Anne.
Good heavens, if papa can direct companies surely Teddie can.
Catherine.
No, I didn’t mean that. But there are circumstances that you don’t understand. Mr. O’Donnell can’t ask George to do anything for him. Mr. O’Donnell....
George Winter.
[Quite good-humouredly.] Really, Kate, you might let me answer for myself.
Anne.
George always said he’d help me when I wanted to marry.
George Winter.
[To O’Donnell.] I presume your idea is to go into the City?
O’Donnell.
Yes, more or less.
George Winter.
Educated at a public school, I suppose?
O’Donnell.
Yes, I was at Harrow.
George Winter.
[With a twinkle in his eye.] Then I may take it that you tried to get into the Army and failed?
O’Donnell.
Yes, I suppose I did.
George Winter.
And you hadn’t got enough money to go into the diplomatic?
Anne.
How on earth d’you know, George?
George Winter.
When a young man of family and education tells me he wants to go into the City, I know it’s because he’s too incompetent to do anything else. Fifty years ago the fool of good family went into the Church, now he goes into the City.
O’Donnell.
You’re not very flattering.
George Winter.
I dare say you’ll suit me all right.
Anne.
Oh, George, you are a brick.
George Winter.
Give me a kiss and I’ll find him a job.
Anne.
I’ll give you two.
[She kisses him on both cheeks.
George Winter.
I shan’t find him two jobs.
Anne.
I can’t imagine why everybody’s so afraid of you, George. You’re an old dear.
George Winter.
A heart of gold, that’s what I always tell Kate. [To O’Donnell.] Come and see me to-morrow morning, and we’ll have a talk about things.
O’Donnell.
It’s awfully good of you.
George Winter.
You know, you’ll have to do as you’re told if you come to me.
O’Donnell.
I dare say I shan’t mind that.
George Winter.
It’s not always pleasant being at the beck and call of a damned bounder.
O’Donnell.
How d’you mean?
George Winter.
Of course you look upon me as a damned bounder. I know that. I wasn’t educated at Harrow. My father was a hatter at Middlepool, a Nonconformist, and an aitchless one at that. I went to sea when I was fourteen, and when I was your age I was earning twenty-five bob a week as clerk in a bucket shop. Of course I’m a damned bounder.
Anne.
Now, George, don’t be disagreeable.
George Winter.
Well, run along, children.... Have you spoken to your father about this?
Anne.
No, we’re going to leave you to do that.
George Winter.
Are you?
Anne.
Well, you see, father’s sure to kick up a bit of a row because Teddie’s so absolutely stony, but if you say you’ve given him a job....
Catherine.
Father may object....
Anne.
Oh, he wouldn’t dare if George said it was all right.
[Catherine gives a slight gesture, partly of vexation and partly of dismay.
George Winter.
[Kindly.] Are you really very keen on marrying?
Anne.
Awfully.
George Winter.
Well, I’ll see what I can do. Good-bye.
[He nods to O’Donnell. O’Donnell and Anne go out. As soon as they have gone, Catherine starts up.
Catherine.
George, you’re not going to take Teddie O’Donnell in your service. You must understand it’s impossible.
George Winter.
[Coolly.] Why?
Catherine.
We can accept nothing from you.
George Winter.
This disinterestedness is rather a new trait in your family, isn’t it?
Catherine.
You’re only wasting his time in making him come down to see you to-morrow.
George Winter.
I don’t suppose it’s as valuable as all that.
Catherine.
Anne will have to be told the facts, and she’ll see at once that it’s out of the question for Teddie to accept favours from you.
George Winter.
I wonder.
Catherine.
[Defiantly.] I have no doubt of it.
George Winter.
Do you think she’ll be pleased when she’s told that, owing to your unreasonableness, her marriage can’t take place? Are you sure she won’t say that she has no quarrel with me?
Catherine.
I should make her understand.
George Winter.
It seems rather selfish on your part, doesn’t it? If Anne’s heart is set upon marrying this rather foolish boy, have you the heart to prevent her?
Catherine.
I’ve sacrificed myself long enough. It’s Anne’s turn now.
George Winter.
You’ll find self-sacrifice one of the forms of self-indulgence in which people are never wildly anxious to take turn and turn about.
Catherine.
What can you do with Teddie O’Donnell? He’s no good to you.
George Winter.
I’m not sure. I like dealing with gentlemen. When they go into the City they take to dirty work with an alacrity which you often don’t find in the City man born and bred.
Catherine.
Even if there was nothing else, I would do all I could to prevent a decent boy from being exposed to your influence.
George Winter.
Well, you may try yours on Anne. Tell her that I’ll start her young man on four hundred a year, and I’ll allow her a couple of hundred more, so that they can marry next week if they want to. And add that you are divorcing me, and it would be monstrous if either of them accepted my offer.
Catherine.
Oh, I know well enough that you didn’t make him pretty speeches because you took any interest in doing a kindness. It was merely another coil of the chain you’ve twisted round me. Oh, it’s fiendish. Each way I turn I find that you bar my way.
George Winter.
In the agitation of the moment you seem to be mixing your metaphors, my dear.
[Thompson, the butler, comes in.
Thompson.
Mr. Robert Colby has come, madam.
George Winter.
Is he waiting downstairs?
Thompson.
I’ve shown him in the morning-room. He said he would wait till you were disengaged, ma’am.
George Winter.
Ask him to come up. [To Catherine.] I’ll leave you ——
Thompson.
Very good, sir.
[Exit.
George Winter.
With my best wishes. I’ll go and discuss the weather and the crops with your excellent father, and you shall discuss the situation with Robert Colby.
Catherine.
For goodness’ sake leave me alone.
George Winter.
Suggest a counter-petition and see how he takes it. My own impression is that he’ll run like a rabbit.
[George Winter goes towards the door that leads into the library and stops.
George Winter.
And if he does, you know whose arms are open to receive you. Whose 60 Mercedes is panting to take you to whose sheltering roof.
[With a guffaw he goes out. Catherine gives a sigh of exhaustion and then braces herself for
the coming interview.
[Enter Robert Colby. He is a handsome man of forty, spare and active, with a refined face and good features. He is clean shaven. His hair is grey. He has charming manners and an air of slightly old-fashioned courtesy. His voice is soft and pleasant.
Thompson.
Mr. Robert Colby.
[Catherine goes to him with both hands out-stretched. Her manner becomes brighter and more joyous. She seems to throw off the load of wretchedness which had oppressed her. The Butler goes out.
Catherine.
How good of you to come.
Colby.
[Taking her hands.] You look as if you were surprised to see me.
Catherine.
You must be frantically busy. I thought you might not be able to manage it.
Colby.
You know very well wild labour leaders couldn’t have prevented me.
Catherine.
Of course I know you wouldn’t really let me interfere with anything serious, but it’s very pleasant to flatter myself that the whole country is waiting while you’re wasting your time with me. D’you know what I’ve done?
Colby.
I suspected what your note meant, but I’m anxious to hear it from your own lips.
Catherine.
I’ve crossed the Rubicon. I’m seeing my solicitor to-day, and the petition will be filed as soon as ever it’s possible.
Colby.
I’m so glad. You had no right to go on with that degrading life.
Catherine.
I want you to assure me again that I’m right. I’m so weak. I feel so utterly defenceless.
Colby.
It won’t be very long now before....
Catherine.
[Interrupting.] No, not yet, Robert.
Colby.
I want to tell you at once how passionately I love you.
Catherine.
[With the tenderest of smiles.] D’you think it’s needful? I’m so glad to think you’ve never made love to me. There was all the love I wanted in the look of your eyes, and your voice, though you said quite commonplace things, told me that you cared for me.
Colby.
I’ve never even kissed your hand, Kate.
Catherine.
I’m very grateful to you. Now more than ever I want to feel quite sure that we have nothing to reproach ourselves with.
Colby.
It’s rather hard on me.
Catherine.
Do you think I find it any easier? Sometimes when I’ve been dreadfully lonely, dreadfully wretched, I’ve longed to be able to rest my head on your shoulder, and I’ve thought I might have loved my tears if you could have kissed them away.
Colby.
Were you angry with me when I wrote to you? The one foolish letter?
Catherine.
How could I be?
Colby.
I was dreadfully unhappy then. Everything I tried seemed to go wrong. I was utterly dispirited, and I couldn’t help writing.
Catherine.
I read the letter till I knew every word by heart. Sometimes I wonder how I could have borne my life at all except for the knowledge that you cared for me.
Colby.
You’ve never once told me that you love me, Kate.
Catherine.
D’you want me to say it in so many words? Why else d’you think I’m exposing myself to all the humiliation, all the horrors that are before me? Yes, I love you with all my heart and soul.
Colby.
And after it’s all over?
Catherine.
It shall be as you wish.
Colby.
You’ve meant so much to me, Kate. All the success I’ve had I feel that I owe to you. Sometimes I’ve hated the intrigues and the littleness of politics. I’ve been tempted to give the whole thing up. But you put fresh courage into me. It’s because of you that I’ve been able to ignore the rest and just keep my eyes fixed always on the greatness of the aim.
Catherine.
[Smiling.] It makes me so proud to hear you say that.
Colby.
[Lightly.] Did you read the speech I made yesterday?
Catherine.
No, I’m afraid I haven’t yet.
Colby.
[Gaily.] Wretched woman! And every jack one of the papers has given a leader on it.
Catherine.
I’m so sorry. It’s horrid of me.
Colby.
[Laughing.] What nonsense! Of course you’ve had much more important things to think about.
Catherine.
Tell me all about it. I suppose it was the Army debate.
Colby.
Yes, I burnt my ships behind me. I said I thought some form of compulsory service was essential. Perigal’s going to the country at once. I think we shall get in. And if we do ... I wish to goodness they’d give me the War Office. Of course, after six years in office we can only hope for a small majority, and every seat will count. I wonder what will happen at Middlepool.
Catherine.
George is very popular.
Colby.
Yes, that’s just it. As long as he was there the seat was safe. I wonder if anyone else will be able to hold it.
Catherine.
Do you think it will be impossible for him to stand again?
Colby.
Quite. And rightly. No man’s obliged to go into Parliament. If he does it’s his duty to keep clear of scandal.
[Catherine gives a very slight start, and when she speaks her voice is not quite steady.
Catherine.
That might be very difficult. A man might be an object of scandal, and yet be perfectly innocent. Supposing — a malicious person brought an action for divorce against him. It might be merely an attempt at blackmail. It would be monstrous to punish him for something that wasn’t his fault.
Colby.
D’you honestly think that’s a possible case? If a man is shot at — it’s true he may not be technically guilty — but he can hardly be blameless. If a case can be made out at all against him he must have done something very foolish.
[Catherine does not answer. She is terrified at what he says.
Colby.
George Winter only went into the House for his private ambition. He contested a seat in order to give himself a stronger financial position, and now he wants to use his money to force himself into some sort of job. We’ve got no use for people like that.
Catherine.
[As if she were changing the conversation.] I wonder what you’d do if you were beaten at the General Election?
Colby.
[With a laugh.] I don’t think my constituents will throw me out as long as I behave myself.
Catherine.
[Smiling.] And if they did?
Colby.
[After a little pause.] It would just about break me up. Politics are my whole life. I can’t imagine existence without the House of Commons. And I have so much to do. If they’ll only give me a chance I want to.... [Suddenly stopping himself.] But, good heavens, I’m just going to make a speech.
Catherine.
Oh, my dear, I’m so proud of you. I admire you so enormously.
Colby.
[Gaily.] Not yet. Hang it all, wait to admire me till I’m Minister of War.
Catherine.
[With an affectionate smile.] You dear.... Now you must go. I’ve got ever so much to do, and I’m sure you ought to have.
Colby.
Good-bye, then. God bless you.... Say something nice to me before I leave you.
Catherine.
I shall think of you all day long.
Colby.
Thank you. Good-bye.
[He goes out. Catherine sinks exhausted into a chair, but she hears George Winter approach and pulls herself together. He comes in with Etchingham.
George Winter.
The great man has taken his hook?
[Catherine acknowledges his remark with a look, b
ut does not answer.
George Winter.
I heard his fairy footsteps on the stairs.
Etchingham.
Well, Catherine, I hope you’ve thought better of things.
George Winter.
Well?
[He looks at her with malicious amusement, and she, her head thrown back, stares at him with hatred and anger.
Catherine.
You think every man is a rogue, don’t you?
George Winter.
Certainly not. I think nine men out of ten are rogues or fools. That’s why I make money.
Catherine.
And what’ll you do when you come across the tenth man, who’s neither rogue nor fool?
George Winter.
[Flippantly.] Put him under a glass case.
Catherine.
You may find him awkward to deal with. Take care.
George Winter.
I shall. But I’ve looked for him so long that I can’t help thinking he doesn’t move in my set.... Now and then I’ve thought I’d really got him. But while I was scratching my head and wondering how the deuce I was going to manage, I’ve seen an itching palm steal softly out, and I knew it wasn’t the tenth man after all.
The Butler comes in.
Thompson.
[To George Winter.] Mr. Bennett would like to speak to you, sir.
George Winter.
Is he on the telephone?
Thompson.
No, sir. He’s here.
Etchingham.
What the deuce can he want?
George Winter.
I’ll come down to him.
Etchingham.
No, let him come up. Perhaps it’s something important, and he’ll want to see me too.
George Winter.
[Drily.] Perhaps. Tell him to come up.
Thompson.
Very good, sir.
[Exit.
Catherine.
Who is Mr. Bennett?
Etchingham.
He’s the secretary of two or three of our companies. He manages the office and that sort of thing.
George Winter.
He does all the work for which your father gets fees.
Etchingham.
I don’t know about that. I flatter myself I’m worth my salt.
[The Butler shows in Frederick Bennett. He is a little man, thin, middle-aged, clean shaven, with a sharp face, and an extremely respectable appearance. He wears gold spectacles. He is in a tail coat and carries a tall hat in his hand. The Butler goes out after announcing him.
George Winter.
What’s the matter, Fred?
Bennett.
I went round to Portman Square, Governor, and they told me you were here; I thought I’d better come on at once.
Etchingham.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 366