Mrs. Watson.
That is kind of you. But you must allow me to give you a little present.
Dickie.
[Rather feebly, but brightening up a little.] Oh, really, you know....
Mrs. Watson.
I’ve seen every doctor in London of any importance, and they’ve none of them charged me a penny, but I always make them a little present. I know that you doctors have to go out in all weathers, and you never wrap yourselves up. So I give them a woollen comforter.
[She takes out of her bag a large red woollen comforter.
Dickie.
[Blankly.] Oh, thank you very much.
Mrs. Watson.
I made it myself.
Dickie.
Did you!
Mrs. Watson.
And Sir Benjamin promised to wear his every winter. You’ll find it so warm.
Dickie.
I’m very grateful to you.
Mrs. Watson.
And now, good-bye, and thank you so much.
Dickie.
When you come back from the Riviera, you might do worse than consult Dr. Rogers. He lives just at the other end of the street, you know. He’s very good in cases like yours.
Mrs. Watson.
Thank you so much.
Dickie.
Good-bye.
[She goes out, and he shuts the door. He runs to the other and calls out.
Dickie.
Pen! Pen!
Penelope’s Voice.
Yes.
[There is a knock at the door.
Dickie.
[Irritably.] Come in.
[Mrs. Watson enters.
Mrs. Watson.
I knew there was something I wanted to ask you particularly, and I nearly forgot it. Sir Benjamin Broadstairs said I ought never to eat anything but toast, and Sir William Wilson said he didn’t think toast was at all good for me, and I only ought to eat bread. Now, I wonder what I had better do?
Dickie.
[Seriously, as if he were deliberating.] Well, if I were you, I’d eat bread toasted only on one side.
Mrs. Watson.
Thank you so much. Good-bye. I hope you’ll like the comforter.
Dickie.
I’m sure I shall. Good-bye.
[She goes out again, and Dickie shuts the door.
Dickie.
Pen! Pen!
[Penelope comes in by the other door.
Penelope.
What is the matter?
[Dickie goes up to her furiously with the comforter in his hands.
Dickie.
Look! That’s my fee! That!
Penelope.
It’s a woollen comforter.
Dickie.
Don’t be idiotic, Penelope. I can see it’s a woollen comforter.
Penelope.
But what’s the meaning of it?
Dickie.
She’s a doctor’s widow. Of course I couldn’t charge her anything. She kept it dark till to-day. I’ll tell you what, doctors’ widows oughtn’t to be allowed to survive their husbands.
Penelope.
Oh!
Dickie.
When you’re my widow, Pen, you go right up one side of Harley Street and then right down the other and see them all.
Penelope.
But supposing I’m not ill?
Dickie.
Hang it all, when you’ve lost me the least you can do is to enjoy indifferent health.
[Peyton comes in.
Peyton.
If you please, sir, Mrs. Watson says, may she just see you for one minute.
Dickie.
[Resigned.] Yes.
[Exit Peyton.
Dickie.
What the dickens does she want now?
[Peyton shows Mrs. Watson in.
Mrs. Watson.
You’ll think you’ve never seen the last of me.
Dickie.
[Blandly.] Not at all. Not at all.
Mrs. Watson.
I’ve been thinking about what you said about toasting my bread on one side.... On which side shall I put the butter?
Dickie.
[With his chin in his hand.] H’m. H’m. You must put the butter on the toasted side.
Mrs. Watson.
Oh, thank you. Now just one more question, do you think a little jam would hurt me?
Dickie.
No, I don’t think a little jam would hurt you, but you mustn’t put it on the same side as you put the butter.
Mrs. Watson.
Oh, thank you. Good afternoon. I’m so much obliged.
Dickie.
Not at all. Not at all.
[Mrs. Watson goes out.
Dickie.
[Shaking his fist at the door.] Suttee.... That’s the word. Suttee.
Penelope.
Dickie, what are you talking about?
Dickie.
I’ve been trying to think of it for ten minutes. That’s what doctors’ widows ought to do — Suttee. Like the Hindoos.
Penelope.
Burn themselves alive at their husbands’ death?
Dickie.
You’ve hit it. Suttee. That’s the word.
Penelope.
But, darling, I should hate to grace your funeral by making a bonfire of myself.
Dickie.
Oh, you have no affection for me.
Penelope.
Lots, but that’s asking a great deal, isn’t it?
Dickie.
No, you don’t care for me as much as you used to. You’re quite different. I’ve noticed lots of things.
Penelope.
[With a rapid glance at him, but keeping her chaffing manner.] Oh, nonsense.
Dickie.
You’ve changed lately. You never come down to see me off in the morning, and you don’t ask me at what time I’m coming back. You always used to sit on the arm of my chair after breakfast when I was smoking my pipe and reading the paper.
Penelope.
You must have hated it, didn’t you?
Dickie.
Of course I hated it, but it showed you were fond of me, and now that you don’t do it any more I miss it.
[Peyton comes in, followed by Mrs. Fergusson, and withdraws.
Peyton.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Dickie gives a slight start, and shows faint signs of annoyance. He cannot make out what Mrs. Fergusson has come for.
Mrs. Fergusson.
The maid told me you were here, so I asked her to show me straight in. I hope you don’t mind.
Penelope.
Of course not. We’re delighted to see you anywhere. Won’t you have some tea?
Mrs. Fergusson.
No, thank you. The fact is, I’ve come to see Dr. O’Farrell professionally.
Penelope.
You’re not ill?
Mrs. Fergusson.
I’ve not been very well lately, and I thought I’d like to see a doctor. [To Dickie.] Will you treat me?
Dickie.
I’ll do anything I can for you.
Mrs. Fergusson.
But it must be really a professional visit. You know, I want to pay.
Penelope.
Oh, nonsense, Dickie couldn’t dream of accepting money from one of my friends.
Mrs. Fergusson.
No, I’ve got the strictest principles on that point. I think it’s too bad of people to want a doctor to treat them for nothing. I really insist on paying the usual fee.
Dickie.
Oh, well, we’ll discuss that later.
Penelope.
I’ll leave you alone, shall I?
Mrs. Fergusson.
Do you mind, dear? It makes me a little uncomfortable to discuss my symptoms before a third party.
Penelope.
Of course.
Mrs. Fergusson.
We shall only be five minutes.
Penelope.
I warn you that Dickie’s medicines are perfectly beastl
y.
[She goes out.
Dickie.
I’m sorry you’re seedy. You were all right yesterday.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Laughing.] I’ve never been better in my life, thank you.
[Dickie is rather taken aback.
Mrs. Fergusson.
That’s the advantage of you being a doctor. When I want to see you alone I can do it under your wife’s very nose. Don’t you think it was rather ingenious?
Dickie.
[Dryly.] Very.
[She gives a little laugh. She gets up and steps cautiously to the door, and suddenly flings it open.
Dickie.
What on earth are you doing?
Mrs. Fergusson.
I wanted to see if Penelope was listening.
Dickie.
[Rather sharply.] Of course she wasn’t listening. That’s about the last thing she’d do.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, my dear, don’t get in a temper about it. Lots of women do listen, you know.
Dickie.
Do they? I haven’t had the pleasure of meeting them.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Fiddle.
Dickie.
Then will you tell me in what way I can be of use to you?
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Good-humouredly.] Certainly not, if you ask me as crossly as that. You may kiss my hand. [He does so.] That’s right. Still cross?
Dickie.
No.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Do you love me as much as ever?
Dickie.
Yes.
Mrs. Fergusson.
You wouldn’t say no if you didn’t, would you?
Dickie.
No.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Brute!
Dickie.
[Rather impatiently.] I say, what on earth have you come for?
Mrs. Fergusson.
You are nice to me to-day.
Dickie.
Well, when I left you yesterday we fixed up everything. I gave you your ticket, and I wrote down the time the train started.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Well, for one thing I wanted to see Penelope.
Dickie.
Why?
Mrs. Fergusson.
It amuses me to see her simplicity. I get a lot of pleasure in looking at her and thinking how little she suspects what is going on under her very nose. She’s the most trusting person I ever met in my life.
Dickie.
If you want to know anything, it makes me feel devilish uncomfortable.
Mrs. Fergusson.
My poor, dear boy, what are you talking about?
Dickie.
It wouldn’t be so bad if we had to take any precautions. But she trusts us absolutely. Why, she’s always throwing us together. It never enters her head that there can be the least reason for suspicion. It’s like knocking a man down who can’t defend himself.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I suppose that means that you no longer love me?
Dickie.
Of course I love you. Good heavens, I’ve told you so till I’m blue in the face.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, no, you no longer love me. Men only begin to have scruples when they stop caring for you.
[Dickie gives a sigh of resignation. This is not the first scene he has had to put up with.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I’ve sacrificed everything for your sake. And now you insult me. And when I think of my poor husband bravely serving his country in a foreign land! Oh, it’s cruel, cruel!
Dickie.
But I’ve only said it made me feel low down to treat Penelope badly.
Mrs. Fergusson.
You don’t think of my feelings. You don’t think how I feel. What about my husband?
Dickie.
Well, you see I don’t happen to know your husband, and I do know my wife.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Don’t be so stupid. Of course you know your wife.
Dickie.
That’s why I don’t like behaving like an utter cad.
Mrs. Fergusson.
If you really loved me you would think of nothing but me, nothing, nothing, nothing.
[She puts her handkerchief to her eyes.
Dickie.
Oh, I say, don’t cry.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I shall cry. I’ve never been treated like this before. If you don’t love me any more, why don’t you say so?
Dickie.
Yes, I do love you. But....
Mrs. Fergusson.
But what?
Dickie.
[Nervously.] Well — er — I think it would be much better if we — put the trip to Paris off for a bit.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[Gasping with anger.] Oh! Oh! Oh!
Dickie.
Penelope’s so blindly confident.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I’ll never speak to you again. I wish I had never met you. Oh, how can you insult me like this!
[She begins to sob.
Dickie.
Oh, Lord! Oh, Lord! I say, don’t cry. I didn’t mean to be horrid. I’m awfully sorry.
[He tries to take away her hands from her face.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Don’t touch me. Don’t come near me.
Dickie.
I’ll do anything you like if you won’t cry. I say, just think if Penelope came in — I was only thinking of the risk to you. Of course, there’s nothing I’d like so much as a jaunt over the Channel.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Is that true?
Dickie.
Yes.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Do you really want me to come?
Dickie.
Of course I do, if you don’t mind the risk.
Mrs. Fergusson.
[With a smile.] Oh, I’ll make that all right.
Dickie.
Why, what are you going to do?
Mrs. Fergusson.
Wait a minute or two and you’ll see.
[She is perfectly composed again, and in high good-humour.
Dickie.
We might tell Penelope that we’re ready.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Very well. [As Dickie goes to the door.] Oh, I quite forgot. I’ve simply got a head like a sieve.
Dickie.
What’s the matter?
Mrs. Fergusson.
Well, I almost forgot the very thing I came to see you about. And all through you making a scene.
Dickie.
Did I make a scene? I wasn’t aware of it.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I want to ask you something. You won’t be angry, will you?
Dickie.
I shouldn’t think so.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Of course it’s nothing very important really, but it’s just a little awkward to ask.
Dickie.
Oh, nonsense. Of course I’ll do anything I can.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Well, a friend of mine on the Stock Exchange gave me a splendid tip, and....
Dickie.
It hasn’t come off. I know those splendid tips.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, but it’s bound to be all right, only there are some differences to pay. I don’t quite understand what it all means, but Solly Abrahams....
Dickie.
[Interrupting.] Is that your friend on the Stock Exchange?
Mrs. Fergusson.
Yes, why?
Dickie.
Oh, nothing. Good old Scotch name, that’s all.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Solly says I must send him a cheque for a hundred and eighty pounds.
[Dickie gives a slight start, and his face falls.
Mrs. Fergusson.
And it’s just a little awkward for me to pay that just now. You see my income is always paid me half-yearly, and I really haven’t got a hundred and eighty pounds in the bank. I n
ever borrow — it’s a thing I can’t bear — and I felt the only person I could come to now was you.
Dickie.
I’m sure that’s awfully nice of you, not to say flattering.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I knew you’d give it me at once, and, of course, I’ll pay you back out of my profits.
Dickie.
Oh, that’s very good of you. I’ll see what I can do.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Would it be too much trouble if I asked you to write out a cheque now? It’ll be such a weight off my mind.
Dickie.
Of course. I’ll be only too glad. By the way, what are the shares called?
[He sits down at his desk and writes a cheque.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, it’s a gold mine. It’s called the Johannesburg and New Jerusalem.
Dickie.
The name inspires confidence.
[He gives her the cheque.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Thanks, so much. It’s awfully good of you. Now just write out a little prescription so as to have something to show Penelope.
Dickie.
You forget nothing.
[He writes.
Mrs. Fergusson.
And I must give you a fee.
Dickie.
Oh, I wouldn’t bother about that.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh yes, I insist. Besides, it makes it look so much more probable.
[She looks in her purse.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, how stupid of me! I’ve only got a two-shilling bit in my purse. You don’t happen to have a couple of sovereigns on you.
Dickie.
Oh, yes, I think I have. The only money I’ve earned to-day.
[He takes them out of his pocket and gives them to Mrs. Fergusson. She puts them on the desk with a two-shilling piece.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Thank you.... There. That looks a most imposing fee. You must leave it on there for Penelope to see.
Dickie.
Shall I call her?
Mrs. Fergusson.
I will. [She goes to the door and calls.] Penelope, we’ve quite done.
Dickie.
[Hearing voices upstairs.] Hulloa, there’s our Uncle Davenport.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, I met him in the park the other day. He made himself so pleasant. He asked me if I was a Fergusson of Glengary. I didn’t know what he meant, but I said I was, and he seemed so pleased.
Dickie.
You’d better not let him know you were a Miss Jones or he’ll have a fit.
Mrs. Fergusson.
Oh, I shall tell him I’m a Jones of Llandudno. I think that sounds rather smart.
Dickie.
You have what one might politely describe as a remarkable power of invention.
Mrs. Fergusson.
I don’t know about that, but I am a womanly woman, and that’s why men like me.
[Penelope and Barlow come in.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 350