorry.
Gerald.
You’ve utterly ignored me since I arrived.
Mrs. Dot.
[Ironically.] Much as I should have liked to devote myself exclusively to your entertainment, I’ve been really obliged to remember that my other guests had equal claims upon me.
Gerald.
I should very much like to take you by the shoulders and give you a good shaking.
Mrs. Dot.
I don’t think you’re in a very good temper to-day.
Gerald.
[Crossly.] Pardon me, I’m in the best possible temper.
Mrs. Dot.
You certainly ought to be with the prospect of spending a week in almost uninterrupted tête-à-tête with the object of your affections.
Gerald.
I can’t make you out. You’re so changed since last we met.
Mrs. Dot.
You see, last time I thought I was in love with you. Now I know I’m not.
Gerald.
[Bitterly.] I’m glad you’ve got over it so quickly.
Mrs. Dot.
Really, you couldn’t wish me to continue eating my heart out for a young man, however charming, who is going to marry somebody else.
Gerald.
Of course not.
Mrs. Dot.
[Mockingly.] Well?
Gerald.
I was a fool to think you ever cared at all.
Mrs. Dot.
But why should you think it when you took the greatest pains to assure m
e that you didn’t care two straws for me?
Gerald.
[Quickly.] I didn’t!
Mrs. Dot.
You did!
Gerald.
I didn’t!
Mrs. Dot.
Then you did care for me?
Gerald.
I never said that.
Mrs. Dot.
Anyhow, whatever your sentiments were, it would gratify your self-esteem to think that I was languishing with a hopeless passion.
Gerald.
It’s cruel of you to laugh at me.
Mrs. Dot.
By the way, are you by any chance in love with me now?
Gerald.
You have no right to ask me that question.
Mrs. Dot.
My dear boy, I’m not keeping you from spending an idyllic afternoon with Nellie. You’ve forced this conversation upon me. I assure you it’s most distasteful.
Gerald.
If I had married you, I should certainly have beaten you with a big stick.
Mrs. Dot.
What do you think is my chief characteristic?
Gerald.
That’s a question I can answer. The most confounded and aggravating unreasonableness that I ever saw.
Mrs. Dot.
Nonsense. It’s obvious that my chief characteristic is a sweet and yielding nature. But as there’s no likelihood of our agreeing on that, what do you think is the second?
Gerald.
Obstinacy.
Mrs. Dot.
Well, I prefer to call it strength of mind. Now, I’ll acknowledge that I was in love with you — a month ago. That’s a feather in your cap.
Gerald.
Oh, I wish we were back again. I’ve had such rotten luck.
Mrs. Dot.
But when I saw that my sweetness was likely to be wasted on the desert air, I made up my mind to cure myself. First I cried for two days.
Gerald.
Dot.
Mrs. Dot.
No, don’t sympathise. I have rather a high colour, and when I’ve had a good cry it always improves my complexion. After that, I ordered some new frocks, and I bought a diamond necklace that I’d been hankering after for some time.
Gerald.
And that thoroughly consoled you, I suppose?
Mrs. Dot.
It helped. Then I came to the conclusion that there were as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it. I thought you over. After all, you’re not really very good-looking, are you?
Gerald.
I’m not aware that I ever made any pretence of being so.
Mrs. Dot.
And I’m sure no one could accuse you of being extremely amusing.
Gerald.
I have no doubt I’m excessively dull.
Mrs. Dot.
I couldn’t help seeing that you’d suit Nellie much better than you would have suited me. She has that comfortable stupidity which the average Englishman looks upon as the highest recommendation for a wife.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 341