Misalliance (2/2) (7/12)

| Tarleton | No. I never made that bid before. | | Lina | Producing a dainty little book and preparing to write in it. What did you say your name was? | | Tarleton | John Tarleton. The great John Tarleton of Tarleton’s Underwear. | | Lina | Writing. T-a-r-l-e-t-o-n. Er⁠—? She looks up at him inquiringly. | | Tarleton | Promptly. Fifty-eight. | | Lina | Thank you. I keep a list of all my offers. I like to know what I’m considered worth. | | Tarleton | Let me look. | | Lina | Offering the book to him. It’s in Polish. | | Tarleton | That’s no good. Is mine the lowest offer? | | Lina | No: the highest. | | Tarleton | What do most of them come to? Diamonds? Motor cars? Furs? Villa at Monte Carlo? | | Lina | Oh yes: all that. And sometimes the devotion of a lifetime. | | Tarleton | Fancy that! A young man offering a woman his old age as a temptation! | | Lina | By the way, you did not say how long. | | Tarleton | Until you get tired of me. | | Lina | Or until you get tired of me? | | Tarleton | I never get tired. I never go on long enough for that. But when it becomes so grand, so inspiring that I feel that everything must be an anticlimax after that, then I run away. | | Lina | Does she let you go without a struggle? | | Tarleton | Yes. Glad to get rid of me. When love takes a man as it takes me⁠—when it makes him great⁠—it frightens a woman. | | Lina | The lady here is your wife, isn’t she? Don’t you care for her? | | Tarleton | Yes. And mind! she comes first always. I reserve her dignity even when I sacrifice my own. You’ll respect that point of honor, won’t you? | | Lina | Only a point of honor? | | Tarleton | Impulsively. No, by God! a point of affection as well. | | Lina | Smiling, pleased with him. Shake hands, old pal. She rises and offers him her hand frankly. | | Tarleton | Giving his hand rather dolefully. Thanks. That means no, doesn’t it? | | Lina | It means something that will last longer than yes. I like you. I admit you to my friendship. What a pity you were not trained when you were young! You’d be young still. | | Tarleton | I suppose, to an athlete like you, I’m pretty awful, eh? | | Lina | Shocking. | | Tarleton | Too much crumb. Wrinkles. Yellow patches that won’t come off. Short wind. I know. I’m ashamed of myself. I could do nothing on the high rope. | | Lina | Oh yes: I could put you in a wheelbarrow and run you along, two hundred feet up. | | Tarleton | Shuddering. Ugh! Well, I’d do even that for you. Read The Master Builder. | | Lina | Have you learnt everything from books? | | Tarleton | Well, have you learnt everything from the flying trapeze? | | Lina | On the flying trapeze there is often another woman; and her life is in your hands every night and your life in hers. | | Tarleton | Lina: I’m going to make a fool of myself. I’m going to cry. He crumples into the nearest chair. | | Lina | Pray instead: don’t cry. Why should you cry? You’re not the first I’ve said no to. | | Tarleton | If you had said yes, should I have been the first then? | | Lina | What right have you to ask? Have I asked am I the first? | | Tarleton | You’re right: a vulgar question. To a man like me, everybody is the first. Life renews itself. | | Lina | The youngest child is the sweetest. | | Tarleton | Don’t probe too deep, Lina. It hurts. | | Lina | You must get out of the habit of thinking that these things matter so much. It’s linendraperish. | | Tarleton | You’re quite right. I’ve often said so. All the same, it does matter; for I want to cry. He buries his face in his arms on the worktable and sobs. | | Lina | Going to him. O la la! She slaps him vigorously, but not unkindly, on the shoulder. Courage, old pal, courage! Have you a gymnasium here? | | Tarleton | There’s a trapeze and bars and things in the billiard room. | | Lina | Come. You need a few exercises. I’ll teach you how to stop crying. She takes his arm and leads him off into the vestibule. | | | A young man, cheaply dressed and strange in manner, appears in the garden; steals to the pavilion door; and looks in. Seeing that there is nobody, he enters cautiously until he has come far enough to see into the hatstand corner. He draws a revolver, and examines it, apparently to make sure that it is loaded. Then his attention is caught by the Turkish bath. He looks down the lunette, and opens the panels. | | Hypatia | Calling in the garden. Mr. Percival! Mr. Percival! Where are you? | | | The young man makes for the door, but sees Percival coming. He turns and bolts into the Turkish bath, which he closes upon himself just in time to escape being caught by Percival, who runs in through the pavilion, bareheaded. He also, it appears, is in search of a hiding-place; for he stops and turns between the two tables to take a survey of the room; then runs into the corner between the end of the sideboard and the wall. Hypatia, excited, mischievous, her eyes glowing, runs in, precisely on his trail; turns at the same spot; and discovers him just as he makes a dash for the pavilion door. She flies back and intercepts him. | | Hypatia | Aha! aren’t you glad I’ve caught you? | | Percival | Illhumoredly turning away from her and coming towards the writing table. No I’m not. Confound it, what sort of girl are you? What sort of house is this? Must I throw all good manners to the winds? | | Hypatia | Following him. Do, do, do, do, do. This is the house of a respectable shopkeeper, enormously rich. This is the respectable shopkeeper’s daughter, tired of good manners. Slipping her left hand into his right. Come, handsome young man, and play with the respectable shopkeeper’s daughter. | | Percival | Withdrawing quickly from her touch. No, no: don’t you know you mustn’t go on like this with a perfect stranger? | | Hypatia | Dropped down from the sky. Don’t you know that you must always go on like this when you get the chance? You must come to the top of the hill and chase me through the bracken. You may kiss me if you catch me. | | Percival | I shall do nothing of the sort. | | Hypatia | Yes you will: you can’t help yourself. Come along. She seizes his sleeve. Fool, fool: come along. Don’t you want to? | | Percival | No: certainly not. I should never be forgiven if I did it. | | Hypatia | You’ll never forgive yourself if you don’t. | | Percival | Nonsense. You’re engaged to Ben. Ben’s my friend. What do you take me for? | | Hypatia | Ben’s old. Ben was born old. They’re all old here, except you and me and the man-woman or woman-man or whatever you call her that came with you. They never do anything: they only discuss whether what other people do is right. Come and give them something to discuss. | | Percival | I will do nothing incorrect. | | Hypatia | Oh, don’t be afraid, little boy: you’ll get nothing but a kiss; and I’ll fight like the devil to keep you from getting that. But we must play on the hill and race through the heather. | | Percival | Why? | | Hypatia | Because we want to, handsome young man. | | Percival | But if everybody went on in this way⁠— | | Hypatia | How happy! oh how happy the world would be! | | Percival | But the consequences may be serious. | | Hypatia | Nothing is worth doing unless the consequences may be serious. My father says so; and I’m my father’s daughter. | | Percival | I’m the son of three fathers. I mistrust these wild impulses. | | Hypatia | Take care. You’re letting the moment slip. I feel the first chill of the wave of prudence. Save me. | | Percival | Really, Miss Tarleton⁠—She strikes him across the face. Damn you! Recovering himself, horrified at his lapse. I beg your pardon; but since we’ve both forgotten ourselves, you’ll please allow me to leave the house. He turns towards the inner door, having left his cap in the bedroom. | | Hypatia | Standing in his way. Are you ashamed of having said “Damn you” to me? | | Percival | I had no right to say it. I’m very much ashamed of it. I have already begged your pardon. | | Hypatia | And you’re not ashamed of having said “Really, Miss Tarleton.” | | Percival | Why should I? | | Hypatia | O man, man! mean, stupid, cowardly, selfish masculine male man! You ought to have been a governess. I was expelled from school for saying that the very next person that said “Really, Miss Tarleton,” to me, I would strike her across the face. You were the next. | | Percival | I had no intention of being offensive. Surely there is nothing that can wound any lady in⁠—He hesitates, not quite convinced. At least⁠—er⁠—I really didn’t mean to be disagreeable. | | Hypatia | Liar. | | Percival | Of course if you’re going to insult me, I am quite helpless. You’re a woman: you can say what you like. | | Hypatia | And you can only say what you dare. Poor wretch: it isn’t much. He bites his lip, and sits down, very much annoyed. Really, Mr. Percival! You sit down in the presence of a lady and leave her standing. He rises hastily. Ha, ha! Really, Mr. Percival! Oh really, really, really, really, really, Mr. Percival! How do you like it? Wouldn’t you rather I damned you? | | Percival | Miss Tarleton⁠— | | Hypatia | Caressingly. Hypatia, Joey. Patsy, if you like. | | Percival | Look here: this is no good. You want to do what you like? | | Hypatia | Don’t you? | | Percival | No. I’ve been too well brought up. I’ve argued all through this thing; and I tell you I’m not prepared to cast off the social bond. It’s like a corset: it’s a support to the figure even if it does squeeze and deform it a bit. I want to be free. | | Hypatia | Well, I’m tempting you to be free. | | Percival | Not at all. Freedom, my good girl, means being able to count on how other people will behave. If every man who dislikes me is to throw a handful of mud in my face, and every woman who likes me is to behave like Potiphar’s wife, then I shall be a slave: the slave of uncertainty: the slave of fear: the worst of all slaveries. How would you like it if every laborer you met in the road were to make love to you? No. Give me the blessed protection of a good stiff conventionality among thoroughly well-brought up ladies and gentlemen. | | Hypatia | Another talker! Men like conventions because men made them. I didn’t make them: I don’t like them: I won’t keep them. Now, what will you do? | | Percival | Bolt. He runs out through the pavilion. | | Hypatia | I’ll catch you. She dashes off in pursuit. | | | During this conversation the head of the scandalized man in the Turkish bath has repeatedly risen from the lunette, with a strong expression of moral shock. It vanishes abruptly as the two turn towards it in their flight. At the same moment Tarleton comes back through the vestibule door, exhausted by severe and unaccustomed exercise. | | Tarleton | Looking after the flying figures with amazement. Hallo, Patsy: what’s up? Another aeroplane? They are far too preoccupied to hear him; and he is left staring after them as they rush away through the garden. He goes to the pavilion door and looks up; but the heavens are empty. His exhaustion disables him from further inquiry. He dabs his brow with his handkerchief, and walks stiffly to the nearest convenient support, which happens to be the Turkish bath. He props himself upon it with his elbow, and covers his eyes with his hand for a moment. After a few sighing breaths, he feels a little better, and uncovers his eyes. The man’s head rises from the lunette a few inches from his nose. He recoils from the bath with a violent start. Oh Lord! My brain’s gone. Calling piteously. Chickabiddy! He staggers down to the writing table. | | The Man | Coming out of the bath, pistol in hand. Another sound; and you’re a dead man. | | Tarleton | Braced. Am I? Well, you’re a live one: that’s one comfort. I thought you were a ghost. He sits down, quite undisturbed by the pistol. Who are you; and what the devil were you doing in my new Turkish bath? | | The Man | With tragic intensity. I am the son of Lucinda Titmus. | | Tarleton | The name conveying nothing to him. Indeed? And how is she? Quite well, I hope, eh? | | The Man | She is dead. Dead, my God! and you’re alive. | | Tarleton | Unimpressed by the tragedy, but sympathetic. Oh! Lost your mother? That’s sad. I’m sorry. But we can’t all have the luck to survive our mothers, and be nursed out of the world by the hands that nursed us into it. | | The Man | Much you care, damn you! | | Tarleton | Oh, don’t cut up rough. Face it like a man. You see I didn’t know your mother; but I’ve no doubt she was an excellent woman. | | The Man | Not know her! Do you dare to stand there by her open grave and deny that you knew her? | | Tarleton | Trying to recollect. What did you say her name was? | | The Man | Lucinda Titmus. | | Tarleton | Well, I ought to remember a rum name like that if I ever heard it. But I don’t. Have you a photograph or anything? | | The Man | Forgotten even the name of your victim! | | Tarleton | Oh! she was my victim, was she? | | The Man | She was. And you shall see her face again before you die, dead as she is. I have a photograph. | | Tarleton | Good. | | The Man | I’ve two photographs. | | Tarleton | Still better. Treasure the mother’s pictures. Good boy! | | The Man | One of them as you knew her. The other as she became when you flung her aside, and she withered into an old woman. | | Tarleton | She’d have done that anyhow, my lad. We all grow old. Look at me! Seeing that the man is embarrassed by his pistol in fumbling for the photographs with his left hand in his breast pocket. Let me hold the gun for you. | | The Man | Retreating to the worktable. Stand back. Do you take me for a fool? | | Tarleton | Well, you’re a little upset, naturally. It does you credit. | | The Man | Look here, upon this picture and on this. He holds out the two photographs like a hand at cards, and points to them with the pistol. | | Tarleton | Good. Read Shakespeare: he has a word for every occasion. He takes the photographs, one in each hand, and looks from one to the other, pleased and interested, but without any sign of recognition. What a pretty girl! Very pretty. I can imagine myself falling in love with her when I was your age. I wasn’t a bad-looking young fellow myself in those days. Looking at the other. Curious that we should both have gone the same way. | | The Man | You and she the same way! What do you mean? | | Tarleton | Both got stout, I mean. | | The Man | Would you have had her deny herself food? | | Tarleton | No: it wouldn’t have been any use. It’s constitutional. No matter how little you eat you put on flesh if you’re made that way. He resumes his study of the earlier photograph. | | The Man | Is that all the feeling that rises in you at the sight of the face you once knew so well? | | Tarleton | Too much absorbed in the portrait to heed him. Funny that I can’t remember! Let this be a lesson to you, young man. I could go into court tomorrow and swear I never saw that face before in my life if it wasn’t for that brooch. Pointing to the photograph. Have you got that brooch, by the way? The man again resorts to his breast pocket. You seem to carry the whole family property in that pocket. | | The Man | Producing a brooch. Here it is to prove my bona fides. | | Tarleton | Pensively putting the photographs on the table and taking the brooch. I bought that brooch in Cheapside from a man with a yellow wig and a cast in his left eye. I’ve never set eyes on him from that day to this. And yet I remember that man; and I can’t remember your mother. | | The Man | Monster! Without conscience! without even memory! You left her to her shame⁠— |