Chapter I: Act I

SCENE: _The hall of DAVID BLISS’S house is very comfortable and
extremely untidy. There are several of SIMON’S cartoons scattered
about the walls, masses of highly coloured American and classical
music strewn about the piano, and lots of flowers and comfortable
furniture. A staircase ascends to a small balcony leading to the
bedrooms, DAVID’S study and SIMON’S room. There is a door leading to
the library down R. A service door above it under the stairs. There
are French windows at back, and the front door on the L._

[_When the curtain rises it is about three o’clock on a
Saturday afternoon in June._

[_SIMON, in an extremely dirty tennis shirt and baggy grey
flannel trousers, is crouched in the middle of the floor,
cutting out squares from cartridge paper._

[_SOREL, more neatly dressed, is stretched on the sofa, reading
a very violently bound volume of poems which have been sent to
her by an aspiring friend._

SOREL: Listen to this, Simon. (_She reads._) “Love’s a Trollop stained with wine—Clawing at the breasts of Adolescence—Nuzzling, tearing, shrieking, beating—God, why were we fashioned so!” (_She laughs._)

SIMON: The poor girl’s potty.

SOREL: I wish she hadn’t sent me the beastly book. I must say something nice about it.

SIMON: The binding’s very dashing.

SOREL: She used to be such fun before she married that gloomy little man.

SIMON: She was always a fierce _poseuse_. It’s so silly of people to try and cultivate the artistic temperament. _Au fond_ she’s just a normal, bouncing Englishwoman.

SOREL: You didn’t shave this morning.

SIMON: I know I didn’t, but I’m going to in a minute, when I’ve finished this.

SOREL: I sometimes wish we were more normal and bouncing, Simon.

SIMON: Why?

SOREL: I should like to be a fresh, open-air girl with a passion for games.

SIMON: Thank God you’re not.

SOREL: It would be so soothing.

SIMON: Not in this house.

SOREL: Where’s Mother?

SIMON: In the garden, practising.

SOREL: Practising?

SIMON: She’s learning the names of the flowers by heart.

SOREL: What’s she up to?

SIMON: I don’t know.—Damn! that’s crooked.

SOREL: I always distrust her when she becomes the Squire’s lady.

SIMON: So do I.

SOREL: She’s been at it hard all day—she tapped the barometer this morning.

SIMON: She’s probably got a plan about impressing somebody.

SOREL (_taking a cigarette_): I wonder who.

SIMON: Some dreary, infatuated young man will appear soon, I expect.

SOREL: Not to-day? You don’t think she’s asked anyone down to-day, do you?

SIMON: I don’t know. Has Father noticed anything?

SOREL: No; he’s too immersed in work.

SIMON: Perhaps Clara will know.

SOREL: Yell for her.

SIMON (_calling_): Clara! Clara!...

SOREL: Oh, Simon, I _do_ hope she hasn’t asked anyone down to-day.

SIMON: Why? Have you?

SOREL: Yes.

SIMON (_crossly_): Why on earth didn’t you tell me?

SOREL: I didn’t think you’d care one way or another.

SIMON: Who is it?

SOREL: Richard Greatham.

SIMON: How exciting! I’ve never heard of him.

SOREL: I shouldn’t flaunt your ignorance if I were you—it makes you look silly.

SIMON (_rising_): Well, that’s done. (_He rolls up the cartridge paper._)

SOREL: Everybody’s heard of Richard Greatham.

SIMON (_amiably_): How lovely for them.

SOREL: He’s a frightfully well-known diplomatist—I met him at the Mainwarings’ dance.

SIMON: He’ll need all his diplomacy here.

SOREL: I warned him not to expect good manners, but I hope you’ll be as pleasant to him as you can.

SIMON (_gently_): I’ve never met any diplomatists, Sorel, but as a class I’m extremely prejudiced against them. They’re so suave and polished and debonair.

SOREL: You could be a little more polished without losing caste.

SIMON: Will he have the papers with him?

SOREL: What papers?

SIMON (_vaguely_): Oh, any papers.

SOREL: I wish you’d confine your biting irony to your caricatures, Simon.

SIMON: And I wish you’d confine your girlish infatuations to London, and not force them on your defenceless family.

SOREL: I shall keep him out of your way as much as possible.

SIMON: Do, darling.

[_Enter CLARA. She is a hot, round, untidy little woman._

SIMON: Clara, has Mother asked anyone down this week-end?

CLARA: I don’t know, dear. There isn’t much food in the house, and Amy’s got toothache.

SOREL: I’ve got some oil of cloves somewhere.

CLARA: She tried that, but it only burnt her tongue. The poor girl’s been writhing about in the scullery like one o’clock.

SOREL: You haven’t forgotten to put those flowers in the Japanese room?

SIMON: The Japanese room is essentially feminine, and entirely unsuited to the Pet of the Foreign Office.

SOREL: Shut up, Simon.

CLARA: The room looks lovely, dear—you needn’t worry. Just like your mother’s dressing-room on a first night.

SIMON: How restful!

CLARA (_to SOREL_): Have you told her about your boy friend?

SOREL (_pained_): Not boy friend, Clara.

CLARA (_going round, picking up things_): Oh, well, whatever he is.

SIMON: I think Sorel’s beginning to be ashamed of us all, Clara—I don’t altogether blame her; we are very slapdash.

CLARA: Are you going to leave that picture in the guests’ bathroom, dear? I don’t know if it’s quite the thing—lots of pink, naked women rolling about in a field.

SIMON (_severely_): Nudity can be very beautiful, Clara.

CLARA: Oh, can it! Perhaps being a dresser for so long ’as spoilt me eye for it. (_She goes out._)

SIMON: Clara’s looking tired. We ought to have more servants and not depend on her so much.

SOREL: You know we can never keep them. You’re right about us being slapdash, Simon. I wish we weren’t.

SIMON: Does it matter?

SOREL: It must, I think—to other people.

SIMON: It’s not our fault—it’s the way we’ve been brought up.

SOREL: Well, if we’re clever enough to realise that, we ought to be clever enough to change ourselves.

SIMON: I’m not sure that I want to.

SOREL: We’re so awfully bad-mannered.

SIMON: Not to people we like.

SOREL: The people we like put up with it because they like us.

SIMON: What do you mean, exactly, by bad manners? Lack of social tricks and small-talk?

SOREL: We never attempt to look after people when they come here.

SIMON: Why should we? It’s loathsome being looked after.

SOREL: Yes, but people like little attentions. We’ve never once asked anyone if they’ve slept well.

SIMON: I consider that an impertinence, anyhow.

SOREL: I’m going to try to improve.

SIMON: You’re only going on like this because you’ve got a mania for a diplomatist. You’ll soon return to normal.

SOREL (_earnestly_): Abnormal, Simon—that’s what we are. Abnormal. People stare in astonishment when we say what we consider perfectly ordinary things. I just remarked at Freda’s lunch the other day how nice it would be if someone invented something to make all our faces go up like the Chinese, because I was so bored with them going down—and they all thought I was mad!

SIMON: It’s no use worrying, darling; we see things differently, I suppose, and if people don’t like it they must lump it.

SOREL: Mother’s been awfully restless lately.

SIMON: Yes, I know.

SOREL: Life must be terribly dull for her now, with nothing to do.

SIMON: She’ll go back soon, I expect; people never retire from the stage for long.

SOREL: Father will be livid if she does.

SIMON: That won’t matter.

[_Enter JUDITH from the garden. She is carrying an armful of
flowers and wearing a tea-gown, a large garden hat, gauntlet
gloves and goloshes._

JUDITH: You look awfully dirty, Simon. What have you been doing?

SIMON (_nonchalantly_): Not washing very much.

JUDITH: You should, darling, really. It’s so bad for your skin to leave things about on it. (_She proceeds to take off her goloshes._)

SOREL: Clara says Amy’s got toothache.

JUDITH: Poor dear! There’s some oil of cloves in my medicine cupboard. Who is Amy?

SOREL: The scullery-maid, I think.

JUDITH: How extraordinary! She doesn’t look Amy a bit, does she? Much more Flossie.—Give me a cigarette.

[_SOREL gives her a cigarette and lights it._

Delphiniums are those stubby red flowers, aren’t they?

SIMON: No, darling, they’re tall and blue.

JUDITH: Yes, of course. The red ones are somebody’s name—Asters, that’s it. I knew it was something opulent. I do hope Clara has remembered about the Japanese room.

SOREL: Japanese room!

JUDITH: Yes; I told her to put some flowers in it and take Simon’s flannels out of the wardrobe drawer.

SOREL: So did I.

JUDITH (_ominously_): Why?

SOREL (_airily_): I’ve asked Richard Greatham down for the week-end—I didn’t think you’d mind.

JUDITH: Mind! How dared you do such a thing?

SOREL: He’s a diplomatist.

JUDITH: That makes it much worse. We must wire and put him off at once.

SOREL: It’s too late.

JUDITH: Well, we’ll tell Clara to say we’ve been called away.

SOREL: That would be extremely rude, and, anyhow, I _want_ to see him.

JUDITH: You mean to stand there in cold blood and tell me you’ve asked a complete stranger down for the week-end, and that you want to see him!

SOREL: I’ve often done it before.

JUDITH: I fail to see how that helps matters. Where’s he going to sleep?

SOREL: The Japanese room.

JUDITH: Oh, no, he isn’t—Sandy Tyrell is sleeping in it.

SIMON: There now! What did I tell you?

SOREL: Sandy—what?

JUDITH: Tyrell, dear.

SIMON: Why didn’t you tell us, Mother?

JUDITH: I did. I’ve talked of nothing but Sandy Tyrell for days. I adore Sandy Tyrell.

SIMON: You’ve never mentioned him.

SOREL: Who is he, Mother?

JUDITH: He’s a perfect darling, and madly in love with me—at least, it isn’t me really, it’s my Celebrated Actress glamour—but it gives me a divinely cosy feeling. I met him at Nora Trent’s.

SOREL: Mother, I wish you’d give up this sort of thing.

JUDITH: What exactly do you mean by “this sort of thing,” Sorel?

SOREL: You know perfectly well what I mean.

JUDITH: Are you attempting to criticise me?

SOREL: I should have thought you’d be above encouraging silly callow young men who are infatuated by your name.

JUDITH: That may be true, but I shall allow nobody but myself to say it. I hoped you’d grow up a good daughter to me, not a critical aunt.

SOREL: It’s so terribly cheap.

JUDITH: Cheap! Nonsense! What about your diplomatist?

SOREL: Surely that’s a little different, dear?

JUDITH: If you mean that because you happen to be a vigorous _ingénue_ of nineteen you have the complete monopoly of any amorous adventure there may be about, I feel it my firm duty to disillusion you.

SOREL: But, Mother——

JUDITH: Anyone would think I was eighty, the way you go on. It was a great mistake not sending you to boarding schools, and you coming back and me being your elder sister.

SIMON: It wouldn’t have been any use. Everyone knows we’re your son and daughter.

JUDITH: Only because I was stupid enough to dandle you about in front of cameras when you were little. I knew I should regret it.

SIMON: I don’t see any point in trying to be younger than you are.

JUDITH: At your age, dear, it would be indecent if you did.

SOREL: But, Mother darling, don’t you see, it’s awfully undignified for you to go flaunting about with young men?

JUDITH: I don’t flaunt about—I never have. I’ve been morally an extremely nice woman all my life—more or less—and if dabbling gives me pleasure, I don’t see why I shouldn’t dabble.

SOREL: But it oughtn’t to give you pleasure any more.

JUDITH: You know, Sorel, you grow more damnably feminine every day. I wish I’d brought you up differently.

SOREL: I’m proud of being feminine.

JUDITH (_kissing her_): You’re a darling, and I adore you; and you’re very pretty, and I’m madly jealous of you.

SOREL (_with her arms round her_): Are you really? How lovely.

JUDITH: You will be nice to Sandy, won’t you?

SOREL (_breaking away_): Can’t he sleep in “Little Hell”?

JUDITH: My dear, he’s frightfully athletic, and all those hot-water pipes will sap his vitality.

SOREL: They’ll sap Richard’s vitality too.

JUDITH: He won’t notice them; he’s probably used to scorching tropical Embassies with punkahs waving and everything.

SIMON: He’s sure to be deadly, anyhow.

SOREL: You’re getting far too blasé and exclusive, Simon.

SIMON: Nothing of the sort. Only I loathe being hearty with your men friends.

SOREL: You’ve never been even civil to any of my friends, men or women.

JUDITH: Don’t bicker.

SIMON: Anyhow, the Japanese room’s a woman’s room, and a woman ought to have it.

JUDITH: I promised it to Sandy—he loves anything Japanese.

SIMON: So does Myra.

JUDITH: Myra!

SIMON: Myra Arundel. I’ve asked her down.

JUDITH: You’ve—what?

SIMON: I’ve asked Myra down for the week-end—she’s awfully amusing.

SOREL: Well, all I can say is, it’s beastly of you. You might have warned me. What on earth will Richard say?

SIMON: Something exquisitely non-committal, I expect.

JUDITH: This is too much! Do you mean to tell me, Simon——

SIMON (_firmly_): Yes, Mother, I do. I’ve asked Myra down, and I have a perfect right to. You’ve always brought us up to be free about things.

JUDITH: Myra Arundel is straining freedom to its utmost limits.

SIMON: Don’t you like her?

JUDITH: No, dear, I detest her. She’s far too old for you, and she goes about using Sex as a sort of shrimping net.

SIMON: Really, Mother——!

JUDITH: It’s no use being cross. You know perfectly well I dislike her, and that’s why you never told me she was coming until too late to stop her. It’s intolerable of you.

SOREL (_grandly_): Whether she’s here or not is a matter of extreme indifference to me, but I’m afraid Richard won’t like her very much.

SIMON: You’re afraid he’ll like her too much.

SOREL: That was an offensive remark, Simon, and rather silly.

JUDITH (_plaintively_): Why on earth don’t you fall in love with nice young girls, instead of self-conscious vampires?

SIMON: She’s not a vampire, and I never said I was in love with her.

SOREL: He’s crazy about her. She butters him up and admires his sketches.

SIMON: What about you picking up old gentlemen at dances?

SOREL (_furiously_): He’s _not_ old!

JUDITH: You’ve both upset me thoroughly. I wanted a nice, restful week-end, with moments of Sandy’s ingenuous affection to warm the cockles of my heart when I felt in the mood, and now the house is going to be full of discord—not enough food, everyone fighting for the bath—perfect agony! I wish I were dead!

SIMON: You needn’t worry about Myra and me. We shall keep out of everyone’s way.

SOREL: I shall take Richard on the river all day to-morrow.

JUDITH: In what?

SOREL: The punt.

JUDITH: I absolutely forbid you to go near the punt.

SIMON: It’s sure to rain, anyhow.

JUDITH: What your father will say I tremble to think. He needs complete quiet to finish off “The Sinful Woman.”

SOREL: I see no reason for there to be any noise, unless Sandy What’s-his-name is given to shouting.

JUDITH: If you’re rude to Sandy I shall be extremely angry.

SOREL: } Now, look here, Mother——
SIMON: } Why you should expect——
JUDITH: } He’s coming all the way down specially to be nice to me——

[_Enter DAVID down stairs. He looks slightly irritable._

DAVID: Why are you all making such a noise?

JUDITH: I think I’m going mad.

DAVID: Why hasn’t Clara brought me my tea?

JUDITH: I don’t know.

DAVID: Where is Clara?

JUDITH: Do stop firing questions at me, David.

DAVID: Why are you all so irritable? What’s happened?

[_Enter CLARA, with a tray of tea for one._

CLARA: Here’s your tea. I’m sorry I’m late with it. Amy forgot to put the kettle on—she’s got terrible toothache.

DAVID: Poor girl! Give her some oil of cloves.

SOREL: If anyone else mentions oil of cloves, I shall do something desperate.

DAVID: It’s wonderful stuff. Where’s Zoe?

SIMON: She was in the garden this morning.

DAVID: I suppose no one thought of giving her any lunch?

CLARA: I put it down by the kitchen table as usual, but she never came in for it.

SOREL: She’s probably mousing.

DAVID: She isn’t old enough yet. She might have fallen into the river, for all you care. I think it’s a shame!

CLARA: Don’t you worry your head—Zoe won’t come to any harm; she’s too wily.

DAVID: I don’t want to be disturbed. (_He takes his tray and goes upstairs; then he turns._) Listen, Simon. There’s a perfectly sweet flapper coming down by the four-thirty. Will you go and meet her and be nice to her? She’s an abject fool, but a useful type, and I want to study her a little in domestic surroundings. She can sleep in the Japanese room.

[_He goes off, leaving behind him a deathly silence._

JUDITH: I should like someone to play something very beautiful to me on the piano.

SIMON: Damn everything! Damn! Damn! Damn!

SOREL: Swearing doesn’t help.

SIMON: It helps me a lot.

SOREL: What does Father mean by going on like that?

JUDITH: In view of the imminent reception, you’d better go and shave, Simon.

SOREL (_bursting into tears of rage_): It’s perfectly beastly! Whenever I make any sort of plan about anything it’s always done in by someone. I wish I were earning my own living somewhere—a free agent—able to do whatever I liked without being cluttered up and frustrated by the family——

JUDITH (_picturesquely_): It grieves me to hear you say that, Sorel.

SOREL: Don’t be infuriating, Mother.

JUDITH (_sadly_): A change has come over my children of late. I have tried to shut my eyes to it, but in vain. At my time of life one must face bitter facts!

SIMON: This is going to be the blackest Saturday till Monday we’ve ever spent.

JUDITH (_tenderly_): Sorel, you mustn’t cry.

SOREL: Don’t sympathise with me; it’s only temper.

JUDITH (_clasping her_): Put your head on my shoulder, dear.

SIMON (_bitterly_): Your head like the golden fleece....

SOREL: Richard’ll have to have “Little Hell” and that horrible flapper the Japanese room.

JUDITH: Over my dead body!

SIMON: Mother, what _are_ we to do?

JUDITH (_drawing him forcibly into her arms so that there is a charming little motherly picture_): We must all be very, very kind to everyone!

SIMON: Now then, Mother, none of that!

JUDITH (_aggrieved_): I don’t know what you mean, Simon.

SIMON: You were being beautiful and sad.

JUDITH: But I am beautiful and sad.

SIMON: You’re not particularly beautiful, darling, and you never were.

JUDITH (_glancing at herself in the glass_): Never mind; I made thousands think I was.

SIMON: And as for being sad——

JUDITH: Now, Simon, I will not be dictated to like this. If I say I’m sad, I _am_ sad. You don’t understand, because you’re precocious and tiresome.... There comes a time in all women’s lives——

SOREL: Oh dear!

JUDITH: What did you say, Sorel?

SOREL (_recovering_): I said, “Oh dear!”

JUDITH: Well, please don’t say it again, because it annoys me.

SOREL: You’re such a lovely hypocrite.

JUDITH (_casting up her eyes_): I’m sure I don’t know what I’ve done to be cursed with such ungrateful children. It’s very cruel at my time of life——

SIMON: There you go again!

JUDITH (_inconsequently_): You’re getting far too tall, Sorel.

SOREL: Sorry, Mother.

JUDITH: Give me another of those disgusting cigarettes—I don’t know where they came from.

SIMON (_giving her one_): Here. (_He lights it for her._)

JUDITH: I’m going to forget entirely about all these dreadful people arriving. My mind henceforward shall be a blank on the subject.

SOREL: It’s all very fine, Mother, but——

JUDITH: I made a great decision this morning.

SIMON: What kind of decision?

JUDITH: It’s a secret.

SOREL: Aren’t you going to tell us?

JUDITH: Of course. I meant it was a secret from your Father.

SIMON: What is it?

JUDITH: I’m going back to the stage.

SIMON: I knew it!

JUDITH: I’m stagnating, you see. I won’t stagnate as long as there’s breath left in my body.

SOREL: Do you think it’s wise? You retired so very finally last year. What excuse will you give for returning so soon?

JUDITH: My public, dear—letters from my public!

SIMON: Have you had any?

JUDITH: One or two. That’s what decided me, really—I ought to have had hundreds.

SOREL: We’ll write some lovely ones, and you can publish them in the papers.

JUDITH: Of course.

SOREL: You will be dignified about it all, won’t you, darling?

JUDITH: I’m much more dignified on the stage than in the country—it’s my _milieu_. I’ve tried terribly hard to be “landed gentry,” but without any real success. I long for excitement and glamour. Think of the thrill of a first night; all those ardent playgoers willing one to succeed; the critics all leaning forward with glowing faces, receptive and exultant—emitting queer little inarticulate noises as some witty line tickles their fancy. The satisfied grunt of the _Daily Mail_, the abandoned gurgle of the _Sunday Times_, and the shrill, enthusiastic scream of the _Daily Express_! I can distinguish them all——

SIMON: Have you got a play?

JUDITH: I think I shall revive “Love’s Whirlwind.”

SOREL (_collapsing on to sofa_): Oh, Mother! (_She gurgles with laughter._)

SIMON (_weakly_): Father will be furious.

JUDITH: I can’t help that.

SOREL: It’s such a fearful play.

JUDITH: It’s a marvellous part. You mustn’t say too much against it, Sorel. I’m willing to laugh at it a little myself, but, after all, it _was_ one of my greatest successes.

SIMON: Oh, it’s appalling—but I love it. It makes me laugh.

JUDITH: The public love it too, and it doesn’t make them laugh—much. (_She recites_) “You are a fool, a blind, pitiable fool. You think because you have bought my body that you have bought my soul!” You must say that’s dramatic.—“I’ve dreamed of love like this, but I never realised, I never knew how beautiful it could be in reality!” That line always brought a tear to my eye.

SIMON: The Second Act _is_ the best, there’s no doubt about that.

JUDITH: From the moment Victor comes in it’s strong—tremendously strong.... Be Victor a minute, Sorel——

SOREL: Do you mean when he comes in at the end of the act?

JUDITH: Yes, you know—“Is this a game?”

SOREL (_with feeling_): “Is this a game?”

JUDITH (_with spirit_): “Yes—and a game that must be played to the finish.”

SIMON: “Zara, what does this mean?”

JUDITH: “So many illusions shattered—so many dreams trodden in the dust!”

SOREL: I’m George now—“I don’t understand! You and Victor—My God!”

JUDITH: “Sssh! Isn’t that little Pam crying?”

SIMON (_savagely_): “She’ll cry more, poor mite, when she realises her mother is a——”

JUDITH (_shrieking_): “Don’t say it—don’t say it!”

SOREL: “Spare her that.”

JUDITH: “I’ve given you all that makes life worth living—my youth, my womanhood, and now my child. Would you tear the very heart out of me? I tell you that it’s infamous that men like you should be allowed to pollute Society. You have ruined my life—I have nothing left—nothing. God in heaven, where am I to turn for help....”

SOREL (_through clenched teeth_): “Is this true? Answer me—is this true?”

JUDITH (_wailing_): “Yes, yes!”

SOREL (_springing at SIMON_): “You cur!”

[_The front door bell rings._

JUDITH: Damn! There’s the bell.

SOREL (_rushing to the glass_): I look hideous!

SIMON: Yes, dear.

[_CLARA enters._

JUDITH: Clara—before you open the door—we shall be eight for dinner.

CLARA: My God!

SIMON: And for breakfast, lunch, tea, and dinner to-morrow.

JUDITH (_vaguely_): Will you get various rooms ready?

CLARA: I shall have to—they can’t sleep in the passage.

SOREL: How we’ve upset Clara.

JUDITH: It can’t be helped—nothing can be helped. It’s Fate—everything that happens is Fate. That’s always a great comfort to me.

CLARA: More like arrant selfishness.

JUDITH: You mustn’t be pert, Clara.

CLARA: Pert I may be, but I ’ave got some thought for others. Eight for dinner—Amy going home early. It’s more nor less than an imposition.

[_The bell rings again._

SIMON: Hadn’t you better let them all in?

[_CLARA goes to the front door and admits SANDY TYRELL, who is
a fresh-looking young man; he has an unspoilt, youthful sense
of honour and rather big hands, owing to a misplaced enthusiasm
for amateur boxing._

[_CLARA goes out._

SANDY (_to JUDITH_): I say, it’s perfectly ripping of you to let me come down.

JUDITH: Are you alone?

SANDY (_surprised_): Yes.

JUDITH: I mean, you didn’t meet anyone at the station?

SANDY: I motored down; my car’s outside. Would you like me to meet anybody?

JUDITH: Oh, no. I must introduce you. This is my daughter Sorel, and my son Simon.

SANDY (_shaking hands_): How-do-you-do.

SOREL (_coldly_): I’m extremely well, thank you, and I hope you are.

SIMON: So do I.

[_They both go upstairs rather grandly. SANDY looks shattered._

JUDITH: You must forgive me for having rather peculiar children. Have you got a bag or anything?

SANDY: Yes; it’s in the car.

JUDITH: We’d better leave it there for the moment, as Clara has to get the tea. We’ll find you a room afterwards.

SANDY: I’ve been looking forward to this most awfully.

JUDITH: It is nice, isn’t it? You can see as far as Marlow on a clear day, they tell me.

SANDY: I meant I’ve been looking forward to seeing you.

JUDITH: How perfectly sweet of you. Would you like a drink?

SANDY: No thanks. I’m in training.

JUDITH (_sitting on sofa and motioning him to sit beside her_): How lovely. What for?

SANDY: I’m boxing again in a couple of weeks.

JUDITH: I must come to your first night.

SANDY: You look simply splendid.

JUDITH: I’m so glad. You know, you mustn’t mind if Simon and Sorel insult you a little—they’ve been very bad-tempered lately.

SANDY: It’s awfully funny you having a grown-up son and daughter at all. I can hardly believe it.

JUDITH (_quickly_): I was married very young.

SANDY: I don’t wonder. You know, it’s frightfully queer the way I’ve been planning to know you for ages, and I never did until last week.

JUDITH: I liked you from the first, really, because you’re such a nice shape.

SANDY (_slightly embarrassed_): Oh, I see....

JUDITH: Small hips and lovely long legs—I wish Simon had smaller hips. Do you think you could teach him to box?

SANDY: Rather—if he likes.

JUDITH: That’s just the trouble—I’m afraid he won’t like. He’s so dreadfully un——that sort of thing. But never mind; you must use your influence subtly. I’m sure David would be pleased.

SANDY: Who’s David?

JUDITH: My husband.

SANDY (_surprised_): Oh!

JUDITH: Why do you say “Oh” like that? Didn’t you know I had a husband?

SANDY: I thought he was dead.

JUDITH: No, he’s not dead; he’s upstairs.

SANDY: You’re quite different from what you were the other day.

JUDITH: It’s this garden hat—I’ll take it off. (_She does so._) There. I’ve been pruning the calceolarias.

SANDY (_puzzled_): Oh?——

JUDITH: I love my garden, you know—it’s so peaceful and quaint. I spend long days dreaming away in it—you know how one dreams.

SANDY: Oh, yes.

JUDITH (_warming up_): I always longed to leave the brittle glamour of cities and theatres and find rest in some old-world nook. That’s why we came to Cookham.

SANDY: It’s awfully nice—Cookham.

JUDITH: Have you ever seen me on the stage?

SANDY: Rather!

JUDITH: What in?

SANDY: That thing when you pretended to cheat at cards to save your husband’s good name.

JUDITH: Oh, “The Bold Deceiver.” That play was never quite right.

SANDY: You were absolutely wonderful. That was when I first fell in love with you.

JUDITH (_delighted_): Was it, really?

SANDY: Yes; you were so frightfully pathetic and brave.

JUDITH (_basking_): Was I?

SANDY: Rather!

[_There is a pause._

JUDITH: Well, go on....

SANDY: I feel such a fool, telling you what I think, as though it mattered.

JUDITH: Of course it matters—to me, anyhow.

SANDY: Does it—honestly?

JUDITH: Certainly.

SANDY: It seems too good to be true—sitting here and talking as though we were old friends.

JUDITH: We _are_ old friends—we probably met in another life. Reincarnation, you know—fascinating!

SANDY: You do say ripping things.

JUDITH: Do I? Give me a cigarette and let’s put our feet up.

SANDY: All right.

[_They settle themselves comfortably at opposite ends of the
sofa, smoking._

JUDITH: Can you punt?

SANDY: Yes—a bit.

JUDITH: You must teach Simon—he always gets the pole stuck.

SANDY: I’d rather teach you.

JUDITH: You’re so gallant and chivalrous—much more like an American than an Englishman.

SANDY: I should like to go on saying nice things to you for ever.

JUDITH (_giving him her hand_): Sandy!

[_There comes a loud ring at the bell. JUDITH jumps._

There now!

SANDY: Is anyone else coming to stay?

JUDITH: Anyone else! You don’t know—you just don’t know. Give me my hat.

SANDY (_giving it to her_): You said it would be quite quiet, with nobody at all.

JUDITH: I was wrong. It’s going to be very noisy, with herds of angry people stamping about.

[_CLARA enters and opens the front door. MYRA ARUNDEL is posed
outside, consciously well-dressed, with several suit-cases, and
a tennis racquet._

MYRA (_advancing_): Judith—my—dear—this is divine!

JUDITH (_emptily_): Too, too lovely——Where are the others?

MYRA: What others?

[_CLARA goes out._

JUDITH: Did you come by the four-thirty?

MYRA: Yes.

JUDITH: Didn’t you see anyone at the station?

MYRA: Yes; several people, but I didn’t know they were coming here.

JUDITH: Well, they are.

MYRA: Sorel said it was going to be just ourselves this week-end.

JUDITH (_sharply_): Sorel?

MYRA: Yes—didn’t she tell you she’d asked me? Weren’t you expecting me?

JUDITH: Simon muttered something about your coming, but Sorel didn’t mention it. Wasn’t that odd of her?

MYRA: You’re a divinely mad family. (_To SANDY_) How-do-you-do? It’s useless to wait for introductions with the Blisses. My name’s Myra Arundel.

JUDITH (_airily_): Sandy Tyrell, Myra Arundel; Myra Arundel, Sandy Tyrell. There.

MYRA: Is that your car outside?

SANDY: Yes.

MYRA: Well, Judith, I _do_ think you might have told me someone was motoring down. A nice car would have been so much more comfortable than that beastly train.

JUDITH: I never knew you were coming until a little while ago.

MYRA: It’s heavenly here—after London. The heat was terrible when I left. You look awfully well, Judith. Rusticating obviously agrees with you.

JUDITH: I’m glad you think so. Personally, I feel that a nervous breakdown is imminent.

MYRA: My dear, how ghastly! What’s the matter?

JUDITH: Nothing’s the matter yet, Myra, but I have presentiments. Come upstairs, Sandy, and I’ll show you your room.

[_She begins to go upstairs, followed by SANDY. Then she turns._

I’ll send Simon down to you. He’s shaving, I think, but you won’t mind that, will you?

[_She goes off. MYRA makes a slight grimace after her, then she
helps herself to a cigarette and wanders about the hall—she
might almost play the piano a little; anyhow, she is perfectly
at home._

[_SIMON comes downstairs very fast, putting on his coat. He has
apparently finished his toilet._

SIMON: Myra, this is marvellous! (_He tries to kiss her._)

MYRA (_pushing him away_): No, Simon dear; it’s too hot.

SIMON: You look beautifully cool.

MYRA: I’m more than cool really, but it’s not climatic coolness. I’ve been mentally chilled to the marrow by Judith’s attitude.

SIMON: Why, what did she say?

MYRA: Nothing very much. She was bouncing about on the sofa with a hearty young thing in flannels, and seemed to resent my appearance rather.

SIMON: You mustn’t take any notice of Mother.

MYRA: I’ll try not to, but it’s difficult.

SIMON: She adores you, really.

MYRA: I’m sure she does.

SIMON: She’s annoyed to-day because Father and Sorel have been asking people down without telling her.

MYRA: Poor dear! I quite see why.

SIMON: You look enchanting.

MYRA: Thank you, Simon.

SIMON: Are you pleased to see me?

MYRA: Of course. That’s why I came.

SIMON: Darling!

MYRA: Sssh! Don’t shout.

SIMON: I feel most colossally temperamental—I should like to kiss you and kiss you and kiss you and break everything in the house and then jump into the river.

MYRA: Dear Simon!

SIMON: You’re everything I want you to be—absolutely everything. Marvellous clothes, marvellous looks, marvellous brain——Oh, God, it’s terrible....

MYRA: I dined with Charlie Templeton last night.

SIMON: Well, you’re a devil. You only did it to annoy me. He’s far too plump, and he can’t do anything but dither about the Embassy in badly-cut trousers. You loathe him really; you know you do—you’re too intelligent not to. You couldn’t like him and me at the same time—it’s impossible!

MYRA: Don’t be so conceited.

SIMON: Darling—I adore you.

MYRA: That’s right.

SIMON: But you’re callous—that’s what it is, callous! You don’t care a damn. You don’t love me a bit, do you?

MYRA: Love’s a very big word, Simon.

SIMON: It isn’t—it’s tiny. What are we to do?

MYRA: What do you mean?

SIMON: We can’t go on like this.

MYRA: I’m not going on like anything.

SIMON: Yes, you are; you’re going on like Medusa, and there are awful snakes popping their heads out at me from under your hat—I shall be turned to stone in a minute, and then you’ll be sorry.

MYRA (_laughing_): You’re very sweet, and I’m very fond of you.

SIMON: Tell me what you’ve been doing—everything.

MYRA: Nothing.

SIMON: What did you do after you’d dined with Charlie Templeton?

MYRA: Supped with Charlie Templeton.

SIMON: Well, I don’t mind a bit. I hope you ate a lot and enjoyed yourself—there!

MYRA: Generous boy! Come and kiss me.

SIMON: You’re only playing up to me now; you don’t really want to a bit.

MYRA: I’m aching for it.

SIMON (_kissing her violently_): I love you.

MYRA: This week-end’s going to be strenuous.

SIMON: Hell upon earth—fifteen million people in the house. We’ll get up at seven and rush away down the river.

MYRA: No, we won’t.

SIMON: Don’t let either of us agree to anything we say—we’ll both be difficult. I love being difficult.

MYRA: You certainly do.

SIMON: But I’m in the most lovely mood now. Just seeing you makes me feel grand——

MYRA: Is your father here?

SIMON: Yes; he’s working on a new novel.

MYRA: He writes brilliantly.

SIMON: Doesn’t he? He drinks too much tea, though.

MYRA: It can’t do him much harm, surely?

SIMON: It tans the stomach.

MYRA: Who is Sandy Tyrell?

SIMON: Never heard of him.

MYRA: He’s here, with Judith.

SIMON: Oh, that poor thing with hot hands! We’ll ignore him.

MYRA: I thought he looked rather nice.

SIMON: You must be mad. He looked disgusting.

MYRA (_laughing_): Idiot!

SIMON (_flinging himself on the sofa_): Smooth my hair with your soft white hands.

MYRA (_ruffling it_): It’s got glue on it.

SIMON (_catching her hand and kissing it_): You smell heavenly. What is it?

MYRA: Borgia of Rosine.

SIMON: How appropriate. (_He pulls her down and kisses her._)

MYRA (_breaking away_): You’re too demonstrative to-day, Simon.

[_The front door bell rings._

SIMON: Damn, damn! It’s those drearies.

[_MYRA powders her nose as CLARA crosses to open door._

[_RICHARD GREATHAM and JACKIE CORYTON come in. There is, by
this time, a good deal of luggage on the step. RICHARD is
iron-grey and tall; JACKIE is small and shingled, with an
ingenuous manner which will lose its charm as she grows older._

RICHARD: This is Mrs. Bliss’s house.

CLARA (_off-hand_): Oh, yes, this is it.

RICHARD: Is Miss Sorel Bliss in?

CLARA: I expect so. I’ll see if I can find her. (_She goes upstairs, humming a tune._)

SIMON: Hallo. Did you have a nice journey?

RICHARD: Yes, thank you, very nice. I met Miss Coryton at the station. We introduced ourselves while we were waiting for the only taxi to come back.

MYRA: Oh, _I_ took the only taxi. How maddening of me.

RICHARD: Mrs. Arundel! How-do-you-do. I never recognised you.

[_They shake hands._

JACKIE: I did.

MYRA: Why? Have we met anywhere?

JACKIE: No; I mean I recognised you as the one who took the taxi.

RICHARD (_to SIMON_): You are Sorel’s brother?

SIMON: Yes; she’ll be down in a minute. Come out into the garden, Myra——

MYRA: But, Simon, we can’t....

SIMON (_grabbing her hand and dragging her off_): Yes, we can. I shall go mad if I stay in the house a moment longer. (_Over his shoulder to RICHARD and JACKIE_) Tea will be here soon.

[_He and MYRA go off._

JACKIE: Well!

RICHARD: A strange young man.

JACKIE: Very rude, I think.

RICHARD: Have you ever met him before?

JACKIE: No; I don’t know any of them except Mr. Bliss—he’s a wonderful person.

RICHARD: I wonder if he knows you’re here.

JACKIE: Perhaps that funny woman who opened the door will tell him.

RICHARD: It was fortunate that we met at the station.

JACKIE: I’m frightfully glad. I should have been terrified arriving all by myself.

RICHARD: I do hope the weather will keep good over Sunday—the country round here is delightful.

JACKIE: Yes.

RICHARD: There’s nowhere like England in the spring and summer.

JACKIE: No, there isn’t, is there?

RICHARD: There’s a sort of _quality_ you find in no other countries.

JACKIE: Have you travelled a lot?

RICHARD (_modestly_): A good deal.

JACKIE: How lovely.

[_There is a pause._

RICHARD: Spain is very beautiful.

JACKIE: Yes, I’ve always heard Spain was awfully nice.

RICHARD: Except for the bull-fights. No one who ever really loved horses could enjoy a bull-fight.

JACKIE: Nor anyone who loved bulls either.

RICHARD: Exactly.

JACKIE: Italy’s awfully nice, isn’t it?

RICHARD: Oh, yes, charming.

JACKIE: I’ve always wanted to go to Italy.

RICHARD: Rome is a beautiful city.

JACKIE: Yes, I’ve always heard Rome was lovely.

RICHARD: And Naples and Capri—Capri’s enchanting.

JACKIE: It must be.

RICHARD: Have you ever been abroad at all?

JACKIE: Oh, yes; I went to Dieppe once—we had a house there for the summer.

RICHARD (_kindly_): Dear little place—Dieppe.

JACKIE: Yes, it was lovely.

[_JUDITH comes downstairs, followed by SANDY, with his arms
full of cushions. She motions him out into the garden, sits
down and puts on her goloshes, and then follows him._

JACKIE: Well!

RICHARD: Russia used to be a wonderful country before the war.

JACKIE: It must have been.... Was that her?

RICHARD: Who?

JACKIE: Judith Bliss.

RICHARD: Yes, I expect it was.

JACKIE: I wish I’d never come.

RICHARD: You mustn’t worry. They’re a very Bohemian family, I believe.

JACKIE: I wonder if Mr. Bliss knows I’m here.

RICHARD: I wonder.

JACKIE: Couldn’t we ring a bell, or anything?

RICHARD: Yes, perhaps we’d better. (_He finds bell and presses it._)

JACKIE: I don’t suppose it rings.

RICHARD: You mustn’t be depressed.

JACKIE: I feel horrid.

RICHARD: It’s always a little embarrassing coming to a strange house for the first time. You’ll like Sorel—she’s charming.

JACKIE (_desperately_): I wonder where she is.

RICHARD (_consolingly_): I expect tea will be here soon.

JACKIE: Do you think they _have_ tea?

RICHARD (_alarmed_): Oh, yes—they must.

JACKIE: Oh, well, we’d better go on waiting, then. (_She sits down._)

RICHARD: Do you mind if I smoke?

JACKIE: Not a bit.

RICHARD: Will you?

JACKIE: No, thank you.

RICHARD (_sitting down_): I got this case in Japan. It’s pretty, isn’t it?

JACKIE: Awfully pretty.

[_They lapse into hopeless silence._

[_Enter SOREL, down stairs._

SOREL: Oh, Richard, I’m dreadfully sorry. I didn’t know you were here.

RICHARD: We’ve been here a good while.

SOREL: How awful! Please forgive me. I was upstairs.

RICHARD: This is Miss Coryton.

SOREL: Oh!

JACKIE: How-do-you-do.

SOREL: Have you come to see Father?

JACKIE: Yes.

SOREL: He’s in his study—you’d better go up.

JACKIE: I don’t know the way.

SOREL (_irritably_): Oh, well—I’ll take you. Come on. Wait a minute, Richard. (_She takes her to the top of the stairs._) It’s along that passage, and the third door on the right.

JACKIE: Oh, thank you. (_She goes out despondently._)

SOREL (_coming down again_): The poor girl looks half-witted.

RICHARD: She’s shy, I think.

SOREL: I hope Father will find her a comfort.

RICHARD: Tell me one thing, Sorel, did your Father and Mother know I was coming?

SOREL: Oh, yes; they were awfully pleased.

RICHARD: A rather nice-looking woman came down, in a big hat, and went into the garden with a young man, without saying a word.

SOREL: That was Mother, I expect. We’re an independent family—we entertain our friends sort of separately.

RICHARD: Oh, I see.

SOREL: It was sweet of you to come.

RICHARD: I wanted to come—I’ve thought about you a lot.

SOREL: Have you really? That’s thrilling.

RICHARD: I mean it. You’re so alive and vital and different from other people.

SOREL: I’m so frightened that you’ll be bored here.

RICHARD: Why should I be?

SOREL: Oh, I don’t know. But you won’t be, will you?—or if you are, tell me at once, and we’ll do something quite different.

RICHARD: You’re rather a dear, you know.

SOREL: I’m not—I’m devastating, entirely lacking in restraint. So’s Simon. It’s Father’s and Mother’s fault really; you see, they’re so vague—they’ve spent their lives cultivating their Arts and not devoting any time to ordinary conventions and manners and things. I’m the only one who sees that, so I’m trying to be better. I’d love to be beautifully poised and carry off difficult situations with a lift of the eyebrows——

RICHARD: I’m sure you could carry off anything.

SOREL: There you are, you see, saying the right thing! You always say the right thing, and no one knows a bit what you’re really thinking. That’s what I adore.

RICHARD: I’m afraid to say anything now, in case you think I’m only being correct.

SOREL: But you are correct. I wish you’d teach Simon to be correct too.

RICHARD: It would be uphill work, I’m afraid.

SOREL: Why, don’t you like him?

RICHARD: I’ve only met him for a moment.

SOREL: Would you like to see the garden?

RICHARD: Very much indeed.

SOREL: As a matter of fact, we’d better wait until after tea. Shall I sing you something?

RICHARD: Please—I should love it.

SOREL: I don’t want to really a bit—only I’m trying to entertain you. It’s as easy as pie to talk in someone else’s house, like at the dance the other night, but here on my own ground I’m finding it difficult.

RICHARD (_puzzled_): I’m sorry.

SOREL: Oh, it isn’t your fault; honestly, it isn’t—you’re awfully kind and responsive. What shall we do?

RICHARD: I’m quite happy talking—to you.

SOREL: Can you play Mah Jong?

RICHARD: No, I’m afraid I can’t.

SOREL: I’m _so_ glad—I _do_ hate it so.

[_CLARA enters, with preparations for tea. SOREL sighs with
relief._

Here’s tea.

CLARA: Where’s your Mother, dear?

SOREL: Out in the garden, I think.

CLARA: It’s starting to rain.

SOREL: Oh, everyone will come dashing in, then. How awful!

RICHARD: Won’t the luggage get rather wet, out there?

SOREL: What luggage?

CLARA: I’ll bring it in when I’ve made the tea.

RICHARD (_rising_): Oh, don’t trouble; I’ll do it now.

SOREL: We ought to have got William up from the village.

CLARA: It’s Saturday.

SOREL: I know it is.

CLARA: He’s playing cricket.

[_RICHARD opens the front door and proceeds to bring the
luggage in. SOREL rushes to help him._

SOREL: Do sit down and smoke. I can easily manage it.

RICHARD: Certainly not.

SOREL: How typical of Myra to have so many bags.... Ooh!

[_She staggers with a suit-case. RICHARD goes to her
assistance, and they both drop it._

There now!—we’ve probably broken something.

RICHARD: This is the last one.... (_He brings in a dressing-case, and wipes his hand on his handkerchief._)

SOREL: Do you know where to wash if you want to?

RICHARD: No—but I’m all right.

[_Re-enter CLARA, with tea and hot-water jug._

[_SIMON and MYRA come in from the garden._

MYRA: Hullo, Sorel, how are you?

SOREL: I’m splendid. Do you know Mr. Greatham?

MYRA: Oh, yes; we’ve met several times.

SIMON: Come and sit down, Myra.

[_DAVID and JACKIE come downstairs._

DAVID: Is tea ready?

SOREL: Yes; just.

DAVID: Simon, come and be nice to Miss Coryton.

SIMON: We’ve met already.

DAVID: That’s no reason for you not to be nice to her.

MYRA (_firmly_): How-do-you-do.

DAVID: How-do-you-do. Are you staying here?

MYRA: I hope so.

DAVID: You must forgive me for being rather frowsy, but I’ve been working hard.

SOREL: Father, this is Mr. Greatham.

DAVID: How are you? When did you arrive?

RICHARD: This afternoon.

DAVID: Good. Have some tea. (_He begins to pour it out._) Everyone had better put their own sugar and milk in, or we shall get muddled. Where’s your mother, Simon?

SIMON: She was last seen in the punt.

DAVID: How extraordinary! She can’t punt.

SOREL: Sandy Tyrell’s with her.

DAVID: Oh, well, she’ll be all right then. Who is he?

SOREL: I don’t know.

DAVID: Do sit down, everybody.

[_Enter JUDITH and SANDY from the garden._

JUDITH: There’s going to be a thunderstorm. I felt sick this morning. This is Sandy Tyrell—Everybody——

RICHARD (_shaking hands_): How-do-you-do.

SOREL: Mother, I want you to meet Mr. Greatham.

JUDITH: Oh, yes. You were here before, weren’t you?

SIMON: Before _what_, darling?

JUDITH: Before I went out in the punt. There was somebody else here too—a fair girl——(_She sees JACKIE._) Oh, there you are. How-do-you-do. Sit down, Sandy, and eat anything you want. Give Sandy some bread-and-butter, Simon.

[_Everybody sits down._

SIMON (_ungraciously_): Here you are.

SANDY: Thanks.

[_There is a long pause; then MYRA and RICHARD speak together._

RICHARD: } How far are you from Maidenhead exactly?
MYRA: } What a pity it’s raining—we might have had some tennis——

[_They both stop, to let the other go on. There is another
terrible silence._

MYRA: } I adore the shape of this hall—it’s so——
RICHARD: } The train was awfully crowded coming down——

[_They both stop again, and there is another dead silence,
during which_

THE CURTAIN SLOWLY FALLS.

ACT II