Chapter IX: Act II: SCENE 1: Enderways, Yorkshire

_It was known as Dick’s room in the old days, so perhaps we may
still call it that. For a small boy, home for his holidays, it
was all very well, this exciting nest in the roof, but it is
terrible to think that a Cabinet Minister is now expected to
sleep there._

_The room is empty at first, and in darkness. Then we hear a
voice outside, and_ LORD CARCHESTER _opens the door and puts
the light on for us. So we get our one glimpse of him--Sally’s
husband; a big, easy-going, easy-moralled, rather battered
man-of-the-world, who, as usual with him at this time of the
night, has had just enough to drink and means to have one or two
more._

CARCHESTER (_outside_). Wait a moment. I’d better go first and put the light on. (_He does so, and makes way for_ MANNOCK) There you are.

MANNOCK (_coming in_). Thanks. (_He sees the room_) By Jove!

CARCHESTER (_for the tenth time_). I really do apologise, but Sally insisted on it.

MANNOCK (_impatiently_). My dear Carchester, of course! (_To himself_) Of course she did.

CARCHESTER. Said you would understand.

MANNOCK. I understand.

(_He is still looking, looking at the room, drinking it in. The
years are dropping off him._)

CARCHESTER. Never argue with a woman. I’ve learnt that--(_the man-of-the-world laughs_)--if I’ve learnt nothing else.

MANNOCK (_carelessly_). I shall be quite all right here, thanks. (_He wants to be alone with the memories of the room._)

CARCHESTER (_sitting down on the bed_). Funny your turning out to be an old friend of Sally’s like this.

MANNOCK. We were boy and girl together. I used to stay here in the holidays. (_With a deep sigh of remembrance_) This was my room.

CARCHESTER. Ah well, then, that accounts for it. Still, why not be comfortable in a decent room when you can? (_He sinks into somnolence, rousing himself a moment to say sleepily_) That was a damn good speech you made.

(MANNOCK _is not listening to his host; it is the room which is
calling to him. He goes quickly to the window, to the cupboard,
finding, remembering, missing. Suddenly he bends down, and turns
back a corner of the carpet._)

MANNOCK. Hullo!

CARCHESTER (_waking up with a start_). What’s the matter?

MANNOCK (_accusingly_). There used to be a rat-hole here. It’s been boarded up.

CARCHESTER. Good Lord, what do _you_ do to rat-holes? (_He settles down to sleep again. But not for long._)

MANNOCK (_severely_). That bed ought to be over here!

CARCHESTER (_dimly feeling that it is his fault_). I beg your pardon, I didn’t--(_he tries to rise in apology, but sinks back again._)

MANNOCK. Up against the wall.

(_He goes to the wall suddenly and taps; a peculiar rhythmic
series of taps, just above where the bed used to be._)

CARCHESTER. Hullo!

MANNOCK (_coming to himself with an apologetic laugh_). Who sleeps there now?

CARCHESTER. The staff. I dunno. P’raps it’s the cook. (_Wagging his head in reproof_) Too old, Mannock, my boy. Too stout.

(MANNOCK _turns away in disgust. Then he goes back to the wall,
and begins to talk, looking at_ CARCHESTER, _but seeing only
himself as a boy, thirty-five years ago_.)

MANNOCK. That was the signal. That meant “I want to talk to you.” Then we talked to each other through the wall. One tap for A, two for B, and so on, spelling out messages. Oh, for hours sometimes ... just making up things to say ... plans for to-morrow ... wonderful plans for to-morrow ... adventures which never quite happened. “G” meant “Good-bye”--if one sent it, the other had to stop and go to sleep. “G.D.” meant “Good-bye, dear”--that was when we had had a specially happy day together. Then, in the morning, the first one awake sent the signal. If the other one answered it, the first one sent “S.W.”--that meant “Shall we?” Shall we get up? “Y” for “Yes,” and we’d race each other to be first down on that old broken wall in the Wilderness.

(_He stops; he is racing to be first down_; SALLY’S _door
flies open; she has the start of him. She can run--how she can
run!--but he will catch her_ ... CARCHESTER _breaks in on his
vision_.)

CARCHESTER. A damn good speech. (_He yawns_) And mind you, I know what I’m talking about, because I was awake practically all the time. (_He struggles to his feet_) I say, what about another spot of whisky?

MANNOCK (_curtly_). No, thanks.

CARCHESTER. Just a little baby spot? You won’t? Well, I will. Quite sure you’re all right here?

MANNOCK. Yes, thanks.

CARCHESTER (_getting to the door_). Well then, g’night.

MANNOCK. Good-night.

CARCHESTER (_after thought_). G’night. (_He opens the door, and then turns round with the air of one having a message to deliver. He delivers it._) G’night. (_He goes._)

(MANNOCK _is alone with his room; alone with a thousand ghosts, a
thousand memories; most of them happy ones, bringing a smile to
his face; all of them tearing at that solemn mask of success in
which, for so many years, he has hidden himself. You can see the
mask falling from him, you can see those years dropping away...._

_He takes off his coat and waistcoat and puts on a dressing-gown;
takes off his shoes and puts on bedroom slippers. Then he sits
on the bed, still smiling at his thoughts. He swings his feet
up and puts his head back on the pillows, looking up at the
well-remembered ceiling. He gives a deep sigh, and just breathes
the word “Sally!” Sleepily he puts his hand up to the wall and
gives that rhythmic knock. There is no answer; it is the wrong
wall; it was a thousand years ago. But, still sleepily, he taps
out G.D., “Good-bye, dear, God be with you, dear.” Then his hand,
coming down from the wall, feels the electric switch. With the
happy sigh of one on the very threshold of sleep, he turns off
the light ... and the thousand ghosts, who have been waiting for
him, rush thronging into his dreams...._

* * * * *

_Listen! Very faint, very far-off, a tune is coming--the War Song
of the Dreadnought Nite ... Pom-perom-perompity-pom...._

_Now it comes again, clearer, louder ...
Pom-perom-perompity-pom...._

_Now the_ DREADNOUGHT NITE _is here; here too is his faithful_
SQUIER.... _Pom-perom-perompity-pom.... A whole orchestra of
sound._

_Listen! It is only a child’s trumpet.... And--see!--there are
the children. For it is light now, and we can see where we are.
Yet, even so, we are not quite certain. For there is the bed
with_ MANNOCK _(is it?) still lying there, but there also is that
overgrown, tangled corner of the Wilderness, and the broken wall
where_ DICK _and_ SALLY _used to meet_.

_“Pom-perom-perompity-pom.” It is the faithful_ SQUIER _who has
the trumpet_. NITE, _in a paper cap, and with a martial sword in
hand, leads the way_. SQUIER, _a toy gun hung round him, follows
tooting_....

_Enough, however, of toots. Let_ NITE _give tongue_.)

NITE (_singing lustily_).

Half a pound of tuppenny rice,
Half a pound of treacle,
That’s the way the money goes--
Pop goes the weasel!

Come on, Squier!

SQUIER.

Half a pound of ham and eggs,
Half a pound of treacle--
That’s the way--

NITE. That’s _not_ the way! It’s “tuppenny rice.”

SQUIER (_reproachfully_). You know I _always_ say ham and eggs, Nite!

NITE. Well, what’s the good of being my Squier, if you don’t sing the same as me? Squiers _always_ sing the same as Nites.

SQUIER. _Sally_ said----

NITE (_seeing_ MANNOCK). Hullo! Here’s an old, dead gentleman.

SQUIER. Oughtn’t I to salute him? (_He unslings his gun._)

NITE (_sternly_). Wait till I give the order. Now then, Squier, shun! Shoulder--_arms_! (SQUIER _slopes_) That’s not shouldering arms, stupid, that’s sloping.

SQUIER. That’s all the shouldering you’ll get. (_Proudly_) We don’t shoulder in _our_ regiment.

NITE. Then you can jolly well take a month’s notice, and I shall engage an entirely new Squier. (SQUIER _salutes, walks away a few paces and comes back again_.) Are you an entirely new Squier?

SQUIER (_saluting_). Yes.

NITE. Then I shall give you 350 a year.

SQUIER. 350 what?

NITE. Oh, I dunno. Stand easy. (_Kindly_) You can look at the old gentleman if you like.

SQUIER (_looking_). Is he a _very_ old gentleman, Nite?

NITE. Not so tremendous. About 25 or 50 or something.

SQUIER. Is he dead?

NITE. Oh, a long time ago, I should think. Just as dead as dead.

SQUIER. Then I shall sing to him. (_Singing_) “Half a pound----”

MANNOCK (_sitting up_). I’m not dead. I’ve heard every word you’ve been saying.

NITE (_to_ SQUIER). He says he isn’t dead.

SQUIER. Ask him if he can sing.

NITE. Can you sing?

MANNOCK. Rather!

NITE. All right, sing!

MANNOCK. “Half a pound of tuppenny rice, half a pound of treacle----”

NITE (_triumphantly_). There you are, Squier!

SQUIER (_wistfully_). I always say “Ham and eggs.”

MANNOCK (_shaking his head_). Wrong!

NITE. There you are, Squier!

SQUIER (_sadly_). I don’t like rice.

MANNOCK. Ah, but wait till you try the tuppenny sort. Whew!

SQUIER. Is that a bit better?

MANNOCK. Ever so much.

SQUIER. Oh! (_Humbly_) Still, I think I’ll go on saying ham and eggs, if you don’t mind very much.

MANNOCK. Right!

NITE (_pointing to_ SQUIER’S _trumpet_). That’s his loot, what he plays on.

SQUIER (_proudly_). I got it at the sack of Jerusalem.

NITE. When there’s a sack on, there’s always a lot of loots. Almost everybody gets one. I lost mine. (_Carelessly_) Don’t mind, because a Nite has such a lot of fighting to do, he can’t bother about loots. I say, where’s the Buteus Maiden?

MANNOCK. That’s just what I was going to ask _you_.

SQUIER. I’m going to shout for her. Shall we shout for her, Nite?

NITE. Yes, let’s shout for her.

MANNOCK. All together. One, two, three----_Buteus Maiden_!

NITE (_apologetically_). I don’t expect she heard.

SQUIER. Perhaps she’s being Sleeping Beauty, and is waiting for Nite to kiss her.

NITE (_rather hot and red_). Shut up, Squier.

MANNOCK. Well, _I_ shall try calling “Sally.”

NITE. Yes, let’s call Sally.

ALL. Sally! Sally! Sally!

BUTEUS MAIDEN. Here I am!

(_And here she is. Only ten at the moment, but as sweet, as
precious, as daintily dignified, as our Sally when she grew up._)

NITE (_rushing to her--even then she was everything to him_). Oh, Sally, you _have_ been a long time. We’ve found an old, dead gentleman to play with us.

MANNOCK (_indignantly_). I’m not dead! I’m not dead!

NITE. Yes, you are. Isn’t he, Squier?

SQUIER. I thought he was at first. And then I thought p’raps he wasn’t.

MANNOCK (_almost in tears_). I’m _not_ dead. I shan’t play if he says I’m dead.

MAIDEN. Do play! Then that will show you’re not.

MANNOCK. I’m a very important, successful man.

SQUIER. I saw at once he was a very important, successful man, so that’s what made me think he was all dead. (_Kindly_) But p’raps he isn’t.

MANNOCK (_doggedly_). I’m _not_ dead.

NITE. Yes, he is.

MAIDEN (_to_ NITE). Dear, if he says he isn’t dead, I don’t think it would be kind not to believe him.

SQUIER. We can pretend he isn’t, anyhow.

MAIDEN (_to_ NITE). Please, dear.

NITE (_magnanimously_). All right, we’ll pretend you’re alive, and see how you get on.

MANNOCK (_humbly_). Thank you very much.

NITE (_moving him_). Now you just stand there, out of the way. What shall we be, Squier?

SQUIER. I think--I think----

NITE. I know! We’ll be Three Suitors. Sally, you sit over there----We’ll be Three Suitors, Squier.

SQUIER (_wistfully_). I suppose I shan’t be the _Third_ Suitor?

NITE. No, _I’ll_ be----(_Impatiently_) Sally, why don’t----

MAIDEN (_sitting down_). Here I am, dear.

NITE (_to_ MANNOCK). What would you like to be? You could be another Squier, if you like, (SQUIER _looks sadly at the Buteus Maiden_.)

MAIDEN (_gently_). There couldn’t be more than one Squier, dear.

MANNOCK (_hopefully_). Could I be a Lord of High Degree?

NITE (_doubtfully, to_ MAIDEN). Could he?

MANNOCK. I’m a Right Honourable, really.

NITE. That’s an _awful_ thing to be.

MANNOCK (_humbly_). Oh!

SQUIER. Couldn’t he just be a wight or a varlet or something?

NITE. A wight of low renowne! A wight of low renowne! That’s what he is. Isn’t he, Sally?

MAIDEN. If you like, dear.

MANNOCK. Thank you very much.

NITE. Now, Squier goes first. We’re all Suitors, and Squier goes first. Go on, Squier. (_In a whisper to_ MANNOCK) You go next.

(SQUIER _slopes his gun, makes a long detour of the castle walls,
and arrives at the Great Gate. He pulls an imaginary bell._)

NITE. Bom! Bom! Bom! (_To_ MANNOCK) That’s the bell ringing inside to summon the agéd Seneschal. Go on, Squier.

SQUIER. What ho, within!

NITE (_as Seneschal_). What ho, without!

SQUIER. Open the door, thou scurvy bald-pate!

NITE. What name, please?

SQUIER. Faithful Squier. I am come to pay attentions to thy mistress, the Buteus Maiden.

NITE. Not at home.

SQUIER. Have a care, agéd man, lest I carve thee to the brisket! (_He pushes past the_ SENESCHAL _into the_ MAIDEN’S _presence_.)

MAIDEN (_turning to him_). Who seeks me?

SQUIER. It is I, thy faithful Squier, who loves thee.

MAIDEN. Alas!

SQUIER. If thou wilt wed with me, I will give thee a golden castle, two palfreys, a box of fireworks and--and--lots of things.

MAIDEN (_drooping_). I want none of these things.

SQUIER. Oh!... Not even a box of fireworks?

MAIDEN. No.

SQUIER. Oh! (_He salutes_) Good-bye! (_He retreats._)

NITE. Well done, Squier!

(SQUIER, _rather pleased with himself, lies down and rests_.)

MAIDEN (_kindly_). Dear Squier. (_She resumes her character._)

NITE (_to_ MANNOCK). Now then, Low Renowne, it’s your turn.

MANNOCK (_confidently_). Right! (_He marches up to the castle gate and pulls the bell. There is dead silence. He pulls it again. Still there is silence. He looks round, a little alarmed, at_ NITE) This bell doesn’t ring! (NITE _laughs loudly_. MANNOCK _rings it again, vigorously, but with no effect. He turns round to_ NITE _again_) I say----(_But_ NITE _and_ SQUIER _have vanished. He calls out loudly, frightened_) I say! (_There is no answer. The_ BUTEUS MAIDEN _still waits silent_. MANNOCK _suddenly drops the bell, and attempts to push his way into the castle, but_ DIGBY, _the immaculate butler, bars the way_.)

DIGBY. Yes, sir?

MANNOCK. Open the door, thou scurvy bald-pate.

DIGBY (_coldly_). What name, please?

MANNOCK. Wight of Low Renowne.

DIGBY. Then it’s no good your hanging about here. Only people of high renown, successful people, are allowed in _this_ house.

MANNOCK. Have a care, agéd man, lest I carve thee to the brisket.

DIGBY (_calmly_). Those are my instructions. Her ladyship is not at home to _any_ of her husband’s old friends. Mr. Selby Mannock says he might perhaps give you a job in the garden, if you come round to the back door.

MANNOCK (_desperately_). But--but I’ve come to see the Buteus Maiden!

DIGBY (_contemptuously_). Dressed like that?

MANNOCK. You don’t understand. I’ve just come up from the country for a day. (_He turns round_) Nite, how _can_ I play this game if----(_But_ NITE _is not there; and when he turns back_, DIGBY _has vanished. He rings the bell again_. ARTHUR _appears_.)

ARTHUR. Name, please.

MANNOCK. Wight of Low Renowne.

ARTHUR (_coldly_). I don’t think I know him. Who is he?

MANNOCK. I--I don’t---- It was Nite, who----

ARTHUR. _Your_ name, I think, is Richard Selby Mannock?

MANNOCK. Y--Yes.

ARTHUR. Then why do you give a false name? It only leads to misapprehension.

MANNOCK. I want to see the Buteus Maiden.

ARTHUR. Dressed like that?

MANNOCK. I--I----

ARTHUR. Look at yourself in the glass! A wight of low renowne! Have a glass of port! Have a cigar! A wight of low renowne!

MANNOCK (_turning round_). Nite! I can’t get in! People keep stopping me! (_He turns back._ ARTHUR _has gone. He rings the bell._ BERTIE CAPP _is there_.)

BERTIE. Name, please.

MANNOCK. Selby Mannock--I mean Wight of Low--(_pathetically_) I don’t know.

BERTIE. I thought perhaps it was the Chancellor of the Exchequer?

MANNOCK. N--no, I don’t think so.

BERTIE. What a pity! Couldn’t you work it somehow? Pull a few strings? Talk to the Duke? Square an editor? I’m sure, if you had a little time, you could think of something. Ask the Archbishop of Canterbury to dinner! Invent a scandal about Mowbray! Intrigue a bit! Surely you can do _something_!

MANNOCK. I--I want to see the Buteus Maiden.

BERTIE. Dressed like that? Without the Chancellor’s robes?

MANNOCK. I _must_ speak to her! I want to tell her----

BERTIE. You know, that was a damn good speech of yours. The Prime Minister knows what he is talking about, and he was awake practically all the time.

MANNOCK. Let me in! I must get in!

BERTIE. I don’t know what the Prime Minister will say. You see, Eversley--the Garden Eversley--has just given him a month’s notice, and the Chancellor of the Exchequer----But, of course, if I were to marry Freda, we should keep it in the family. It all helps.

MANNOCK (_despairingly_). Nite, Squier, where are you? (_He pulls the bell again. To his surprise it rings--or is it the_ BUTEUS MAIDEN _saying “Bom, bom, bom”? He takes a step forward, and is there at last--at her feet._)

MAIDEN (_turning to him_). Who seeks me?

MANNOCK. Er--er--(_but he can say nothing_).

MAIDEN (_leaning to him_). Tell me.

MANNOCK (_struggling desperately to tell her_). Er--er--(_and behold! Reader, his secretary, is prompting him_) Mr. Chairman, my lords, ladies and gentlemen!

MAIDEN (_turning away in disappointment_). Oh!

MANNOCK (_longing to say just the one word “Sally”--and then, “Sally, I love you!” but Reader won’t have it_). Mr. Chairman, my lords, ladies and gentlemen!

MAIDEN (_sadly_). Have you nothing more to say to me?

MANNOCK (_after another desperate struggle_). Mr. Chairman, my lords, ladies and gentlemen!

MAIDEN (_knowing that it is hopeless_). Alas! he hath a sickness!

(_And now, suddenly_, NITE _and_ SQUIER _have him by the arms,
and are leading him away_.)

NITE. That’s not the way, is it, Squier?

SQUIER (_sadly_). I s’pose he _must_ have been dead all the time.

NITE. _I’ll_ show you! Now you watch _me_! (_He walks bravely up to the_ BUTEUS MAIDEN. _No door-bells, no parleyings for him._) Buteus Maiden, I would speak with thee.

MAIDEN. Who seeks me?

NITE. It is I, thy love-lorn Nite.

MAIDEN (_wistfully_). What wouldst thou, Nite?

NITE. Fain would I marry thee.

MAIDEN. Ah!

NITE. No jewels do I bring thee; no golden palaces do I offer thee; only----

MAIDEN (_whispering_). Only----?

NITE. Only my love and my faithful service.

MAIDEN (_getting down off the wall and giving him her hand_). Then do I plight thee my troth.

(_He goes on one knee to her and kisses her hand. Then, her arm
in his, he marches out of the castle, followed by the faithful_
SQUIER, _who plays the War Song of the Dreadnought Nite_.)

MANNOCK (_as they go_). Don’t go! Don’t go! (_But they go_) Sally! Sally!

SQUIER (_popping back_). Tell her it’s Dick calling. (_He hurries back after the others._)

MANNOCK. Sally! Where are you? It’s Dick! (_He goes from one side to the other, calling_ “Sally!” _and then_ “It’s Dick!” _And as he comes back to the castle, there she is, sitting on the wall in just the same attitude as that child Sally--and as beautiful, as dear. Nineteen, twenty; and_ MANNOCK, _seeing her, is himself no older, so eagerly his face lights up_.) Ah, Sally, Sally! (At last he has found her again.)

SALLY. Here I am, Dick.

MANNOCK. Where have you been? I’ve been looking for you.

SALLY. Just down by the river.

MANNOCK (_jealously_). What were you doing?

SALLY. Just sitting in the buttercups, looking at the river.

MANNOCK. Is that all?

SALLY (_nodding_). That’s all, dear.

MANNOCK (_after a pause_). Did you look at yourself in the river, Sally?

SALLY (_nodding_). Yes.

MANNOCK (_with a deep sigh_). Oh, Sally! (_There is so much that he cannot say, that words cannot express. She cannot help him now. She waits, tremulous_) Sally, listen! (_She is listening. He taps the signal. She nods. Then he sends “I.” She nods again_) Did you get that?

SALLY. Yes.

MANNOCK. What was it?

SALLY. “I.”

MANNOCK. That’s right. That’s all the word.

SALLY (_to herself_). Dick.

MANNOCK. Listen! (_He taps “L.” She nods._)

SALLY (_so gently_). “L.”

MANNOCK. That’s right. (_He taps “O.” She nods._)

SALLY (_as gently_). “O.”

MANNOCK. Yes. (_He taps “V.” When he gets as far as “U,” he pauses a moment, his hand up._ SALLY _is waiting breathlessly. With a smile he makes it “V”; out comes her deep sigh of relief; she laughs back at him._)

SALLY (_nodding_). “V.”

MANNOCK. Did you think it would be “V,” Sally?

SALLY (_shyly_). I wondered if it might be “V.”

MANNOCK (_tapping “E”_). There!

SALLY. “Love!” (_She looks straight in front of her seeing--who shall say what?_) “I love----”

MANNOCK. I haven’t finished yet.

SALLY (_softly_). No, you haven’t finished yet.

MANNOCK. Shall I do the alphabet backwards for this letter?

SALLY. Does it come at the end of the alphabet?

MANNOCK. It does come rather at the end, Sally.

SALLY (_with a deep sigh of happiness_). I think I’d like you to do it forward, Dick. (_Gently_) To make it longer.

MANNOCK. All right. (_He taps “Y.”_)

(_Breathlessly, her chin up, her eyes all love_, SALLY _is
counting_.)

SALLY (_certain now_). Ah!

MANNOCK. Did you know it would be “Y,” Sally?

SALLY (_ever so softly_). I think I knew, Dick.

MANNOCK. Did you--did you want it to be “Y,” Sally?

SALLY. Oh, I wanted it to be “Y”!

MANNOCK. (_holding out his arms to her_). Oh, Sally, Sally, I love you! Could you ... do you----

SALLY (_nodding_). Always, dearest, always.

MANNOCK. Sally!

(_If it were real, he would have her in his arms now, but it is
a dream, insubstantial._ BERTIE _and_ FREDA _are there suddenly,
between them. They each have an arm of_ MANNOCK’S, _and are
marching him away; yet talking to each other across him, as if he
were not there_.)

BERTIE. As I said to the Prime Minister, the more these things are kept in the family, the better.

FREDA. That’s just what Father said, when Marjory married Robert.

BERTIE. It will be useful for me, my wife being the Chancellor’s daughter, and it will be useful for your Father, his daughter being married to the Prime Minister’s secretary.

FREDA. Exactly, Bertie. It all helps.

(_They have let go of_ MANNOCK, _and are now arm-in-arm, but
still talking as if he had never been there_.)

BERTIE. In these days, we must stick together, or where are we?

FREDA. Exactly! Where _are_ we?

(_And they are gone. But, alas!_ SALLY _is gone too_.)

MANNOCK. Sally! Where are you?

(_He hurries from one side to the other, calling for her. But it
is_ EVERSLEY, _as old as when we last saw him, who appears_.)

MANNOCK (_turning round with a shout of welcome_). Teddy!

EVERSLEY. I beg your pardon?

MANNOCK (_coming closer_). I’m sorry, sir--you looked much younger--I thought at first----

EVERSLEY (_smiling_). Not at all. Very charming of you to think so. You live here, I suppose?

MANNOCK (_charmingly boyish_). I’m staying here. Teddy and I stay here in the vac. sometimes. We’re up at Cambridge. At least, we’ve just come down.

EVERSLEY (_smiling_). And what are you going to do?

MANNOCK. I’m going to the Bar. But--(_shyly_) I want to write.

EVERSLEY. Ah!

MANNOCK. You see, you don’t get much money at the Bar, and I _must_ have _some_, because you see--you see, Sally and I--we’ve just got engaged.

EVERSLEY. Oh, youth, youth! Bliss was it in that dawn to be alive. But to be young was very heaven!

MANNOCK. Only between ourselves, you know. We shan’t tell anybody until I’m making a living.

EVERSLEY. I shan’t say a word--except just to myself sometimes, “Bless them.”

MANNOCK (_shyly_). I say, thanks awfully. Sally would love that.

EVERSLEY. Perhaps I shall be able to give you a hand later on. I write too. I daresay I could introduce you--a word in the right ear----

MANNOCK. I say, that’s awfully decent of you. I don’t suppose I’m much good. But it’s fun.... It _is_ fun, isn’t it? I mean being alive ... and trying ... and wondering ... and having somebody else who wonders too.... Oh, what a lot there is in the world that nobody knows anything about! All the lovely things! All the precious things! (_Ashamed suddenly_) I say, I’m awfully sorry--talking such rot----

EVERSLEY. Keep on looking for the lovely things.... And bless you both.

LADY JANE (_off_). Edward!

(MANNOCK _looks up at the voice_.)

EVERSLEY. There she is!

(LADY JANE _comes on in full evening dress_.)

LADY JANE. Ah, there you are, Edward!

(MANNOCK _gazes at her, struggling with horrible memories_.)

EVERSLEY. Here I am, my dear. (_To_ MANNOCK) This is my wife, Lady Jane.

MANNOCK (_to himself_). _His_ wife! (_He draws a deep breath of relief_) How do you do?

LADY JANE (_casually_). How do you do? Are we ready, Edward?

EVERSLEY. Yes, my dear.

(_They turn and go off together, talking loudly to each other as
if_ MANNOCK _were not there_.)

LADY JANE. Who is he?

EVERSLEY. Just a nice young man.

LADY JANE. He looks as if he had possibilities. Ask him to Drayton, if you like. He might do. (_They are gone._)

MANNOCK (_still looking for her_). Sally, where _are_ you?... Sally!

(NITE _and_ SQUIER _march across, singing the Dreadnought war
song_.)

SQUIER (_as they disappear_). Say it’s Dick calling.

MANNOCK. Sally! Where are you? It’s Dick!

(_And there she is, on her wall again, just as if she had never
gone._)

SALLY. Here I am, dear.

MANNOCK (_rushing to her_). Oh, Sally, I’ve had the most awful dream! I dreamed--just for a moment--I was married to--to somebody else. It was horrible. And then I couldn’t find you, and--Oh, Sally, it _is_ you, isn’t it? Say it’s you.

SALLY (_nodding_). It is, dearest, it is. Never mind the dream.

MANNOCK. It couldn’t happen, could it?

SALLY (_trembling_). Oh it couldn’t, it couldn’t.... Oh, if it did!

MANNOCK (_comforting her_). It couldn’t, Sally. It will always be you.

SALLY. It was always you. From the very first. Those dear, silly games we played as children--do you remember?----

MANNOCK. I remember.

SALLY. I think I _liked_ Teddy better--(_doubtfully_) I think he was _nicer_, Dick--(_hurriedly_) Oh no, no, he wasn’t----

MANNOCK. He was. I was a little beast.

SALLY. You weren’t, you weren’t. It was always you.... I loved Teddy; I love him now; it’s sort of friendly, loving _him_. But you were different. It’s sort of terrible, loving _you_, Dick. You’re right in my heart, so twined that it can hardly beat without hurting me. You can’t go now; not unless you tear my heart out too.

MANNOCK. I’m happy being in your heart.

SALLY. It was always you. I used to say to myself when we were children, “Squier’s heaps nicer, _really_”--(_nodding_) Yes, he was--but Squier couldn’t hurt me. Only you could hurt me. I think that was how I knew that I loved you.

MANNOCK. I won’t hurt you, darling. Never again.

SALLY (_wistfully, wondering at his innocence_). Oh, my dear!... (_Very gently_) If you stop hurting me, I have stopped loving you.

MANNOCK (_softly_). I will stay in your heart.

SALLY (_putting her hands to her heart_). You are all that I have there.

(_They are silent together.... Very faintly the War Song of the
Dreadnought Nite is heard._ SALLY _stands up_.)

SALLY. Come, dearest.

MANNOCK. I come, my beautiful.

SALLY. Into the world, for whatever the world may send, but always together.

MANNOCK. Always together, my lovely.

(_They begin to move, but are held there. It is a deputation
arriving. The War Song grows louder, as all the people of_
MANNOCK’S _dream file in. Now they are between_ SALLY _and her
lover. She calls to him with her eyes, “Come, dearest,” but he
cannot.... She is gone._)

DIGBY. Oyez! Oyez! Oyez! The Chancellor of the Exchequer will now put on his robe of office.

(_The deputation solemnly presents_ MANNOCK _with the robe and
departs with dignity_.)

MANNOCK. Half a moment, Sally, I must just put this on. (_He struggles into it_) Sally! (_He looks up, still struggling. She is not there_) Wait a moment, Sally! (_He struggles_) Sally, I must get this on! Don’t you understand, dear?... (_Frightened_) Sally! Wait for me! (_Desperately_) Sally!... Sally!----

(_But he has lost her._)