SYBIL [a heroine]. I hesitated, but I am afraid no longer; whatever he asks of me I will do.
[Evidently the first thing he asks of her is to await him in the dining-room.]
It will mean surrendering everything for him. I am glad it means all that. [She passes into the dining-room looking as pretty as a kiss.]
MAGGIE. So that settles it.
ALICK. I'm thinking that doesn't settle it.
DAVID. No, by God! [But his love for MAGGIE steadies him. There is even a note of entreaty in his voice.] Have you nothing to say to her, man?
JOHN. I have things to say to her, but not before you.
DAVID [sternly]. Go away, Maggie. Leave him to us.
JAMES [who thinks it is about time that he said something]. Yes, leave him to us.
MAGGIE. No, David, I want to hear what is to become of me; I promise not to take any side.
[And sitting by the fire she resumes her knitting. The four regard her as on an evening at The Pans a good many years ago.]
DAVID [barking]. How long has this been going on?
JOHN. If you mean how long has that lady been the apple of my eye, I'm not sure; but I never told her of it until today.
MAGGIE [thoughtfully and without dropping a stitch]. I think it wasn't till about six months ago, John, that she began to be very dear to you. At first you liked to bring in her name when talking to me, so that I could tell you of any little things I might have heard she was doing. But afterwards, as she became more and more to you, you avoided mentioning her name.
JOHN [surprised]. Did you notice that?
MAGGIE [in her old-fashioned way]. Yes.
JOHN. I tried to be done with it for your sake. I've often had a sore heart for you, Maggie.
JAMES. You're proving it!
MAGGIE. Yes, James, he had. I've often seen him looking at me very sorrowfully of late because of what was in his mind; and many a kindly little thing he has done for me that he didn't use to do.
JOHN. You noticed that too!
MAGGIE. Yes.
DAVID [controlling himself]. Well, we won't go into that; the thing to be thankful for is that it's ended.
ALICK [who is looking very old]. Yes, yes, that's the great thing.
JOHN. All useless, sir, it's not ended; it's to go on.
DAVID. There's a devil in you, John Shand.
JOHN [who is an unhappy man just now]. I dare say there is. But do you think he had a walk over, Mr. David?
JAMES. Man, I could knock you down!
MAGGIE. There's not one of you could knock Joh n down.
DAVID [exasperated]. Quiet, Maggie. One would think you were taking his part.
MAGGIE. Do you expect me to desert him at the very moment that he needs me most?
DAVID. It's him that's deserting you.
JOHN. Yes, Maggie, that's what it is.
ALICK. Where's your marriage vow? And your church attendances?
JAMES [with terrible irony]. And your prize for moral philosophy?
JOHN [recklessly]. All gone whistling down the wind.
DAVID. I suppose you understand that you'll have to resign your seat.
JOHN [his underlip much in evidence]. There are hundreds of seats, but there's only one John Shand.
MAGGIE [but we don't hear her]. That's how I like to hear him speak.
DAVID [the ablest person in the room]. Think, man, I'm old by you, and for long I've had a pride in you. It will be beginning the world again with more against you than there was eight years ago.
JOHN. I have a better head to begin it with than I had eight years ago.
ALICK [hoping this will bite]. She'll have her own money, David!
JOHN. She's as poor as a mouse.
JAMES [thinking possibly of his Elizabeth's mother]. We'll go to her friends, and tell them all. They'll stop it.
JOHN. She's of age.
JAMES. They'll take her far away.
JOHN. I'll follow, and tear her from them.
ALICK. Your career---
JOHN [to his credit]. To hell with my career. Do you think I don't know I'm on the rocks? What can you, or you, or you, understand of the passions of a man! I've fought, and I've given in. When a ship founders, as I suppose I'm foundering, it's not a thing to yelp at. Peace, all of you. [He strides into the dining-room, where we see him at times pacing the floor.]
DAVID [to JAMES, who gives signs of a desire to take off his coat]. Let him be. We can't budge him. [With bitter wisdom] It's true what he says, true at any rate about me. What do I know of the passions of a man! I'm up against something I don't understand.
ALICK. It's something wicked.
DAVID. I dare say it is, but it's something big.
JAMES. It's that damned charm.
MAGGIE [still by the fire]. That's it. What was it that made you fancy Elizabeth, James?
JAMES [sheepishly]. I can scarcely say.
MAGGIE. It was her charm.
DAVID. HER charm!
JAMES [pugnaciously]. Yes, HER charm.
MAGGIE. She had charm for James.
[This somehow breaks them up. MAGGIE goes from one to another with an odd little smile flickering on her face.]
DAVID. Put on your things, Maggie, and we'll leave his house.
MAGGIE [patting his kind head]. Not me, David.
[This is a MAGGIE they have known but forgotten; all three brighten.]
DAVID. You haven't given in!
[The smile flickers and expires.]
MAGGIE. I want you all to go upstairs, and let me have my try now.
JAMES. Your try?
ALICK. Maggie, you put new life into me.
JAMES. And into me.
[DAVID says nothing; the way he grips her shoulder says it for him.]
MAGGIE. I'll save him, David, if I can.
DAVID. Does he deserve to be saved after the way he has treated you?
MAGGIE. You stupid David. What has that to do with it.
[When they have gone, JOHN comes to the door of the dining-room. There is welling up in him a great pity for MAGGIE, but it has to subside a little when he sees that the knitting is still in her hand. No man likes to be so soon supplanted. SYBIL follows, and the two of them gaze at the active needles.]
MAGGIE [perceiving that she has visitors]. Come in, John. Sit down, Lady Sybil, and make yourself comfortable. I'm afraid we've put you about.
[She is, after all, only a few years older than they and scarcely looks her age; yet it must have been in some such way as this that the little old woman who lived in a shoe addressed her numerous progeny.]
JOHN. I'm mortal sorry, Maggie.
SYBIL [who would be more courageous if she could hold his hand]. And I also.
MAGGIE [soothingly]. I'm sure you are. But as it can't be helped I see no reason why we three shouldn't talk the matter over in a practical way.
[SYBIL looks doubtful, but JOHN hangs on desperately to the word practical.]
JOHN. If you could understand, Maggie, what an inspiration she is to me and my work.
SYBIL. Indeed, Mrs. Shand, I think of nothing else.
MAGGIE. That's fine. That's as it should be.
SYBIL [talking too much]. Mrs. Shand, I think you are very kind to take it so reasonably.
MAGGIE. That's the Scotch way. When were you thinking of leaving me, John?
[Perhaps this is the Scotch way also; but SYBIL is English, and from the manner in which she starts you would say that something has fallen on her toes.]
JOHN [who has heard nothing fall]. I think, now that it has come to a breach, the sooner the better. [His tone becomes that of JAMES when asked after the health of his wife.] When it is convenient to you, Maggie.
MAGGIE [making a rapid calculation]. It couldn't well be before Wednesday. That's the day the laundry comes home.
[SYBIL has to draw in her toes again.]
JOHN. And it's the day the House rises. [Stifling a groan] It may be my last appearance in the House.
&nbs
p; SYBIL [her arms yearning for him]. No, no, please don't say that.
MAGGIE [surveying him sympathetically]. You love the House, don't you, John, next to her? It's a pity you can't wait till after your speech at Leeds. Mr. Venables won't let you speak at Leeds, I fear, if you leave me.
JOHN. What a chance it would have been. But let it go.
MAGGIE. The meeting is in less than a month. Could you not make it such a speech that they would be very loth to lose you?
JOHN [swelling]. That's what was in my mind.
SYBIL [with noble confidence]. And he could have done it.
MAGGIE. Then we've come to something practical.
JOHN [exercising his imagination with powerful effect]. No, it wouldn't be fair to you if I was to stay on now.
MAGGIE. Do you think I'll let myself be considered when your career is at stake. A month will soon pass for me; I'll have a lot of packing to do.
JOHN. It's noble of you, but I don't deserve it, and I can't take it from you.
MAGGIE. Now's the time, Lady Sybil, for you to have one of your inspiring ideas.
SYBIL [ever ready]. Yes, yes--but what?
[It is odd that they should both turn to MAGGIE at this moment.]
MAGGIE [who has already been saying it to herself]. What do you think of this: I can stay on here with my father and brothers; and you, John, can go away somewhere and devote yourself to your speech?
SYBIL. Yes.
JOHN. That might be. [Considerately] Away from both of you. Where could I go?
SYBIL [ever ready]. Where?
MAGGIE. I know.
[She has called up a number on the telephone before they have time to check her.]
JOHN [on his dignity]. Don't be in such a hurry, Maggie.
MAGGIE. Is this Lamb's Hotel? Put me on to the Comtesse de la Briere, please.
SYBIL [with a sinking]. What do you want with Auntie?
MAGGIE. Her cottage in the country would be the very place. She invited John and me.
JOHN. Yes, but--
MAGGIE [arguing]. And Mr. Venables is to be there. Think of the impression you could make on HIM, seeing him daily for three weeks.
JOHN. There's something in that.
MAGGIE. Is it you, Comtesse? I'm Maggie Shand.
SYBIL. You are not to tell her that--?
MAGGIE. No. [To the COMTESSE] Oh, I'm very well, never was better. Yes, yes; you see I can't, because my folk have never been in London before, and I must take them about and show them the sights. But John could come to you alone; why not?
JOHN [with proper pride]. If she's not keen to have me, I won't go.
MAGGIE. She's very keen. Comtesse, I could come for a day by and by to see how you are getting on. Yes--yes--certainly. [To JOHN] She says she'll be delighted.
JOHN [thoughtfully]. You're not doing this, Maggie, thinking that my being absent from Sybil for a few weeks can make any difference? Of course it's natural you should want us to keep apart, but--
MAGGIE [grimly]. I'm founding no hope on keeping you apart, John.
JOHN. It's what other wives would do.
MAGGIE. I promised to be different.
JOHN [his position as a strong man assured]. Then tell her I accept. [He wanders back into the dining-room.]
SYBIL. I think--[she is not sure what she thinks]--I think you are very wonderful.
MAGGIE. Was that John calling to you?
SYBIL. Was it? [She is glad to join him in the dining-room.]
MAGGIE. Comtesse, hold the line a minute. [She is alone, and she has nearly reached the end of her self-control. She shakes emotionally and utters painful little cries; there is something she wants to do, and she is loth to do it. But she does it.] Are you there, Comtesse? There's one other thing, dear Comtesse; I want you to invite Lady Sybil also; yes, for the whole time that John is there. No, I'm not mad; as a great favour to me; yes, I have a very particular reason, but I won't tell you what it is; oh, call me Scotchy as much as you like, but consent; do, do, do. Thank you, thank you, good-bye.
[She has control of herself now, and is determined not to let it slip from her again. When they reappear the stubborn one is writing a letter.]
JOHN. I thought I heard the telephone again.
MAGGIE [looking up from her labours]. It was the Comtesse; she says she's to invite Lady Sybil to the cottage at the same time.
SYBIL. Me!
JOHN. To invite Sybil? Then of course I won't go, Maggie.
MAGGIE [wondering seemingly at these niceties]. What does it matter? Is anything to be considered except the speech? [It has been admitted that she was a little devil.] And, with Sybil on the spot, John, to help you and inspire you, what a speech it will be!
JOHN [carried away]. Maggie, you really are a very generous woman.
SYBIL [convinced at last]. She is indeed.
JOHN. And you're queer too. How many women in the circumstances would sit down to write a letter?
MAGGIE. It's a letter to you, John.
JOHN. To me?
MAGGIE. I'll give it to you when it's finished, but I ask you not to open it till your visit to the Comtesse ends.
JOHN. What is it about?
MAGGIE. It's practical.
SYBIL [rather faintly]. Practical? [She has heard the word so frequently to-day that it is beginning to have a Scotch sound. She feels she ought to like MAGGIE, but that she would like her better if they were farther apart. She indicates that the doctors are troubled about her heart, and murmuring her adieux she goes. JOHN, who is accompanying her, pauses at the door.]
JOHN [with a queer sort of admiration for his wife]. Maggie, I wish I was fond of you.
MAGGIE [heartily]. I wish you were, John.
[He goes, and she resumes her letter. The stocking is lying at hand, and she pushes it to the floor. She is done for a time with knitting.]
ACT IV
[Man's most pleasant invention is the lawn-mower. All the birds know this, and that is why, when it is at rest, there is always at least one of them sitting on the handle with his head cocked, wondering how the delicious whirring sound is made. When they find out, they will change their note. As it is, you must sometimes have thought that you heard the mower very early in the morning, and perhaps you peeped in neglige from your lattice window to see who was up so early. It was really the birds trying to get the note.
On this broiling morning, however, we are at noon, and whoever looks will see that the whirring is done by Mr. Venables. He is in a linen suit with the coat discarded (the bird is sitting on it), and he comes and goes across the Comtesse's lawns, pleasantly mopping his face. We see him through a crooked bowed window generously open, roses intruding into it as if to prevent its ever being closed at night; there are other roses in such armfuls on the tables that one could not easily say where the room ends and the garden begins.
In the Comtesse's pretty comic drawing-room (for she likes the comic touch when she is in England) sits John Shand with his hostess, on chairs at a great distance from each other. No linen garments for John, nor flannels, nor even knickerbockers; he envies the English way of dressing for trees and lawns, but is too Scotch to be able to imitate it; he wears tweeds, just as he would do in his native country where they would be in kilts. Like many another Scot, the first time he ever saw a kilt was on a Sassenach; indeed kilts were perhaps invented, like golf, to draw the English north. John is doing nothing, which again is not a Scotch accomplishment, and he looks rather miserable and dour. The Comtesse is already at her Patience cards, and occasionally she smiles on him as if not displeased with his long silence. At last she speaks:]
COMTESSE. I feel it rather a shame to detain you here on such a lovely day, Mr. Shand, entertaining an old woman.
JOHN. I don't pretend to think I'm entertaining you, Comtesse.
COMTESSE. But you ARE, you know.
JOHN. I would be pleased to be told how?
[She shrugs her impertinent shoulders, and presently there is another heavy sigh fr
om JOHN.]
COMTESSE. Again! Why do not you go out on the river?
JOHN. Yes, I can do that. [He rises.]
COMTESSE. And take Sybil with you. [He sits again.] No?
JOHN. I have been on the river with her twenty times.
COMTESSE. Then take her for a long walk through the Fairloe woods.
JOHN. We were there twice last week.
COMTESSE. There is a romantically damp little arbour at the end of what the villagers call the Lovers' Lane.
JOHN. One can't go there every day. I see nothing to laugh at.
COMTESSE. Did I laugh? I must have been translating the situation into French.
[Perhaps the music of the lawn-mower is not to JOHN's mood, for he betakes himself to another room. MR. VENABLES pauses in his labours to greet a lady who has appeared on the lawn, and who is MAGGIE. She is as neat as if she were one of the army of typists [who are quite the nicest kind of women], and carries a little bag. She comes in through the window, and puts her hands over the COMTESSE's eyes.]
COMTESSE. They are a strong pair of hands, at any rate.
MAGGIE. And not very white, and biggish for my size. Now guess.
[The COMTESSE guesses, and takes both the hands in hers as if she valued them. She pulls off MAGGIE's hat as if to prevent her flying away.]
COMTESSE. Dear abominable one, not to let me know you were coming.
MAGGIE. It is just a surprise visit, Comtesse. I walked up from the station. [For a moment MAGGIE seems to have borrowed SYBIL'S impediment.] How is--everybody?
COMTESSE. He is quite well. But, my child, he seems to me to be a most unhappy man.
[This sad news does not seem to make a most unhappy woman of the child. The COMTESSE is puzzled, as she knows nothing of the situation save what she has discovered for herself.]
Why should that please you, O heartless one?
MAGGIE. I won't tell you.
COMTESSE. I could take you and shake you, Maggie. Here have I put my house at your disposal for so many days for some sly Scotch purpose, and you will not tell me what it is.
MAGGIE. No.
COMTESSE. Very well, then, but I have what you call a nasty one for you. [The COMTESSE lures MR. VENABLES into the room by holding up what might be a foaming glass of lemon squash.] Alas, Charles, it is but a flower vase. I want you to tell Mrs. Shand what you think of her husband's speech.
Barrie, J M - What Every Woman Knows Page 7