Chapter II: Part 2

FANNY [_still at desk_]. Because they’re that sort. They honestly think they are doing the right and proper thing—that Providence has put it into their hands to turn me out a passable substitute for all a Lady Bantock should be; which, so far as I can understand, is something between the late lamented Queen Victoria and Goody-Two-Shoes. They are the people that I ran away from, the people I’ve told you about, the people I’ve always said I’d rather starve than ever go back to. And here I am, plumped down in the midst of them again—for life! [_Honoria Bennet_, _the_ “_still-room_” _maid_, _has entered_. _She is a pert young minx of about Fanny’s own age_.] What is is? What is it?

HONORIA. Merely passing through. Sorry to have excited your ladyship. [_Goes into dressing-room_.]

FANNY. My cousin Honoria. They’ve sent her up to keep an eye upon me. Little cat! [_She takes her handkerchief_, _drapes it over the keyhole of the dressing-room door_.]

NEWTE [_at sight of Honoria he has jumped up and hastily hidden his cigar behind him_]. What are you going to do?

FANNY [_she seats herself and suggests to him the writing-chair_]. Hear from you—first of all—exactly what you told Vernon.

NEWTE [_sitting_]. About you?

FANNY [_nods_]. About me—and my family.

NEWTE. Well—couldn’t tell him much, of course. Wasn’t much to tell.

FANNY. I want what you did tell.

NEWTE. I told him that your late father was a musician.

FANNY. Yes.

NEWTE. Had been unfortunate. Didn’t go into particulars. Didn’t seem to be any need for it. That your mother had died when you were still only a girl and that you had gone to live with relatives. [_He looks for approval_.]

FANNY. Yes.

NEWTE. That you hadn’t got on well with them—artistic temperament, all that sort of thing—that, in consequence, you had appealed to your father’s old theatrical friends; and that they—that they, having regard to your talent—and beauty—

FANNY. Thank you.

NEWTE. Had decided that the best thing you could do was to go upon the stage. [_He finishes_, _tolerably well pleased with himself_.]

FANNY. That’s all right. Very good indeed. What else?

NEWTE [_after an uncomfortable pause_]. Well, that’s about all I knew.

FANNY. Yes, but what did you _tell_ him?

NEWTE. Well, of course, I had to tell him something. A man doesn’t marry without knowing just a little about his wife’s connections. Wouldn’t be reasonable to expect him. You’d never told me anything—never would; except that you’d liked to have boiled the lot. What was I to do? [_He is playing with a quill pen he has picked up_.]

FANNY [_she takes it from him_]. What _did_ you do?

NEWTE [_with fine frankness_]. I did the best I could for you, old girl, and he was very nice about it. Said it was better than he’d expected, and that I’d made him very happy—very happy indeed.

FANNY [_she leans across_, _puts her hand on his_]. You’re a dear, good fellow, George—always have been. I wouldn’t plague you only it is absolutely necessary I should know—exactly what you did tell him.

NEWTE [_a little sulkily_]. I told him that your uncle was a bishop.

FANNY [_sits back—staring at him_]. A what?

NEWTE. A bishop. Bishop of Waiapu, New Zealand.

FANNY. Why New Zealand?

NEWTE. Why not? Had to be somewhere. Didn’t want him Archbishop of Canterbury, did you?

FANNY. Did he believe it?

NEWTE. Shouldn’t have told him had there been any fear that he wouldn’t.

FANNY. I see. Any other swell relations of mine knocking about?

NEWTE. One—a judge of the Supreme Court in Ohio. Same name, anyhow, O’Gorman. Thought I’d make him a cousin of yours. I’ve always remembered him. Met him when I was over there in ninety-eight—damn him!

_A silence_.

FANNY [_she rises_]. Well, nothing else for it! Got to tell him it was all a pack of lies. Not blaming you, old boy—my fault. Didn’t know he was going to ask any questions, or I’d have told him myself. Bit of bad luck, that’s all.

NEWTE. Why must you tell him? Only upset him.

FANNY. It’s either my telling him or leaving it for them to do. You know me, George. How long do you see me being bossed and bullied by my own servants? Besides, it’s bound to come out in any case.

NEWTE [_he rises_. _Kindly but firmly he puts her back into her chair_. _Then pacing to and fro with his hands mostly in his trousers pockets_, _he talks_]. Now, you listen to me, old girl. I’ve been your business manager ever since you started in. I’ve never made a mistake before—[_he turns and faces her_]—and I haven’t made one this time.

FANNY. I don’t really see the smartness, George, stuffing him up with a lot of lies he can find out for himself.

NEWTE. _If he wants to_. A couple of telegrams, one to His Grace the Bishop of Waiapu, the other to Judge Denis O’Gorman, Columbus, Ohio, would have brought him back the information that neither gentlemen had ever heard of you. _If he hadn’t been careful not to send them_. He wasn’t marrying you with the idea of strengthening his family connections. He was marrying you because he was just gone on you. Couldn’t help himself.

FANNY. In that case, you might just as well have told him the truth.

NEWTE. _Which he would then have had to pass on to everyone entitled to ask questions_. Can’t you understand? Somebody, in the interest of everybody, had to tell a lie. Well, what’s a business manager for?

FANNY. But I can’t do it, George. You don’t know them. The longer I give in to them the worse they’ll get.

NEWTE. Can’t you square them?

FANNY. No, that’s the trouble. They _are_ honest. They’re the “faithful retainers” out of a melodrama. They are working eighteen hours a day on me not for any advantage to themselves, but because they think it their “duty” to the family. They don’t seem to have any use for themselves at all.

NEWTE. Well, what about the boy? Can’t _he_ talk to them?

FANNY. Vernon! They’ve brought him up from a baby—spanked him all round, I expect. Might as well ask a boy to talk to his old schoolmaster. Besides, if he did talk, then it would all come out. As I tell you, it’s bound to come out—and the sooner the better.

NEWTE. It must _not_ come out! It’s too late. If we had told him at the beginning that he was proposing to marry into his own butler’s family—well, it’s an awkward situation—he might have decided to risk it. Or he might have cried off.

FANNY. And a good job if he had.

NEWTE. Now talk sense. You wanted him—you took a fancy to him from the beginning. He’s a nice boy, and there’s something owing to him. [_It is his trump card_, _and he knows it_.] Don’t forget that. He’s been busy, explaining to all his friends and relations why they should receive you with open arms: really nice girl, born gentlewoman, good old Church of England family—no objection possible. For you to spring the truth upon him _now_—well, it doesn’t seem to me quite fair to _him_.

FANNY. Then am I to live all my life dressed as a charity girl?

NEWTE. You keep your head and things will gradually right themselves. This family of yours—they’ve got _some_ sense, I suppose?

FANNY. Never noticed any sign of it myself.

NEWTE. Maybe you’re not a judge. [_Laughs_.] They’ll listen to reason. You let _me_ have a talk to them, one of these days; see if I can’t show them—first one and then the other—the advantage of leaving to “better” themselves—_with the help of a little ready money_. Later on—choosing your proper time—you can break it to him that you have discovered they’re distant connections of yours, a younger branch of the family that you’d forgotten. Give the show time to settle down into a run. Then you can begin to make changes.

FANNY. You’ve a wonderful way with you, George. It always sounds right as you put it—even when one jolly well knows that it isn’t.

NEWTE. Well, it’s always been right for you, old girl, ain’t it?

FANNY. Yes. You’ve been a rattling good friend. [_She takes his hands_.] Almost wish I’d married you instead. We’d have been more suited to one another.

NEWTE [_shakes his head_]. Nothing like having your fancy. You’d never have been happy without him. [_He releases her_.] ’Twas a good engagement, or I’d never have sanctioned it.

FANNY. I suppose it will be the last one you will ever get me. [_She has dropped for a moment into a brown study_.]

NEWTE [_he turns_]. I hope so.

FANNY [_she throws off her momentary mood with a laugh_]. Poor fellow! You never even got your commission.

NEWTE. I’ll take ten per cent. of all your happiness, old girl. So make it as much as you can for my benefit. Good-bye. [_He holds out hand_.]

FANNY. You’re not going? You’ll stop to lunch?

NEWTE. Not to-day.

FANNY. Do. If you don’t, they’ll think it’s because I was frightened to ask you.

NEWTE. All the better. The more the other party thinks he’s having his way, the easier always to get your own. Your trouble is, you know, that you never had any tact.

FANNY. I hate tact. [_Newte laughs_.] We could have had such a jolly little lunch together. I’m all alone till the evening. There were ever so many things I wanted to talk to you about.

NEWTE. What?

FANNY. Ah, how can one talk to a man with his watch in his hand? [_He puts it away and stands waiting_, _but she is cross_.] I think you’re very disagreeable.

NEWTE. I must really get back to town. I oughtn’t to be away now, only your telegram—

FANNY. I know. I’m an ungrateful little beast! [_She crosses and rings bell_.] You’ll have a glass of champagne before you go?

NEWTE. Well, I won’t say no to that.

FANNY. How are all the girls?

NEWTE. Oh, chirpy. I’m bringing them over to London. We open at the Palace next week.

FANNY. What did they think of my marriage? Gerty was a bit jealous, wasn’t she?

NEWTE. Well, would have been, if she’d known who he was. [_Laughs_.]

FANNY. Tell her. Tell her [_she draws herself up_] I’m Lady Bantock, of Bantock Hall, Rutlandshire. It will make her so mad. [_Laughs_.]

NEWTE [_laughs_]. I will.

FANNY. Give them all my love. [_Ernest appears in answer to her bell_.] Oh, Ernest, tell Bennet—[_the eyes and mouth of Ernest open_]—to see that Mr. Newte has some refreshment before he leaves. A glass of champagne and—and some caviare. Don’t forget. [_Ernest goes out_.] Good-bye. You’ll come again?

NEWTE. Whenever you want me—and remember—the watchword is “Tact”!

FANNY. Yes, I’ve got the _word_ all right. [_Laughs_.] Don’t forget to give my love to the girls.

NEWTE. I won’t. So long! [_He goes out_.]

_Fanny closes the door_. _Honoria has re-entered from the dressing-room_. _She looks from the handkerchief still hanging over the keyhole to Fanny_.

HONORIA. Your ladyship’s handkerchief?

FANNY. Yes. Such a draught through that keyhole.

HONORIA [_takes the handkerchief_, _hands it to Fanny_]. I will tell the housekeeper.

FANNY. Thanks. Maybe you will also mention it to the butler. Possibly also to the—[_She suddenly changes_.] Honoria. Suppose it had been you—you know, you’re awfully pretty—who had married Lord Bantock, and he had brought you back here, among them all—uncle, aunt, all the lot of them—what would you have done?

HONORIA [_she draws herself up_]. I should have made it quite plain from the first, that I was mistress, and that they were my servants.

FANNY. You would, you think—

HONORIA [_checking her outburst_]. But then, dear—you will excuse my speaking plainly—there is a slight difference between the two cases. [_She seats herself on the settee_. _Fanny is standing near the desk_.] You see, what we all feel about you, dear, is—that you are—well, hardly a fit wife for his lordship. [_Fanny’s hands are itching to box the girl’s ears_. _To save herself_, _she grinds out through her teeth the word_ “_Tack_!”] Of course, dear, it isn’t altogether your fault.

FANNY. Thanks.

HONORIA. Your mother’s marriage was most unfortunate.

FANNY [_her efforts to suppress her feelings are just—but only just—successful_.] Need we discuss that?

HONORIA. Well, he was an Irishman, dear, there’s no denying it. [_Fanny takes a cushion from a chair—with her back to Honoria_, _she strangles it_. _Jane has entered and is listening_.] Still, perhaps it is a painful subject. And we hope—all of us—that, with time and patience, we may succeed in eradicating the natural results of your bringing-up.

JANE. Some families, finding themselves in our position, would seek to turn it to their own advantage. _We_ think only of your good.

FANNY. Yes, that’s what I feel—that you are worrying yourselves too much about me. You’re too conscientious, all of you. You, in particular, Jane, because you know you’re not strong. _You’ll_ end up with a nervous breakdown. [_Mrs. Bennet has entered_. _Honoria slips out_. _Fanny turns to her aunt_.] I was just saying how anxious I’m getting about Jane. I don’t like the look of her at all. What she wants is a holiday. Don’t you agree with me?

MRS. BENNET. There will be no holiday, I fear, for any of us, for many a long day.

FANNY. But you must. You must think more of yourselves, you know. _You’re_ not looking well, aunt, at all. What you both want is a month—at the seaside.

MRS. BENNET. Your object is too painfully apparent for the subject to need discussion. True solicitude for us would express itself better in greater watchfulness upon your own behaviour.

FANNY. Why, what have I done?

_Bennet enters_, _followed_, _unwillingly_, _by Ernest_.

MRS. BENNET. Your uncle will explain.

BENNET. Shut that door. [_Ernest does so_. _They group round Bennet—Ernest a little behind_. _Fanny remains near the desk_.] Sit down. [_Fanny_, _bewildered_, _speechless_, _sits_.] Carry your mind back, please, to the moment when, with the Bradshaw in front of you, you were considering, with the help of your cousin Ernest, the possibility of your slipping out unobserved, to meet and commune with a person you had surreptitiously summoned to visit you during your husband’s absence.

FANNY. While I think of it, did he have anything to eat before he went? I told Ernest to—ask you to see that he had a glass of champagne and a—

BENNET [_waves her back into silence_]. Mr. Newte was given refreshment suitable to his station. [_She goes to interrupt_. _Again he waves her back_.] We are speaking of more important matters. Your cousin reminded you that you would have to pass the lodge, occupied by your Aunt Amelia. I state the case correctly?

FANNY. Beautifully!

BENNET. I said nothing at the time, doubting the evidence of my own ears. The boy, however—where is the boy?—[_Ernest is pushed forward_]—has admitted—reluctantly—that he also heard it. [_A pause_. _The solemnity deepens_.] You made use of an expression—

FANNY. Oh, cut it short. I said “damn.” [_A shudder passes_.] I’m sorry to have frightened you, but if you knew a little more of really good society, you would know that ladies—quite slap-up ladies—when they’re excited, do—.

MRS. BENNET [_interrupting with almost a scream_]. She defends it!

BENNET. You will allow _me_ to be the judge of what a _lady_ says, even when she is excited. As for this man, Newte—

FANNY. The best friend you ever had. [_She is_ “_up_” _again_.] You thank your stars, all of you, and tell the others, too, the whole blessed twenty-three of you—you thank your stars that I did “surreptitiously” beg and pray him to run down by the first train and have a talk with me; and that Providence was kind enough to _you_ to enable him to come. It’s a very different tune you’d have been singing at this moment—all of you—if he hadn’t. I can tell you that.

MRS. BENNET. And pray, what tune _should_ we have been singing if Providence hadn’t been so thoughtful of us?

FANNY [_she is about to answer_, _then checks herself_, _and sits again_]. You take care you don’t find out. There’s time yet.

MRS. BENNET. We had better leave her.

BENNET. Threats, my good girl, will not help you.

MRS. BENNET [_with a laugh_]. She’s in too tight a corner for that.

BENNET. A contrite heart is what your aunt and I desire to see. [_He takes from his pocket a small book_, _places it open on the desk_.] I have marked one or two passages, on pages 93–7. We will discuss them together—later in the day.

_They troop out in silence_, _the key turns in the lock_.

FANNY [_takes up the book—turns to the cover_, _reads_]. “The Sinner’s Manual.” [_She turns to page_ 93.]

[CURTAIN]

_ACT III_

_SCENE_

_The same_.

_Time_.—_A few days later_.

_A table is laid for tea_. _Ernest enters with the tea-urn_. _He leaves the door open_; _through it comes the sound of an harmonium_, _accompanying the singing of a hymn_. _Fanny comes from her dressing-room_. _She is dressed more cheerfully than when we last saw her_, _but still_ “_seemly_.” _She has a book in her hand_. _She pauses_, _hearing the music_, _goes nearer to the open door_, _and listens_; _then crosses and takes her place at the table_. _The music ceases_.

FANNY. Another prayer meeting? [_Ernest nods_.] I do keep ’em busy.

ERNEST. D’ye know what they call you downstairs?

FANNY. What?

ERNEST. The family cross.

FANNY. I’m afraid it’s about right.

ERNEST. What have you been doing _this_ time? Swearing again?

FANNY. Worse. I’ve been lying. [_Ernest gives vent to a low whistle_.] Said I didn’t know what had become of that yellow poplin with the black lace flounces, that they’ve had altered for me. Found out that I’d given it to old Mother Potts for the rummage sale at the Vicarage. Jane was down there. Bought it in for half a crown.

ERNEST. You are risky. Why, you might have known—

_Vernon comes in_. _He is in golfing get-up_. _He throws his cap on to the settee_.

VERNON. Hello, got a cup of tea there?

_Ernest goes out_.

FANNY. Yes. Thought you were playing golf?

VERNON. Just had a telegram handed to me in the village—from your friend Newte. Wants me to meet him at Melton Station at five o’clock. [_Looks at his watch_.] Know what he wants?

FANNY. Haven’t the faintest idea. [_She hands him his cup_.] Is he coming _here_? Or merely on his way somewhere?

VERNON. I don’t know; he doesn’t say.

FANNY. Don’t let him mix you up in any of his “ventures.” Dear old George, he’s as honest as the day, but if he gets hold of an “idea” there’s always thousands in it for everybody.

VERNON. I’ll be careful. [_Ernest has left the door open_. _The harmonium breaks forth again_, _together with vocal accompaniment as before_.] What’s on downstairs, then—a party?

FANNY. Bennet is holding a prayer meeting.

VERNON. A prayer meeting?

FANNY. One of the younger members of the family has been detected “telling a deliberate lie.” [_Vernon is near the door listening_, _with his back towards her_, _or he would see that she is smiling_.] Black sheep, I suppose, to be found in every flock. [_Music ceases_, _Ernest having arrived with the news of his lordship’s return_.]

VERNON [_returning to the table_, _having closed the door_]. Good old man, you know, Bennet. All of them! So high-principled! Don’t often get servants like that, nowadays.

FANNY. Seems almost selfish, keeping the whole collection to ourselves.

VERNON [_laughs_]. ’Pon my word it does. But what can we do? They’ll never leave us—not one of them.

FANNY. No, I don’t believe they ever will.

VERNON. Do you know, I sometimes think that you don’t like them. [_Fanny makes a movement_.] Of course, they are a bit bossy, I admit. But all that comes from their devotion, their—

FANNY. The wonder to me is that, brought up among them, admiring them as you do, you never thought of marrying one of them.

VERNON [_staggered_.] Marrying them?

FANNY. I didn’t say “them.” I said “_one_ of them.” There’s Honoria. She’s pretty enough, anyhow. So’s Alice, Charles Bennet’s daughter, and Bertha and Grace—all of them beautiful. And what’s even better still—good. [_She says it viciously_.] Didn’t you ever think of them?

VERNON. Well [_laughs_]—well, one hardly marries into one’s own kitchen.

FANNY. Isn’t that rather snobbish? You say they’re more like friends than servants. They’ve lived with your people, side by side, for three generations, doing their duty, honourably. There’s never been a slur upon their name. They’re “high-principled.” You know it. They’ve better manners than nine-tenths of your smart society, and they’re healthy. What’s wrong with them—even from a lord’s point of view?

VERNON [_recovering himself_]. Well, don’t pitch into me about it. It’s your fault if I didn’t marry them—I mean one of them. [_He laughs_, _puts his empty cup back on the table_.] Maybe I’d have thought about it—if I hadn’t met you.

FANNY [_takes his hand in hers_]. I wish you hadn’t asked Newte any questions about me. It would have been so nice to feel that you had married me—just because you couldn’t help it—just because I was I and nothing else mattered.

VERNON. Let’s forget I ever did. [_He kneels beside her_.] I didn’t do it for my own sake, as you know. A _man_ in my position has to think of other people. His wife has to take her place in society. People insist upon knowing something about her. It’s not enough for the stupid “County” that she’s the cleverest, most bewilderingly beautiful, bewitching lady in the land.

FANNY. And how long will you think all that?

VERNON. For ever, and ever, and ever.

FANNY. Oh, you dear boy. [_She kisses him_.] You don’t know how a woman loves the man she loves to love her. [_Laughs_.] Isn’t that complicated?

VERNON. Not at all. We’re just the same. We love to love the woman we love.

FANNY. Provided the “County” will let us. And the County has said: A man may not marry his butler’s niece.

VERNON [_laughing_]. You’ve got butlers on the brain. If ever I do run away with my own cook or under-housemaid, it will be your doing.

FANNY. You haven’t the pluck! The “County” would laugh at you. You men are so frightened of being laughed at.

VERNON [_he rises_]. Well, if it saves us from making asses of ourselves—

FANNY. Wasn’t there a niece of old Bennet’s, a girl who had been brought up abroad, and who _wasn’t_ a domestic servant—never had been—who stayed with them here, at the gardener’s cottage, for a short time, some few years ago?

VERNON. You mean poor Rose Bennet’s daughter—the one who ran away and married an organ-grinder.

FANNY. An organ-grinder?

VERNON. Something of that sort—yes. They had her over; did all they could. A crazy sort of girl; used to sing French ballads on the village green to all the farm labourers she could collect. Shortened poor Bennet’s life by about ten years. [_Laughs_.] But why? Not going to bully me for not having fallen in love with her, are you? Because that really _wasn’t_ my fault. I never even saw her. ’Twas the winter we spent in Rome. She bolted before we got back. Never gave me a chance.

FANNY. I accept the excuse. [_Laughs_.] No, I was merely wondering what the “County” would have done if by any chance you had married _her_. Couldn’t have said you were marrying into your own kitchen in her case, because she was never _in_ your kitchen—absolutely refused to enter it, I’m told.

VERNON [_laughs_]. It would have been a “nice point,” as they say in legal circles. If people had liked her, they’d have tried to forget that her cousins had ever been scullery-maids. If not, they’d have taken good care that nobody did.

_Bennet enters_. _He brings some cut flowers_, _with the_ “_placing_” _of which he occupies himself_.

BENNET. I did not know your lordship had returned.

VERNON. Found a telegram waiting for me in the village. What’s become of that niece of yours, Bennet—your sister Rose’s daughter, who was here for a short time and ran away again? Ever hear anything about her?

BENNET [_very quietly he turns_, _lets his eyes for a moment meet Fanny’s_. _Then answers as he crosses to the windows_]. The last I heard about her was that she was married.

VERNON. Satisfactorily?

BENNET. Looking at it from her point of view—most satisfactorily.

VERNON [_laughs_]. But looking at it from his—more doubtful?

BENNET. She was not without her attractions. Her chief faults, I am inclined to think, were those arising from want of discipline in youth. I have hopes that it is not even yet too late to root out from her nature the weeds of indiscretion.

VERNON. And you think he is the man to do it?

BENNET. Perhaps not. But fortunately there are those about her fully alive to the duty devolving upon them.

VERNON. Um. Sounds a little bit like penal servitude for the poor girl, the way you put it, Bennet.

BENNET. Even penal servitude may be a blessing, if it serves to correct a stubborn spirit.

VERNON. We’ll have to make you a J.P., Bennet. Must be jolly careful I don’t ever get tried before you. [_Laughs_.] Is that the cart?

BENNET [_he looks out through the window_]. Yes, your lordship.

VERNON [_he takes up his cap_]. I may be bringing someone back with me. [_To Fanny_, _who throughout has remained seated_.] Why not put on your hat—come with me?

FANNY [_she jumps up_, _delighted_]. Shall I?

BENNET. Your ladyship is not forgetting that to-day is Wednesday?

FANNY. What’s the odds. There’s nobody to call. Everybody is still in town.

BENNET. It has always been the custom of the Lady Bantocks, when in residence, to be at home on Wednesdays.

VERNON. Perhaps better not. It may cause talk; if, by chance, anybody does come. I was forgetting it was Wednesday. [_Fanny sits again_.] I shan’t do anything without consulting you. Good-bye.

FANNY. Good-bye.

_Vernon goes out_.

BENNET. You think it wise, discussing with his lordship the secret history of the Bennet family?

FANNY. What do you mean by telling him my father was an organ-grinder? If the British public knew the difference between music and a hurdy-gurdy, he would have kept a butler of his own.

BENNET. I am not aware of having mentioned to his lordship that you ever to my knowledge even had a father. It is not my plan—for the present at all events—to inform his lordship anything about your family. Take care I am not forced to.

FANNY. Because my father, a composer who had his work performed at the Lamoureux Concerts—as I can prove, because I’ve got the programme—had the misfortune to marry into a family of lackeys—I’m not talking about my mother: she was never really one of you. _She_ had the soul of an artist.

BENNET [_white with suppressed fury_; _he is in front of her_; _his very look is enough to silence her_]. Now you listen to me, my girl, once and for all. I told you the night of your arrival that whether this business was going to prove a pleasant or an unpleasant one depended upon you. You make it an easy one—for your own sake. With one word I can bring your house of cards about your ears. I’ve only to tell him the truth for him to know you as a cheat and liar. [_She goes to speak_; _again he silences her_.] You listen to me. You’ve seen fit to use strong language; now I’m using strong language. This _boy_, who has married you in a moment of impulse, what does _he_ know about the sort of wife a man in his position needs? What do _you_? made to sing for your living on the Paris boulevards—whose only acquaintance with the upper classes has been at shady restaurants.

FANNY. He didn’t _want_ a woman of his own class. He told me so. It was because I wasn’t a colourless, conventional puppet with a book of etiquette in place of a soul that he was first drawn towards me.

BENNET. Yes. At twenty-two, boys like unconventionality. Men don’t: they’ve learnt its true name, vulgarity. Do you think I’ve stood behind English society for forty years without learning anything about it! What you call a colourless puppet is what _we_ call an English lady. And that you’ve got to learn to be. You talk of “lackeys.” If your mother, my poor sister Rose, came from a family of “lackeys” there would be no hope for you. With her blood in your veins the thing can be done. We Bennets—[_he draws himself up_]—we serve. We are not lackeys.

FANNY. All right. Don’t you call my father an organ-grinder, and I won’t call you lackeys. Unfortunately that doesn’t end the trouble.

BENNET. The trouble can easily be ended.

FANNY. Yes. By my submitting to be ruled in all things for the remainder of my life by my own servants.

BENNET. Say “relations,” and it need not sound so unpleasant.

FANNY. Yes, it would. It would sound worse. One can get rid of one’s servants. [_She has crossed towards the desk_. _Her cheque-book lies there half hidden under other papers_. _It catches her eye_. _Her hand steals unconsciously towards it_. _She taps it idly with her fingers_. _It is all the work of a moment_. _Nothing comes of it_. _Just the idea passes through her brain—not for the first time_. _She does nothing noticeable—merely stands listless while one might count half a dozen—then turns to him again_.] Don’t you think you’re going it a bit too strong, all of you? I’m not a fool. I’ve got a lot to learn, I know. I’d be grateful for help. What you’re trying to do is to turn me into a new woman entirely.

BENNET. Because that is the only _way_ to help you. Men do not put new wine into old bottles.

FANNY. Oh, don’t begin quoting Scripture. I want to discuss the thing sensibly. Don’t you see it can’t be done? I can’t be anybody else than myself. I don’t want to.

BENNET. My girl, you’ve _got_ to be. Root and branch, inside and outside, before you’re fit to be Lady Bantock, mother of the Lord Bantocks that are to be, you’ve got to be a changed woman.

_A pause_.

FANNY. And it’s going to be your job, from beginning to end—yours and the rest of you. What I wear and how I look is Jane’s affair. My prayers will be for what Aunt Susannah thinks I stand in need of. What I eat and drink and say and do _you_ will arrange for me. And when you die, Cousin Simeon, I suppose, will take your place. And when Aunt Susannah dies, it will merely be a change to Aunt Amelia. And if Jane ever dies, Honoria will have the dressing and the lecturing of me. And so on and so on, world without end, for ever and ever, Amen.

BENNET. Before that time, you will, I shall hope, have learnt sufficient sense to be grateful to us. [_He goes out_.]

FANNY [_she turns—walks slowly back towards the tea-table_. _Halfway she pauses_, _and leaning over the back of a chair regards in silence for a while the portrait of the first Lady Bantock_]. I do wish I could tell what you were saying.

_The door opens_. _The Misses Wetherell come in_. _They wear the same frocks that they wore in the first act_. _They pause_. _Fanny is still gazing at the portrait_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Don’t you notice it, dear?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Yes. There really is.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It struck me the first day. [_To Fanny_, _who has turned_] Your likeness, dear, to Lady Constance. It’s really quite remarkable.

FANNY. You think so?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. It’s your expression—when you are serious.

FANNY [_laughs_]. I must try to be more serious.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It will come, dear.

_They take their places side by side on the settee_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_to her sister_, _with a pat of the hand_]. In good time. It’s so nice to have her young. I wonder if anybody’ll come this afternoon.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_to Fanny_]. You see, dear, most of the county people are still in town.

FANNY [_who is pouring out tea_]. I’m not grumbling.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Oh, you’ll like them, dear. The Cracklethorpes especially. [_To her sister for confirmation_] Bella Cracklethorpe is so clever.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. And the Engells. She’ll like the Engells. All the Engell girls are so pretty. [_Fanny brings over two cups of tea_.] Thank you, dear.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_as she takes her cup—patting Fanny’s hand_]. And they’ll like you, dear, _all_ of them.

FANNY [_returning to table_]. I hope so.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. It’s wonderful, dear—you won’t mind my saying it?—how you’ve improved.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Of course it was such a change for you. And at first [_turns to her sister_] we were a little anxious about her, weren’t we?

_Fanny has returned to them with the cake-basket_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_as she takes a piece_]. Bennet [_she lingers on the name as that of an authority_] was saying only yesterday that he had great hopes of you.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_Fanny is handing the basket to her_]. Thank you, dear.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I told Vernon. He was _so_ pleased.

FANNY. _Vernon_ was?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. He attaches so much importance to Bennet’s opinion.

FANNY. Um. I’m glad I appear to be giving satisfaction. [_She has returned to her seat at the table_.] I suppose when you go to town, you take the Bennets with you?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_surprised at the question_]. Of course, dear.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Vernon didn’t wish to go this year. He thought you would prefer—

FANNY. I was merely thinking of when he did. Do you ever go abroad for the winter? So many people do, nowadays.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. We tried it once. But there was nothing for dear Vernon to do. You see, he’s so fond of hunting.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL [_to her sister_]. And then there will be his Parliamentary duties that he will have to take up now.

_Fanny rises_, _abruptly_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. You’re not ill, dear?

FANNY. No. Merely felt I wanted some air. You don’t mind, do you? [_She flings a casement open_.]

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Not at all, dear. [_To her sister_] It _is_ a bit close.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. One could really do without fires.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. If it wasn’t for the evenings.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. And then, of course, the cold weather might come again. One can never feel safe until—

_The door opens_. _Dr. Freemantle enters_, _announced by Bennet_. _The old ladies go to rise_. _He stops them_.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Don’t get up. [_He shakes hands with them_.] How are we this afternoon? [_He shakes his head and clicks his tongue_.] Really, I think I shall have to bring an action for damages against Lady Bantock. Ever since she—

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Hush! [_She points to the window_.] Fanny.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Here’s Doctor Freemantle.

_Fanny comes from the window_.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he meets her and takes her hand_]. Was just saying, I really think I shall have to claim damages against you, Lady Bantock. You’ve practically deprived me of two of my best paying patients. Used to be sending for me every other day before you came. Now look at them! [_The two ladies laugh_.] She’s not as bad as we expected. [_He pats her hand_.] Do you remember my description of what I thought she was going to be like?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. She’s a dear girl.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. Bennet—

FANNY [_she has crossed to table—is pouring out the Doctor’s tea_]. Oh, mightn’t we have a holiday from Bennet?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_laughs_]. Seems to be having a holiday himself to-day.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. A holiday?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Didn’t you know? Oh, there’s an awfully swagger party on downstairs. They were all trooping in as I came.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. I’d no idea he was giving a party. [_To Fanny_] Did you, dear?

FANNY [_she hands the Doctor his tea_]. Yes. It’s a prayer meeting. The whole family, I expect, has been summoned.

DR. FREEMANTLE. A prayer meeting! Didn’t look like it.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. But why should he be holding a prayer meeting?

FANNY. Oh, one of the family—

DR. FREEMANTLE. And why twelve girls in a van?

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. In a van?

DR. FREEMANTLE. One of Hutton’s from the Station Hotel—with a big poster pinned on the door: “Our Empire.”

_Fanny has risen_. _She crosses and rings the bell_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. What’s the matter, dear?

FANNY. I’m not quite sure yet. [_Her whole manner is changed_. _A look has come into her eyes that has not been there before_. _She speaks in quiet_, _determined tones_. _She rings again_. _Then returning to table_, _hands the cake-basket to the Doctor_.] Won’t you take one, Doctor? They’re not as indigestible as they look. [_Laughs_.]

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he also is bewildered at the changed atmosphere_]. Thank you. I hope I—

FANNY [_she turns to Ernest_, _who has entered_. _Her tone_, _for the first time_, _is that of a mistress speaking to her servants_]. Have any visitors called for me this afternoon?

ERNEST. Vi-visitors—?

FANNY. Some ladies.

ERNEST [_he is in a slough of doubt and terror_]. L—ladies?

FANNY. Yes. Please try to understand the English language. Has a party of ladies called here this afternoon?

ERNEST. There have been some ladies. They—we—

FANNY. Where are they?

ERNEST. They—I—

FANNY. Send Bennet up to me. Instantly, please.

_Ernest_, _only too glad to be off_, _stumbles out_.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. My dear—

FANNY. You’ll take some more tea, won’t you? Do you mind, Doctor, passing Miss Wetherell’s cup? And the other one. Thank you. And will you pass them the biscuits? You see, I am doing all I can on your behalf. [_She is talking and laughing—a little hysterically—for the purpose of filling time_.] Tea and hot cake—could anything be worse for them?

DR. FREEMANTLE. Well, tea, you know—

FANNY. I know. [_Laughs_.] You doctors are all alike. You all denounce it, but you all drink it. [_She hands him the two cups_.] That one is for Aunt Wetherell of the beautiful hair; and the other is for Aunt Wetherell of the beautiful eyes. [_Laughs_.] It’s the only way I can distinguish them.

_Bennet enters_.

Oh, Bennet!

BENNET. You sent for me?

FANNY. Yes. I understand some ladies have called.

BENNET. I think your ladyship must have been misinformed. I most certainly have seen none.

FANNY. I have to assume, Bennet, that either Dr. Freemantle or you are telling lies.

_A silence_.

BENNET. A party of over-dressed young women, claiming to be acquainted with your ladyship, have arrived in a van. I am giving them tea in the servants’ hall, and will see to it that they are sent back to the station in ample time to catch their train back to town.

FANNY. Please show them up. They will have their tea here.

BENNET [_her very quietness is beginning to alarm him_. _It shakes him from his customary perfection of manners_]. The Lady Bantocks do not as a rule receive circus girls in their boudoir.

FANNY [_still with her alarming quietness_]. Neither do they argue with their servants. Please show these ladies in.

BENNET. I warn you—

FANNY. You heard my orders. [_Her tone has the right ring_. _The force of habit is too strong upon him_. _He yields—savagely—and goes out_. _She turns to the Doctor_.] So sorry I had to drag you into it. I didn’t see how else I was going to floor him.

DR. FREEMANTLE. Splendid! [_He grips her hand_.]

FANNY [_she goes to the old ladies who sit bewildered terrified_.] They won’t be here for more than a few minutes—they can’t be. I want you to be nice to them—both of you. They are friends of mine. [_She turns to the Doctor_.] They’re the girls I used to act with. We went all over Europe—twelve of us—representing the British Empire. They are playing in London now.

DR. FREEMANTLE. To-night? [_He looks at his watch_.]

FANNY [_she is busy at the tea-table_]. Yes. They are on the stage at half past nine. You might look out their train for them. [_She points to the Bradshaw on the desk_.] I don’t suppose they’ve ever thought about how they’re going to get back. It’s Judy’s inspiration, this, the whole thing; I’d bet upon it. [_With a laugh_.] She always was as mad as a March hare.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_busy with the Bradshaw_]. They were nice-looking girls.

FANNY. Yes. I think we did the old man credit. [_With a laugh_.] John Bull’s daughters, they called us in Paris.

_Bennet appears in doorway_.

BENNET [_announces_]. “Our Empire.”

_Headed by_ “_England_,” _the twelve girls_, _laughing_, _crowding_, _jostling one another_, _talking all together_, _swoop in_.

ENGLAND [_a lady with a decided Cockney accent_]. Oh, my dear, talk about an afternoon! We ’ave ’ad a treat getting ’ere.

_Fanny kisses her_.

SCOTLAND [_they also kiss_]. Your boss told us you’d gone out.

FANNY. It was a slight—misunderstanding. Bennet, take away these things, please. And let me have half a dozen bottles of champagne.

STRAITS SETTLEMENTS [_a small girl at the back of the crowd—with a shrill voice_]. Hooray!

BENNET [_he is controlling himself with the supremest difficulty_. _Within he is a furnace_]. I’m afraid I have mislaid the key of the cellar.

FANNY [_she looks at him_]. You will please find it—quickly. [_Bennet_, _again from habit_, _yields_. _But his control almost fails him_. _He takes up the tray of unneeded tea-things from the table_.] I shall want some more of all these [_cakes_, _fruit_, _sandwiches_, _etc._]. And some people to wait. Tell Jane she must come and help.

_Bennet goes out_. _During this passage of arms between mistress and man a momentary lull has taken place in the hubbub_. _As he goes out_, _it begins to grow again_.

ENGLAND. ’E does tease yer, don’t ’e? Wanted us to ’ave tea in the kitchen.

FANNY. Yes. These old family servants—

AFRICA [_she prides herself on being_ “_quite the lady_”]. Don’t talk about ’em, dear. We had just such another. [_She turns to a girl near her_.] Oh, they’ll run the whole show for you if you let ’em.

ENGLAND. It was Judy’s idea, our giving you this little treat. Don’t you blime me for it.

WALES [_a small_, _sprightly girl with a childish_, _laughing voice_]. Well, we were all together with nothing better to do. They’d called a rehearsal and then found they didn’t want us—silly fools. I told ’em you’d just be tickled to death.

FANNY [_laughing—kisses her_]. So I am. It was a brilliant idea. [_By this time she has kissed or shaken hands with the whole dozen_.] I can’t introduce you all singly; it would take too long. [_She makes a wholesale affair of it_.] My aunts, the Misses Wetherell—Dr. Freemantle.

_The Misses Wetherell_, _suggesting two mice being introduced to a party of friendly kittens_, _standing_, _clinging to one another_, _murmur something inaudible_.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_who is with them to comfort them—he has got rid of the time-table_, _discreetly—smiles_]. Delighted.

ENGLAND. Charmed. [_The others join in_, _turning it into a chorus_. _To Fanny_] Glad we didn’t strike one of your busy days. I say, you’re not as dressy as you used to be. ’Ow are they doing you?—all right?

FANNY. Yes. Oh, yes.

CANADA [“_Gerty_,” _a big_, _handsome girl_, _with a loud_, _commanding voice_]. George gave me your message.

FANNY [_puzzled at first_]. My message? [_Remembering—laughs_.] Oh. That I was Lady Bantock of Bantock Hall. Yes. I thought you’d be pleased.

CANADA. Was delighted, dear.

FANNY. So glad.

CANADA. I’d always had the idea that you were going to make a mess of your marriage.

FANNY. What a funny idea! [_But the laugh that accompanies it is not a merry one_.]

CANADA. Wasn’t it? So glad I was wrong.

WALES. We’re all of us looking out for lords in disguise, now. Can’t you give us a tip, dear, how to tell ’em?

SCOTLAND. Sukey has broken it off with her boy. Found he was mixed up in trade.

STRAITS SETTLEMENTS [_as before_, _unseen at back of crowd_]. No. I didn’t. ’Twas his moral character.

_Then enter Honoria with glasses on a tray_; _Ernest with champagne_; _Jane with eatables_; _Bennet with a napkin_. _It is a grim procession_. _The girls are scattered_, _laughing_, _talking_: _Africa to the Misses Wetherell_; _a couple to Dr. Freemantle_. _England_, _Scotland_, _Wales_, _and Canada are with Fanny_. _The hubbub_, _with the advent of the refreshments_, _increases_. _There is a general movement towards the refreshments_.

FANNY. Thanks, Bennet. You can clear away a corner of the desk.

ENGLAND [_aside to her_]. Go easy with it, dear. [_Fanny_, _smiling_, _nods_. _She directs operations in a low tone to the Bennets_, _who take her orders in grim silence and with lips tight shut_.] Don’t forget, girls, that we’ve got to get back to-night. [_Aside to the Doctor_, _who has come forward to help_.] Some of ’em, you know, ain’t used to it.

DR. FREEMANTLE [_nods_]. Glasses not _too_ full. [_He whispers to Fanny_.]

IRELAND [_a decided young woman_]. How much time have we got?

ENGLAND. Don’t ask me. It’s Judy’s show.

WALES [_mimicking Newte_]. The return train, ladies, leaves Oakham station. [_Stops—she is facing the clock_. _She begins to laugh_.]

ENGLAND. What’s the matter?

WALES [_still laughing_]. We’ve got just quarter of an hour to catch it.

_There is a wild rush for the refreshments_. _Jane is swept off her feet_. _Bennet’s tray is upset_.

ENGLAND. Quarter—! Oh, my Gawd! Here, tuck up your skirts, girls. We’ll have to—

DR. FREEMANTLE. It’s all right. You’ve got plenty of time, ladies. There’s a train from Norton on the branch line at 5.33. Gets you into London at a quarter to nine.

ENGLAND. You’re _sure_?

DR. FREEMANTLE [_he has his watch in his hand_]. Quite sure. The station is only half a mile away.

ENGLAND. Don’t let’s miss it. Keep your watch in your ’and, there’s a dear.

FANNY [_her business is—and has been—to move quietly through the throng_, _making the girls welcome_, _talking_, _laughing with them_, _directing the servants—all in a lady’s way_. _On the whole she does it remarkably well_. _She is offering a plate of fruit to Judy_]. You’re a nice acting manager, you are. [_Judy laughs_. _Fanny finds herself in front of Ireland_. _She turns to England_.] Won’t you introduce us?

ENGLAND. I beg your pardon, dear. Of course, you don’t know each other. Miss Tetsworth, our new Ireland, Lady Bantock. It is “Bantock,” isn’t it, dear?

FANNY. Quite right. It’s a good little part, isn’t it?

IRELAND. Well, depends upon what you’ve been used to.

ENGLAND. She’s got talent, as I tell ’er. But she ain’t you, dear. It’s no good saying she is.

FANNY [_hastening to smooth it over_]. People always speak so well of us after we’re gone. [_Laughs_.] You’ll take another glass of champagne.

IRELAND. Thank you—you made a great success, they tell me, in the part.

FANNY. Oh, there’s a deal of fluke about these things. You see, I had the advantage—

DR. FREEMANTLE [_with watch still in his hand_]. I _think_, ladies—

ENGLAND. Come on, girls.

_A general movement_.

FANNY. You must all come again—spend a whole day—some Sunday.

CANADA. Remember me to Vernon.

FANNY. He’ll be so sorry to have—

ENGLAND [_cutting in_]. ’Ope we ’aven’t upset you, dear. [_She is bustling them all up_.]

FANNY. Not at all. [_She is kissing the girls_.] It’s been so good to see you all again.

ENGLAND. ’Urry up, girls, there’s dears. [_To Fanny_] Good-bye, dear. [_Kissing her_.] We _do_ miss yer.

FANNY. I’m glad you do.

ENGLAND. Oh, it ain’t the same show. [_The others are crowding out of the door_. _She and Fanny are quite apart_.] No chance of your coming back to it, I suppose? [_A moment_.] Well, there, you never know, do yer? Good-bye, dear. [_Kisses her again_.]

FANNY. Good-bye! [_She stands watching them out_. _Bennet goes down with them_. _Ernest is busy collecting debris_. _Jane and Honoria stand one each side of the table_, _rigid_, _with set faces_. _After a moment Fanny goes to the open window_. _The voices of the girls below_, _crowding into the van_, _come up into the room_. _She calls down to them_.] Good-bye. You’ve plenty of time. What? Yes, of course. [_Laughs_.] All right. Good-bye. [_She turns_, _comes slowly back_. _She looks at Jane and Honoria_, _where they stand rigid_. _Honoria makes a movement with her shoulders—takes a step towards the door_.] Honoria! [_Honoria stops—slowly turns_.] You can take away these glasses. Jane will help you.

_Bennet has reappeared_.

HONORIA. It’s not my place—

FANNY. Your place is to obey my orders.

BENNET [_his coolness seems to have deserted him_. _His voice is trembling_]. Obey her ladyship’s orders, both of you. Leave the rest to me. [_Honoria and Jane busy themselves_, _with Ernest setting the room to rights_.] May I speak with your ladyship?

FANNY. Certainly.

BENNET. Alone, I mean.

FANNY. I see no need.

BENNET [_her firmness takes him aback_. _He expected to find her defiance disappear with the cause of it_. _But pig-headed_, _as all Bennets_, _her opposition only drives him on_]. Your ladyship is not forgetting the alternative?

_The Misses Wetherell have been watching the argument much as the babes in the wood might have watched the discussion between the two robbers_.

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL [_in terror_]. Bennet! you’re not going to give notice!

BENNET. What my duty may be, I shall be able to decide after I have spoken with her ladyship—alone.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Dear! You will see him?

FANNY. I am sorry. I have not the time.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. No. Of course. [_Appealing to Bennet for mercy_] Her ladyship is tired. To-morrow—

FANNY [_interrupting_]. Neither to-morrow—nor any other day. [_Vernon enters_, _followed by Newte_. _She advances to meet them_.] You’ve just missed some old friends of yours. [_She shakes hands with Newte_.]

VERNON. So it seems. We were hoping to have been in time. [_To Newte_] The mare came along pretty slick, didn’t she?

BENNET [_he has remained with his look fixed all the time on Fanny_]. May I speak with your lordship a moment—in private?

VERNON. Now?

BENNET. It is a matter that needs to be settled now. [_It is the tone of respectful authority he has always used towards the lad_.]

VERNON. Well, if it’s as pressing as all that I suppose you must. [_He makes a movement towards the door_. _To Newte_] Shan’t be long.

FANNY. One moment. [_Vernon stops_.] I may be able to render the interview needless. Who is mistress of this house?

VERNON. Who is mistress?

FANNY. Who is mistress of your house?

VERNON. Why, you are, of course.

FANNY. Thank you. [_She turns to Bennet_] Please tell Mrs. Bennet I want her.

BENNET. I think if your lordship—

FANNY. At once. [_She is looking at him_. _He struggles—looks at Vernon_. _But Vernon is evidently inclined to support Fanny_. _Bennet goes out_. _She crosses and seats herself at the desk_. _She takes from a drawer some neatly folded papers_. _She busies herself with figures_.]

VERNON [_he crosses to his Aunts_]. Whatever’s the matter?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. She is excited. She has had a very trying time.

THE YOUNGER MISS WETHERELL. Bennet didn’t like the idea of her receiving them.

NEWTE. It was that minx Judy’s doing. They’ll have the rough side of my tongue when I get back—all of them.

VERNON. What does she want with Mrs. Bennet?

THE ELDER MISS WETHERELL. I can’t think.

_The atmosphere is somewhat that of a sheepfold before a thunderstorm_. _The Misses Wetherell are still clinging to one another_. _Vernon and Dr. Freemantle are both watching Fanny_. _Jane_, _Honoria_, _and Ernest are still busy about the room_.

_Suddenly_, _to Newte—who is standing apart—the whole thing comes with a rush_. _But it is too late for him to interfere_.

_Mrs. Bennet_, _followed by Bennet_, _are entering the room_. _He shrugs his shoulders and turns away_.

MRS. BENNET. Your ladyship sent for me?

FANNY. Yes. [_She half turns—holds out a paper_.] This wages sheet is quite correct, I take it? It is your own.

MRS. BENNET [_she takes it_]. Quite correct.

FANNY [_she tears out a cheque she has written—hands it to Mrs. Bennet_]. You will find there two months’ wages for the entire family. I have made it out in a lump sum payable to your husband. The other month is in lieu of notice. [_A silence_. _The thing strikes them all dumb_. _She puts the cheque-book back and closes the drawer_. _She rises_.] I’m sorry. There’s been a misunderstanding. It’s time that it ended. It has been my own fault. [_To Vernon_] I deceived you about my family—

NEWTE. If there’s been any deceit—