Chapter III: Part 3

Why! They hooked it while I was tellin 'em the tale of Tom Bolter and the ducks.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Never mind, my pet.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

It's rude--that's what it is--it's dooced rude.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Come along, we'll walk on to the moor.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

What, are you going too, Fan?

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Yes, dear. Your poor Fanny has a little bit of fun on.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Oh, Fan, if I only 'ad your confidence, your push. But the rudeness of these people is gettin' on my nerves.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Why, Joseph!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I feel a little 'urt, Fan--a little 'urt.

[VALENTINE enters.]

VALENTINE WHITE.

Mr. Lebanon!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Hi! Where are they?

VALENTINE WHITE.

Just starting in the drag. Be quick.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[To MRS. GAYLUSTRE.] Come on! They shall hear about Tom Bolter and the ducks before I've done with 'em. Come on!

[MRS. GAYLUSTRE and LEBANON hurry out.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Outside.] Hi! Hi!

VALENTINE WHITE.

That fellow was born to hail an omnibus.

[IMOGEN appears.]

IMOGEN.

[Not seeing VALENTINE.] Will he be long? [She encounters him.] Oh! You are not neglecting your duties, I hope, Valentine?

VALENTINE WHITE.

I shall follow the others in the cart. Your note was marked "urgent."

IMOGEN.

Was it?

VALENTINE WHITE.

[Showing her letter.] "Urgent."

IMOGEN.

What a thoughtless habit it is to mark all one's letters "urgent." All I wanted to say to you is this--but it isn't urgent.

VALENTINE WHITE.

No, no--I understand that.

IMOGEN.

I merely had a foolish desire to be the first to acquaint you of my--undeserved happiness.

VALENTINE WHITE.

What happiness don't you deserve?

IMOGEN.

The happiness of becoming Lady Colin Macphail, Valentine.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Oh. Is that--all?

IMOGEN.

That's all--just at present.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Hah! You'll be a fine lady now, past recovery.

IMOGEN.

I shall endeavour to adequately fill the station of life to which fate has called me.

VALENTINE WHITE.

All that sweet simplicity of yours in London was purely an assumption, I suppose?

IMOGEN.

Things are--what they appear.

VALENTINE WHITE.

But you have your heart's desire at last, I presume?

IMOGEN.

I--I presume I have.

VALENTINE WHITE.

[Burying his head in his hands.] Oh!

IMOGEN.

What are you going to do next?

VALENTINE WHITE.

Japan.

IMOGEN.

Nice part of Japan?

VALENTINE WHITE.

The murderous districts.

IMOGEN.

Oh! Then you don't propose to--return alive?

VALENTINE WHITE.

Not according to my present arrangements.

IMOGEN.

You--you had better follow the shooters to Claigrossie now.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Certainly.

IMOGEN.

I am glad to have had this gossip over our prospects. We--we both seem to be doing well. Good-morning.

[She offers her hand, which he takes ungraciously.]

VALENTINE WHITE.

Good-morning.

IMOGEN.

You haven't congratulated me yet--in the usual way.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Will you be happy with--him?

IMOGEN.

I think--partially.

VALENTINE WHITE.

But you're not going to partially marry Sir Colin. How dare you do this?

IMOGEN.

He was the first to ask me, Val.

VALENTINE WHITE.

The first to ask you! You don't mean to suggest that any other man would have done!

IMOGEN.

No--not _any_ other.

VALENTINE WHITE.

_Some_ other?

IMOGEN.

It's too late now--but yes.

VALENTINE WHITE.

A poor man?

IMOGEN.

Val!

VALENTINE WHITE.

Would _I_ have stood the remotest chance?

IMOGEN.

It's too late now.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Would I? Would I?

IMOGEN.

No. Nor any other nineteenth century savage.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Savage!

IMOGEN.

Mr. White, it is very much too late now; but why, when you returned to England, didn't you wear uncomfortable clothes like other gentlemen, and a very high collar, and varnished boots, like other gentlemen?

VALENTINE WHITE.

Why? Because I cannot be false to my principles.

IMOGEN.

People say that principles which deal too much with the outside of things are nothing but affectations.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Imogen!

IMOGEN.

If a man has a good heart he should have a good hat.

VALENTINE WHITE.

Imogen--Jenny! If I had ever come to you--in a good hat----

IMOGEN.

If you had, then when mamma urged me to marry perhaps she would not have blamed me for----

VALENTINE WHITE.

For what?

IMOGEN.

For liking some pleasant-looking gentleman who laughed at harmless follies instead of scolding them.

VALENTINE WHITE.

And now?

IMOGEN.

Now! Now--it is too late.

[She falls into his arms; he embraces her.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Outside.] Hi, hi! Come here! hi!

IMOGEN.

Ah!

[She breaks from VALENTINE and runs out, as LEBANON enters, very pale and upset.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Clinging to VALENTINE.] Old fellow!

VALENTINE WHITE.

What's the matter with you?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Gurrrh! You--you're wanted!

[LADY TWOMBLEY enters.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Good gracious!

VALENTINE WHITE.

Something has happened, I'm afraid.

[VALENTINE goes out.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[To LEBANON.] You're ill!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I'm upset.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Too much breakfast!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

No. I--I've peppered Macphail.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Peppered him! Can't you take your mind off eating?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

You don't understand. I was in the wagonette, tellin' 'em the story of Tom Bolter and those beastly ducks. I got 'old of a beastly gun and just as I was demonstrating how I shot the fifteen beastly birds----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

It went off!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Well! Don't make such a fuss about it!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah! and it was pointed at Sir Colin!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Pointed at him! No! His legs were stuck right in the way.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Heavens!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Be quiet! Make light of it--make light of it, like I do!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Now, now I hope you're content!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

No, I'm not. I wouldn't have had this 'appen for 'alf a sovereign. This 'Ighland 'oliday of mine is gettin' on my nerves.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Your nerves!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Yes, Lady T. Imagine what it must mean to a shy man to spend a rollickin' August with a lot of people whose chief occupation is staring at the tips of their own aquiline noses.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[Hysterically.] Ha, ha, ha!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Imagine what it must be to a shy man to find himself always leading the conversation, instead of following it with a sparkling comment or two, as I'm in the 'abit of doin' in my own circle. Think of me starting every topic and arguing on it till my throat's sore; making every joke and roaring at it till I get blood to the head. Sometimes when I'm in the middle of a long story and not a soul listening I feel so lonely I--I could almost cry.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Then out of your own sufferings why can't you find some compassion for mine?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

It's pathetic--that's what my position is--it's dooced pathetic.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

In mercy's name why don't you retire quietly to your room and pack?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

What! Throw up the sponge?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You needn't throw up your sponge--_pack_ your sponge.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I understand, Lady T--hook it!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

"Hook it" is a harsh way of putting it. Bring your visit to a close. Think of what you are losing here! Think of Margate, where I feel you must have many dear friends!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I--I've half a mind to.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ha! Bless you, Mr. Lebanon, bless you! I'll fetch you a Bradshaw.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Stop! I forgot the hop.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

The hop?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

There's a ball here to-morrow night.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

For heaven's sake, don't wait for the hop.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I had half-a-dozen lessons in the Scotch Reel before I left town.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

And you would risk the Reel on half-a-dozen lessons! Madman!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Half-a-dozen lessons at store prices. Dash it all, you wouldn't 'ave me waste 'em!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Hopeless!

[SIR JULIAN enters unobserved by Lebanon or LADY TWOMBLEY.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Look 'ere, Lady T! I'm sorry to disappoint a lady, but it ain't Mr. Joseph Lebanon's principle to do something for nothing.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

No. If you lent a lady your arm you'd do it at interest.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I'm not alludin' to our pleasant financial relationship, Lady T. What I infer is that if after the forthcoming hop I drag myself away from my sorrowin' friends at Drumdurris I expect a--ah--a solatium. [SIR JULIAN remains watching and listening.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

A what?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Lady T, my pride has been wounded in this 'ouse--my self-respect has been 'urt.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ha, ha, ha! Pardon me, I'm hysterical.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

If you could 'eal my feelings by rendering me a service----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

To be rid of you?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Oh, Lady T, 'ow plainly you put it! Well, yes.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Try me. [SIR JULIAN disappears suddenly.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

'Ush! Thought I 'eard somebody. Lady T, you are aware that Mr. Joseph Lebanon's position in the financial world is an eminent one.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I wasn't aware of it.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Take it from me, Lady T, take it from me. But that distinguished position might be advanced by the success of some delicate little financial operations which I'm on the brink of, Lady Twombley, on the brink of. Lady T, if I could know twenty-four hours in advance of the prying newspapers the decision of the Government on the Rajputana Canal Question it would go far to 'eal the wound my self-respect has received in this _recherche_ 'Ighland 'ome. You follow me, Lady T?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I suppose you mean that when the decision of the Government is known in the City something or other will go up and something or other will go down on the Stock Exchange? Is that it?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

That's it, Lady T, that's it! And some fellers will make fortunes! Oh, Lady T!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

But why do you bother a poor woman with a headache----

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Because without the gentle guidance of tender-hearted woman I can't find out whether the Government is going to grant the concession for the cutting of the Rajputana Canal. Oh, Lady Twombley, let me 'ave five minutes alone with Sir Julian's papers in Sir Julian's room.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Mr. Lebanon!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Two minutes! A stroll round. I'll go in with a duster and tidy up.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Or give me a glimpse of some of the documents Mr. Melton brought with him in that box yesterday.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I want some fresh air!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Wait! If you'll do this for me I'll clear out of Drumdurris with Fanny on Thursday morning.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah, no!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

And I'll hand you back your acceptances--every-one of 'em--I will--on my word of honour as a gentleman!

[She seizes him by the throat and shakes him violently.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

How dare you! How dare you tempt me!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Arranging his hair and moustache with his pocket comb and mirror.] Oh, ladies are trying in business--they are dooced trying.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You--you wretch! Do you think I haven't endured enough for the past three months without this? Oh, pa, what will you say to your Kitty when you know the disgrace she's brought on you! Oh, my chicks, my chicks, my blessed chicks!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Lady Twombley, my pride has been wounded, my self-respect has been 'urt in this _recherche_ 'Ighland 'ome for, I 'ope, the last time. I shall retire from the hop early to-morrow night and hook it--bring my visit to a close--on Thursday morning.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Thank you.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Next week the first bit of paper bearin' the honoured name of woman falls doo.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I repeat the word, d-u-e, doo.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Mr. Lebanon!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Our interview has been a distressin' one, Lady Twombley. It is over.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Mr. Lebanon! Mr. Lebanon! [He turns his chair from her. To herself.] It's all up with me. I--I'll go and find pa, and tell him. There's no help for it--I'll tell him. Mr. Lebanon! For the last time--have compassion on a poor fool of a woman! [He turns away.] Oh! I'll go to pa's room and--tell him. [She goes out.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

That's one way to the old gentleman's room. [He opens the door and listens.] Ah! what's the latest quotation for lovely woman's weakness?

[VALENTINE enters with MRS. GAYLUSTRE and MACPHAIL, who looks very scared, has a handkerchief bound round his knee, and leans on MRS. GAYLUSTRE'S arm. She supports him to a chair.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[To SIR COLIN.] Lean on your poor broken-hearted friend.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[To himself.] Oh, the dooce!

VALENTINE WHITE.

I'll find Lady Macphail. [He goes out.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Whispering to LEBANON.] Get out of sight!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Quietly to her.] Can't. I must wait here--I've got an important little affair on.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

So have I. Leave us!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Oh, my goodness, how selfish you are, Fanny!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Selfish! you'll ruin my prospects in life! Brute!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Vixen!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Bah!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Bah!

[LEBANON goes out. MRS. GAYLUSTRE throws herself on her knees beside MACPHAIL.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

How do you feel now?

MACPHAIL.

Well, its tingling.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Tingling! You bear it like a hero.

MACPHAIL.

I appreciate the compliment, but I'm thinking I'm only a bit singed.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Ah, but why, why do you indulge in these reckless sports?

MACPHAIL.

I was merely sitting in the drag looking at the sky.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Sitting in the drag looking at the sky! How foolhardy!

MACPHAIL.

Whereupon your brother, without a word of warning, blazed away at my knee.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Ah, don't describe it! Suppose you had had your head on your knee!

LADY MACPHAIL.

[Outside.] Take me to Colin!

MACPHAIL.

My mother!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[To herself.] Drat your mother.

[She stands with her handkerchief to her eyes. LADY MACPHAIL enters with EGIDIA, the DOWAGER, LADY EUPHEMIA, and VALENTINE.]

EGIDIA.

Sir Colin!

DOWAGER.

[Sitting at writing-table.] I'll telegraph to Sir George McHarness, the surgeon.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Now let the wail of the lament waken the echoes of black Ben-Muchty!

MACPHAIL.

[Rising from the chair.] It's not at all necessary, mother.

EGIDIA.

He can stand!

DOWAGER.

[Writing.] "Bring--chloroform--and knives."

LADY MACPHAIL.

Ah, Colin, lad, why did we ever quit the gray shores of Loch-na-Doich?

MACPHAIL.

I'll go upstairs and bathe my knee, mother.

[LADY MACPHAIL leads him.]

EGIDIA.

He can walk!

LADY MACPHAIL.

Madam, a Macphail can always walk under any circumstances.

DOWAGER.

[Reading the telegram she has written.] "If--in--doubt--amputate."

[LADY MACPHAIL, MACPHAIL, VALENTINE, LADY EUPHEMIA, EGIDIA, and the DOWAGER go out.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Weeping till the others are out of sight.] Joseph will die of remorse! [Calling.] The coast is clear, Joseph. Jo!

[As she goes out LADY TWOMBLEY enters in great agitation, clutching an important-looking document.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Kitty, what have you done! Kitty, what have you done!

[LEBANON enters.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Lady T! Thought so! [Seeing the paper.] Oh my goodness, what has she got there?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I must--I must find Julian! Oh!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Snatching the paper from her.] Excuse me!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah! give me back that paper!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Lady T, oh, Lady T!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[Following him round the table.] Give me back that paper! Dear, sweet Mr. Lebanon!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Reading the paper.] Ha!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah! don't read it!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

My friend Sir Julian's own writing! The Rajputana Canal is a blessed fact! Lady Twombley, I forget my wounded pride, I forgive the blow to my self-respect. You have won a place in Jo Lebanon's heart.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Give me back that paper and forget it!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Returning the paper.] Give it you back? Delighted. Forget it? Oh, Lady T, Lady T.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Devil!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Lady Twombley, Joseph Lebanon is, above all things, a man of honour. [Handing Bills to LADY TWOMBLEY.] Lovely woman's Acceptances.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I won't take them. I won't buy them back at such a price.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Natural delicacy. [Laying the Bills on the table.] You can pick 'em up when I'm gone.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh, what a wicked woman I am!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I can get out of these beastly clothes, drive to Strachlachan Junction, and wire to town before feedin' time. The city is on the eve of a financial earthquake! Joseph's name will be a 'ouse'old word from Mile End to Kensington! Lady Twombley, we meet at the hop to-morrow night for the last time--in Society. [Boisterously.] Whoop! Dash Society! [He performs a few steps of a Highland dance.] Excuse my humour. [He goes out.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

The Bills! The Bills! They mustn't lie there.

[As she goes to the table SIR JULIAN, looking very white and dishevelled, enters, and, standing opposite to her, takes up the Bills and presents them to her.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Pa!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Lady Twombley!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh, my gracious!

[She drops on her hands and knees at SIR JULIAN'S feet.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You've found me out, pa! You've found me out!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

I have found you out.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

How did you manage it?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

By degrading myself to the position of an eavesdropper.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

That's pretty mean, pa--ain't it?

[Seeing that he is examining the Bills she puts up her hands and seizes them.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah! Don't tot 'em up! Don't tot 'em up!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Katherine, when I first saw you, three-and-twenty years ago, you were standing over a tub in the tiled yard of your father's farm wringing out your little sister's pinafores.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[Weeping.] Oh-h-h!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Could I have looked forward I should have known that you would one day wring my feelings as you do now.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Pa, I've fallen into the hands of the unscrupulous.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Woman!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh, don't call me that, pa!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

The unscrupulous! You have lost the right to ever again use that serviceable word.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

What do you mean?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

How do you come by those Bills?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Julian, you know! [Going toward him on her knees frantically.] Ah, don't stare like that! [Putting her arms round him.] Husband! Dear husband, you are glaring like an idiot! Listen! [She shakes him violently.] Listen! When that reptile tempted me I ran upstairs intending to tell you all. I did. Oh, pa, don't stare at nothing! I knocked at your door; there was a drumming in my ears, and I fancied your voice answered me telling me to enter. Oh, try winking, pa, try winking! Your room was empty--left unguarded, the door unlocked. I entered. Wink, pa; for mercy's sake, wink! I sank into a chair to wait for your coming, [Taking the written paper from her pocket.] and there, on your table, right before my eyes, I saw this thing like a white ghost.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

A memorandum in my writing that the concession for the Rajputana Canal is to be granted.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Yes, yes. I tried to forget it was there. But the chairs and tables seemed to dance before me and every object in the room had a voice crying out, "Kitty, you silly woman, get back your Bills from that demon who is plaguing you!" I put my fingers in my ears and then the voices were shut up in my brain, and still they shrieked, "Kitty, get back your Bills! Get back your Bills!" I snatched up this paper and ran from the room. Even then if I had met you, Julian, I should have been safe; but whenever Old Nick wants to play the deuce with a married lady he begins by taking her husband for a stroll, and so I fell into Lebanon's clutches--and I--I--I'm done for! [She sinks into a chair.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Katherine, those Bills must be returned to the creature, Lebanon.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Yes. And--and--pa, dear, you'll never speak kindly to me after this, will you?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

I trust I shall be invariably polite to you, Katherine.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh-h-h! We shall be whitewashed in the Bankruptcy Court eventually, I suppose?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

All in good time, Katherine.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

And then--what then?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Then we must hope for a cottage, and a small garden where we can grow our own vegetables and learn wisdom.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Our--own--vegetables. And years hence, pa, sometimes when I am sitting over my knitting, you'll forget the past, and play your flute again, and be happy?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Katherine! [He takes his flute from his pocket and breaks it into pieces across his knee.] Never, never again, Katherine. [As he is leaving her.] One pang of remorse I can spare you, Katherine.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Don't!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

You believe you have betrayed a solemn secret of the Government to that unprincipled money-lender.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Of course.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

That you have _not_ done.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Pa!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

No, Katherine. Overhearing his shameful proposition, and fearing your weakness, I had time to hasten to my room, conceal all important papers, and scribble the memorandum you abstracted.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Why, then----

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

That writing records the exact reverse of the truth.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

And--and Joseph?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

In the language of the vulgar--Mr. Lebanon is sold. [He goes out.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Julian! Ah! [Staring at the paper.] The exact reverse of the truth! Then the Rajputana Canal----Julian, why should you be first blackened and then whitewashed because of your vagabond wife? A cottage--our our own vegetables! Never! Why shouldn't _I_ have _my_ delicate little financial operations in the City? Oh, my gracious!

[DRUMDURRIS and BROOKE enter.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Hullo, Mater--what!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Brooke! Keith! You boys must drive me over to Strachlachan Junction. I must telegraph to London backwards and forwards all day. Keith, put me into communication with your Stockbroker in town!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Aunt!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Silence! I'm on the brink of some delicate little financial operations! [To BROOKE.] Get out the cart!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

The drag's outside.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Come on!

[LEBANON enters hastily.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Hi, Drumdurris! Let me 'ave a carriage to go to Strachlachan Junction. I want to wire to town.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Do you? So do we. We'll give you a lift. Come on! [They all hurry out.]

END OF THE THIRD ACT.

THE FOURTH ACT.

DANCING.

The scene is still the inner hall of Drumdurris Castle, now brilliantly lighted and florally decorated, the evening after the events of the previous act.

Waltz-music is heard, then a slight scream, and LEBANON, in full Highland costume, enters hastily.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I wouldn't 'ave 'ad it 'appen for 'alf a sovereign.

[THE MUNKITTRICK, a fiery old gentleman in Highland dress, enters.]

THE MUNKITTRICK.

Sir, I am most indignant!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I've explained. I felt myself goin' and I caught at what came nearest.

THE MUNKITTRICK.

My daughter came nearest.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I know. Don't make such a fuss about it! Do remember we're at a ball!

THE MUNKITTRICK.

Miss Munkittrick is torn to ribbons.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

All right. Make light of it--make light of it, like I do.

THE MUNKITTRICK.

Ah-h-h!

[DRUMDURRIS, in Highland dress, enters with MISS MUNKITTRICK, who is much discomposed, and EGIDIA, who is soothing her.]

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

[To MUNKITTRICK.] My dear sir!

MISS MUNKITTRICK.

Papa!

EGIDIA.

Oh, Flora, Flora!

THE MUNKITTRICK.

Lord Drumdurris!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Let it blow over. We're all forgettin' we're at a ball.

THE MUNKITTRICK.

Miss Munkittrick has been rolled upon the floor.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

She was passin' at the time--I didn't select her. Don't be so conceited!

[LEBANON continues to explain. MUNKITTRICK is indignant; DRUMDURRIS endeavors to soothe him. BROOKE enters carrying a satin shoe, which he presents to MISS MUNKITTRICK.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Awfully sorry--what? [BROOKE hurries out.]

MISS MUNKITTRICK.

Where is papa?

[IMOGEN enters, carrying an aigrette.]

IMOGEN.

Oh, Miss Munkittrick, what a shocking mishap!

[They fasten the aigrette in MISS MUNKITTRICK'S hair.]

MISS MUNKITTRICK.

Have you seen my papa?

[LADY EUPHEMIA, carrying a sash, hurries in as IMOGEN goes off. MISS MUNKITTRICK rises; LADY EUPHEMIA and EGIDIA adjust the sash hastily.]

LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.

[Adjusting the sash.] My dear Flora, this is _too_ unfortunate!

[BROOKE re-enters with another shoe.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

The other--what! [To LADY EUPHEMIA.] There are some more pieces--come and help.

[BROOKE and LADY EUPHEMIA hurry out.]

MISS MUNKITTRICK.

I want my papa! [Seeing MUNKITTRICK.] Ah!

THE MUNKITTRICK.

[Giving her his arm.] Flora, we'll go home.

MISS MUNKITTRICK.

Papa, I'm not nearly _all_.

[Her aigrette is very much on one side, her sash is trailing, and she limps away carrying one slipper.]

EGIDIA.

Pray don't think of going!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Let it blow over!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

My dear sir!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Oh, very well, you're losing the best of the ball.

[THE MUNKITTRICK and MISS MUNKITTRICK go out, followed by EGIDIA and DRUMDURRIS. IMOGEN, LADY EUPHEMIA, and BROOKE enter hastily, each carrying a fragment of MISS MUNKITTRICK's dress.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

[Taking the remnants.] Allow me--allow me--my affair.

[IMOGEN, LADY EUPHEMIA, and BROOKE go out. LEBANON crams the pieces of MISS MUNKITTRICK'S dress under a chair cushion.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Let it blow over. Where's my partner?

[He goes out. MACPHAIL enters with MRS. GAYLUSTRE upon his arm.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Staying out is infinitely preferable to dancing, is it not, dear Sir Colin?

MACPHAIL.

Aye. I hate dancing.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

But your dear mother says you resemble some beautiful wild thing when you dance the Strathspey.

MACPHAIL.

That's because I hate it; the Strathspey's enough to make a lad wild.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Witty boy!

MACPHAIL.

Eh, do you think I'm naturally quick?

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Quick?

MACPHAIL.

Quick in my understanding?

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

I'm sure of it.

MACPHAIL.

Eh, I'm glad you think I'm quick.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Why?

MACPHAIL.

Because Ballocheevin--that's our place, you understand--Ballocheevin is enough to soften a lad's brain.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Then why hide your light at Ballocheevin?

MACPHAIL.

Well, the Macphails have lived there since eleven hundred and two.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

How romantic!

MACPHAIL.

So mother's just got out of the way of moving.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Charming attachment to an old home.

MACPHAIL.

Aye, it's old. It hasn't been papered and done up since Robert Bruce stayed with us.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Robert Bruce!

MACPHAIL.

Aye--just from a Saturday till Monday, I'm thinking.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

There must be a legend attached to every stone of Ballocheevin.

MACPHAIL.

Aye, it's interesting--but it requires papering. I am so tired of Ballocheevin.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

But you love the rugged country, the vast overwhelming hills, and the placid lochs?

MACPHAIL.

Mother's been telling you that.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Isn't it true?

MACPHAIL.

Eh, I am just weary of my native scenery.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

But what about the misty chasms of Ben-Muchty?

MACPHAIL.

That's an awfully damp place. That's where I caught my bad cold.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

And the gray shore of Loch-na-Doich? Your mother says you adore it.

MACPHAIL.

Eh, I am sick of Loch-na-Doich.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

And your feet don't ache to press the heather?

MACPHAIL.

It's when they're _on_ the heather my feet ache. It's poor walking, heather.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Then you don't watch the sun rise from the jagged summit of Ben-na-fechan?

MACPHAIL.

[Cunningly.] Eh, but I do though, every day when I'm at home.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

But why?

MACPHAIL.

To get away from mother.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Poor boy!

MACPHAIL.

[Reflectively.] I've been thinking----

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Yes?

MACPHAIL.

That you'd better let go my arm now.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Sir Colin!

MACPHAIL.

I've no personal objection, you understand; but mother's always looking for me.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

How thoughtless I am! [He walks away.] Sir Colin!

MACPHAIL.

Aye?

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Your mother is driving you to contract this marriage with Miss Twombley.

MACPHAIL.

Well, mother's just making the arrangements.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Your great heart hasn't gone out to her! Unhappiness must ensue! Your bright career will be dimmed!

MACPHAIL.

Will be _what?_

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Dimmed. What did you think I said? Oh, Sir Colin, don't carry this unsuitable bride to Ballocheevin!

MACPHAIL.

Well, it's a serious step; but I've been thinking it would be another in the house.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

You don't want another in the house. You need a strong, self-reliant wife who will take you out of the house.

MACPHAIL.

Eh?

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

A woman, loving but firm, tender but enterprising, who will bear you from your dilapidated home and plunge you into the vortex of some great city. [Suddenly.] Have you ever been to Paris?

MACPHAIL.

No.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

I know every inch of it!

MACPHAIL.

Madam!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Oh, what have I said! Sir Colin, you have guessed my secret!

[MACPHAIL produces his ball-programme from his stocking and refers to it.]

MACPHAIL.

I'm engaged to Miss Kilbouie for this waltz, if you'll excuse me.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Holding out her hand to him.] Colin.

MACPHAIL.

I'm thinking mother will be wondering----

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[To herself.] Drat your moth---- [To MACPHAIL.] Never mind dear Lady Macphail for a moment. Colin, since you have discovered my love for you I will make no further reservation----

MACPHAIL.

But mother----

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Under her breath.] Drat your---- [To MACPHAIL.] Colin, I will be to you the wife you have described.

MACPHAIL.

I'm extremely obliged to ye--but----

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Hush, bold boy! [She gives him a card.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

You know my cruel brother takes me back to town to-morrow. Here is my address so that you may write to me constantly, devotedly.

MACPHAIL.

[Reading the card.] "Mauricette & Cie., Court Dressmakers----"

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Snatching the card from him.] That's a wrong 'un--I mean, that's a mistake. [Giving another.] There. Hide it away, dear one--nearest your heart.

[He slips it into his stocking.]

MACPHAIL.

Oh!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

And now, as I start in the morning at nine-forty-five, sharp, on the tick, we must say farewell. Oh, this parting is too cruel. Colin!

[She falls against him.]

MACPHAIL.

Here's my mother! [He throws her off.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

[Under her breath.] Drat your mother!

[LADY MACPHAIL enters.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Madam. [To MACPHAIL.] Why do you leave the ball-room, my lad?

MACPHAIL.

I've been just watching the moonlight on Loch Auchentoshan.

LADY MACPHAIL.

I am proud to see this devotion to Loch Auchentoshan, but to-night you have other duties almost equally important. After this paltry waltz we lose ourselves in the wild pleasures of our native dance.

MACPHAIL.

The Strathspey? [He takes MRS. GAYLUSTRE'S card from his stocking.] Oh! [Hides it and produces his ball-programme from his other stocking.] The Strathspey.

LADY MACPHAIL.

Come, lad. They have yet to see the Macphail lead the Strathspey with his betrothed.

[They go out together.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Yes, and they shall ultimately see the Macphail writing love-letters to Fanny--love-letters with a promise of marriage in 'em. I'll consult a solicitor directly I reach town and be ready to marry or to sue him. Oh, Fanny, Fanny, ungrateful girl, what a lot you have to be thankful for!

[She runs out and ANGELE peeps in.]

ANGELE.

Milord! Miladi! [She enters.] I must find miladi! Miladi!

[LADY TWOMBLEY enters.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

No news from Reeves & Shuckleback, the Stockbrokers. The waiting for it will finish me!

ANGELE.

Oh, Miladi Twombley.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[Turning to her sharply.] Ah!

ANGELE.

Tell me, vere is milord?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

What! Has a messenger come from Strachlachan with a telegram for Lord Drumdurris? Speak?

ANGELE.

I do not know.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh!

ANGELE.

But, oh, miladi, I 'ave been a vicked girl!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I dare say you have--that's your business.

ANGELE.

Miladi, ze leetle Lord Aberbrothock is indispose.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

The baby?

ANGELE.

Yees. To please milord, and contrary to miladi's ordares, I put Lord Aberbrothock to bed wiz his gun.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I know--I'm a mother--the child has swallowed the paint!

ANGELE.

Ah, yees!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Send a groom to Strachlachan for Dr. M'Gubbie.

ANGELE.

Yees, miladi.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Angele!

ANGELE.

Miladi?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Tell the man to inquire at Strachlachan for telegrams for the Castle.

ANGELE.

Yees, miladi. [ANGELE runs out.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh, for a telegram from Reeves & Shuckleback! My diamonds, my double row of pearls for a telegram from Reeves & Shuckleback!

[EGIDIA enters with ANGELE, followed by DRUMDURRIS.]

EGIDIA.

Lady Twombley!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Has Keith had a telegram?

EGIDIA.

A telegram--no. My son is ill!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh, I know--he has nibbled his gun.

EGIDIA.

His gun!

ANGELE.

Yees, miladi.

EGIDIA.

Ah! The Army! [To DRUMDURRIS.] So you have gained your own ends after all, Keith, and my boy has fallen.

[EGIDIA goes out, followed by ANGELE. DRUMDURRIS sinks into a chair.]

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Keith.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Don't speak to me, please, aunt.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I must. Reeves & Shuckleback are strangely silent.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Let them remain so--I care not.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

You don't care! Surely you are anxious to know whether you have been instrumental in saving me from--from growing my own vegetables?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Growing your own----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Surely you want to know whether you have made me a wealthy woman or have ruined yourself in the effort?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Ruined myself!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Keith, dear, I am afraid I haven't done what is strictly regular, but when you put me into communication with your Stockbrokers I carried on my delicate little financial operations with them in your name.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Aunt Kate!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Keith, you're annoyed!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

May I ask what delicate little financial operations?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I've speculated on the strength of my private knowledge of the decision of the Government on the Rajputana Canal Question--I mean _you_ have speculated.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Aunt Twombley, how dare you do such a thing?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

How dare I! Boy--for you are little more--boy, you wouldn't have a Cabinet Minister's wife take advantage of her confidential acquaintance with her husband's official affairs to advance her own interests! Oh, Keith!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

But you've done it!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

No, I haven't. Don't be so dull, _you've_ done it.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

And if your delicate little financial operations----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

If they come off, you have made what you men call a pile, Keith. All through your blundering aunty you will have made a pile.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Which I hand over to you, Aunt Kate?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I shall borrow it, Keith, dear--may I?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

And if--pardon the question--if your delicate little financial operations----

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Don't come off?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Certainly; if they don't come off, what then?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Then through your reckless speculation you will have impoverished your estate for the rest of your life!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Aunt!

[EGIDIA enters.]

EGIDIA.

Keith!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Tell me.

EGIDIA.

Fergus has taken a turn for the better.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Egidia, how can I look you in the face?

EGIDIA.

Cannot we read a lesson from this dreadful occurrence?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

To reconcile our views?

EGIDIA.

Finally. You see now how unfitted our son is to a soldier's life.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Yes, I have been wrong. Happily it is not too late to remould his character. We must return to the ball-room.

EGIDIA.

First come with me and peep into the nursery.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

By all means--the nursery.

TOGETHER.

The nursery.

[They go out as the DOWAGER enters.]

DOWAGER.

Katherine!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Dora?

DOWAGER.

I am beside myself! Have you heard the news?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

News? Telegrams for Keith?

DOWAGER.

I know nothing about telegrams. I've just overheard Julian talking solemnly to Brooke. Do you know what your husband intends to do?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Grow his own vegetables.

DOWAGER.

Bother his vegetables! He resigns his place in the Ministry.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

The same thing. [To herself.] Ah, why can't he wait!

[SIR JULIAN enters with BROOKE.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Katherine, I have been telling Brooke of the change in his prospects.

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

I say, Mater, such a blow--what!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Pa, why can't you wait?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Wait--for what, Katherine?

DOWAGER.

Wait till the boy can patch up his future with a wealthy wife, of course.

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Really, Dora, I don't think it would be absolutely fair----

DOWAGER.

Fair! People's actions are like their heads of hair--they can be dyed flaxen. [To BROOKE.] Boy, why do you let the grass grow under your pumps in this way?

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

I haven't let the grass grow, Aunt Dora. I--ah--I have the happiness to be engaged--what!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Engaged!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Bless my soul!

DOWAGER.

In mercy's name, to whom?

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

To Effie.

LADY TWOMBLEY and SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Euphemia!

DOWAGER.

Euphemia! Why, how dare you conspire to entrap a child of mine into a moneyless marriage?

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

My dear Dora, you yourself suggested----

DOWAGER.

If I may be guilty of such an expression--fall-lall!

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

But, aunt----

DOWAGER.

Hold your tongue, sir! Ah, I believe you all have abominable motives!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[To herself.] The telegram! The telegram! Why is there no telegram?

[The music of the Strathspey is heard. IMOGEN enters with LADY EUPHEMIA.]

DOWAGER.

Euphemia!

[LADY EUPHEMIA joins the others. IMOGEN goes to LADY TWOMBLEY in agitation.]

IMOGEN.

Mamma! The Strathspey!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

What of it?

IMOGEN.

I'm engaged to dance it with Sir Colin. Oh, mamma, I don't love him!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Child, you loved him the other night while your head was being washed.

IMOGEN.

I didn't see clearly then--the egg-julep was in my eyes. But now Lady Macphail is running after me, from one room to another, because she declares I must fulfil the destiny of a Macphail's betrothed and lead the Strathspey by his side. But I won't dance a deception before a room full of people!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Imogen, there is nothing for you but this marriage or contemptible, cleanly poverty.

IMOGEN.

Poverty!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Child, you are young to be told these things--but what do you think is likely to happen to pa and me?

IMOGEN.

Mamma, keep nothing from me.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

In all probability we shall grow our own vegetables.

IMOGEN.

Oh! What for?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

_For_ dinner. And, oh, Imogen, have pity on your mother! I can face contemptible, cleanly poverty with pa alone, but if I see my innocent chicks sharing our miseries every cabbage in our garden will grow up with a broken heart!

[She embraces IMOGEN. LADY MACPHAIL enters with MACPHAIL.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Miss Twombley, Lord Drumdurris's guests are politely waiting till you are pleased to lead the Strathspey with the Macphail.

MACPHAIL.

Miss Twombley.

IMOGEN.

[Quietly to LADY TWOMBLEY.] Mamma!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[To herself.] No telegram from town. [To IMOGEN.] Imogen, you had better not lose your dance.

[With a slight courtesy to MACPHAIL, IMOGEN gives him her arm as VALENTINE enters, trimmed, shaven, and in immaculate evening dress.]

BROOKE TWOMBLEY.

Why, Val!

LADY EUPHEMIA VIBART.

Mr. White!

VALENTINE WHITE.

Imogen!

IMOGEN.

[Leaving MACPHAIL.] Valentine!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Valentine White!

VALENTINE WHITE.

Imogen, am I too late?

IMOGEN.

Too late?

VALENTINE WHITE.

For the honor of dancing with you to-night?

IMOGEN.

You--you are in time, Valentine.

VALENTINE WHITE.

For which dance?

IMOGEN.

This dance.

MACPHAIL.

Mother!

DOWAGER.

The child's mad!

LADY MACPHAIL.

Stop the Strathspey! Stop the Strathspey!

[She hurries out, followed by MACPHAIL.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Mr. White, really you shouldn't, you know.

[The music ceases.]

VALENTINE WHITE.

Sir Julian, Lady Twombley, with your permission I shall go no further to avoid the shams of life. I have found one cool resting-place in this world where there is reality and sincerity. [With IMOGEN'S hands in his.] And I have found it in an advanced state of civilization.

[The DOWAGER pulls IMOGEN away.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

I positively must beg----

DOWAGER.

[To IMOGEN.] Child, at this moment I feel grateful that I am your aunt, with all an aunt's privileges. [She shakes her.]

IMOGEN.

Mamma!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

[Seizing IMOGEN.] My chick, your mother has privileges also. Bless you and Valentine. [Kissing her.] There! Dora, if you shake my girl again I--I'll slap you!

DOWAGER.

Ah! Julian!

[DRUMDURRIS appears with a telegram.]

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

Aunt!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

What's that?

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

From Reeves & Shuckleback!

[She snatches the telegram from him.]

EVERYBODY.

What's the matter?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Julian, look at your wife! Brooke, Imogen, come to your mother! No more worries by day and bad dreams at night! No poverty--no cottage--no--no vegetables! I--I am a rich woman!

[She falls back fainting into SIR JULIAN'S arms as they all surround her. At the same moment LEBANON rushes in with MRS. GAYLUSTRE. He has a telegram in his hand; his aspect is wild, his face white.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Lady Twombley! Where is she? Lady Twombley!

[As LADY TWOMBLEY is assisted to a chair LEBANON falls into another.]

IMOGEN.

Mamma!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Joseph!

IMOGEN.

Ah!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Ah!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Be quiet! Lady Twombley is ill!

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Ill! Look at Joseph! My only brother!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Keith, explain this telegram or my brain will give way.

DOWAGER.

No, no--tell me. My brain is stronger than Sir Julian's.

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

[To SIR JULIAN and the DOWAGER apart.] Mother--Sir Julian----

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I want a word or two with my friend, Lady T.

[MRS. GAYLUSTRE arranges his chair so that he faces LADY TWOMBLEY. She and LEBANON stare at each other.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Oh!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ah!

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Lady T.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Hullo?

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

I've 'ad a wire.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

So have I.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

From Moss & Emanuel, my brokers.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Mine is from Reeves & Shuckleback.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Oh, I see--_your_ brokers. You've done me, Lady T.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Don't mention it.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

You're a knowing one.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I'm sure I'm very gratified to hear you say so.

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

The Bills! Give me the Bills you swindled me out of!

[He advances violently, but MRS. GAYLUSTRE holds him back. LADY TWOMBLEY hands the Bills to SIR JULIAN.]

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Jo!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Mr. Lebanon, the Bills, sir. [Giving them.]

[LEBANON snaps his fingers demonstratively in SIR JULIAN'S face.]

MR. JOSEPH LEBANON.

Drum., thank you for your _recherche_ hospitality. Carriage to the station in the morning, if you please. [Kissing his hands.] Ladies---- [Breaking down.] Oh, Fanny, take me to bed!

[He goes out. MRS. GAYLUSTRE is about to follow, when LADY MACPHAIL enters with MACPHAIL.]

LADY MACPHAIL.

Madam! My boy--my poor lad--has told me of your behaviour.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

My behaviour! He loves me!

LADY MACPHAIL.

Colin!

MACPHAIL.

I thought I'd just better mention the affair to mother.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Of course; conceal nothing from your parent.

MACPHAIL.

And mother agrees with me----

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Yes?

MACPHAIL.

That it would be just a risky matter to correspond with a widow lady.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Oh!

MACPHAIL.

[Producing MRS. GAYLUSTRE's card from his stocking.] So I'm thinking I sha'n't require this address.

MRS. GAYLUSTRE.

Ah! [She slaps his face violently and runs out.]

EVERYBODY.

Oh!

MACPHAIL.

Mother!

[LADY MACPHAIL embraces him. The music of the Strathspey is heard again.]

[EGIDIA enters.]

EGIDIA.

The Strathspey. Come into the ball-room. What has happened?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

I can't enter the ball-room again to-night!

EARL OF DRUMDURRIS.

But you must dance the Strathspey.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Must I? Dance then! [They take their places for the dance.] Pa! Valentine, Imogen! Brooke, Effie! Keith, Egidia! Lady Macphail, Sir Colin! Dance! Dance with foolish, thoughtless, weak-headed Kitty Twombley for the last time, for to-morrow she becomes a sober, wise, happy, and contented woman! Dance!

[They dance the Strathspey and Reel--SIR JULIAN with LADY TWOMBLEY, DRUMDURRIS with EGIDIA, BROOKE with LADY EUPHEMIA, VALENTINE with IMOGEN, LADY MACPHAIL with MACPHAIL. The DOWAGER sits apart gloomily.]

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

[To LADY TWOMBLEY while dancing.] You've been indiscreet again, Kitty.

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Finally, Julian, finally!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

No more extravagance?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Never! Never!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

And you resign yourself to a peaceful, rural life?

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Oh!

SIR JULIAN TWOMBLEY.

Promise me--promise me!

LADY TWOMBLEY.

Ha, ha! Dance, pa, dance!

THE END.

=A Selection=

FROM

_MR. WM. HEINEMANN'S LIST_

January 1892.

=The Crown Copyright Series.=

_The changed conditions of publishing in the English-speaking countries, brought about by the American Copyright Legislation of 1891, have made it possible--without doing injustice to the authors--to issue new and original works of fiction in a form immediately accessible to the large class of readers who are unwilling to be permanently and entirely beholden to the Circulating Libraries. Mr. Heinemann has therefore made arrangements with a number of the first and most popular authors of to-day,_

_ENGLISH, AMERICAN, AND COLONIAL,_

_which will enable him to issue new and original works of theirs in a Series to be known as the CROWN COPYRIGHT SERIES at a uniform price of FIVE SHILLINGS per volume._

_These novels will not pass through an expensive two or three volume edition, but they will be obtainable at the Circulating Libraries as well as at all Booksellers and Bookstalls._

_The following volumes are now ready_:--

ACCORDING TO ST. JOHN. By AMELIE RIVES, Author of "The Quick or the Dead," &c.

THE PENANCE OF PORTIA JAMES. By "TASMA," Author of "Uncle Piper of Piper's Hill," &c.

INCONSEQUENT LIVES. A Village Chronicle, Shewing how certain Folk set out for El Dorado, What they Attempted, and What they Attained. By J. H. PEARCE, Author of "Esther Pentreath," &c.

A QUESTION OF TASTE. By MAARTEN MAARTENS, Author of "The Sin of Joost Avelingh," &c. [_In the Press._

Heinemann's 3s. 6d. Novels.

UNCLE PIPER OF PIPER'S HILL. By "TASMA," Author of "The Penance of Portia James," &c.

A MARKED MAN. Some Episodes in his Life. By ADA CAMBRIDGE.

_Pall Mall_.--"Contains one of the best written stories of a
_mesalliance_ that is to be found in modern fiction."

IN THE VALLEY. By HAROLD FREDERIC. Illustrated.

_Athenaeum_.--"A novel deserving to be read."

THE THREE MISS KINGS. By ADA CAMBRIDGE.

_British Weekly_.--"A novel to be bought and kept for
re-reading on languid summer afternoons or stormy winter
evenings."

PRETTY MISS SMITH. By FLORENCE WARDEN.

_Punch_.--"Since the 'House on the Marsh,' I have not read a
more exciting tale."

A ROMANCE OF THE CAPE FRONTIER. By BERTRAM MITFORD.

_Observer_.--"A rattling tale--genial, healthy, and spirited."

THE BONDMAN. By HALL CAINE.

_Academy_--"A splendid novel."

A VERY STRANGE FAMILY. By F. W. ROBINSON.

_Glasgow Herald_.--"Delightful reading from start to finish."

A MODERN MARRIAGE. By the MARQUISE CLARA LANZA.

_Queen_.--"A powerful story."

LOS CERRITOS. A Romance of the Modern Time. By GERTRUDE FRANKLIN ATHERTON.

_Athenaeum_.--"A decidedly charming romance."

DAUGHTERS OF MEN. By HANNAH LYNCH, Author of "The Prince of the Glades," &c. [_Shortly._

New Works of Fiction.

THE SCAPEGOAT. By HALL CAINE, Author of "The Bondman." Fourth Edition. In Two Vols.

MAMMON. By Mrs. ALEXANDER, Author of "The Wooing O't," &c. In Three Vols.

MEA CULPA. A Woman's Last Word. By HENRY HARLAND (Sidney Luska), Author of "As it was Written." In Three Volumes, crown 8vo.

COME FORTH! A Story of the Time of Christ. By ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS and HERBERT D. WARD. In One Volume, imperial 16mo, 7s. 6d.

THE MASTER OF THE MAGICIANS. A Novel. By ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS and HERBERT D. WARD. In One Volume, imperial 16mo, 7s. 6d.

THE MOMENT AFTER. A Tale of the Unseen. By ROBERT BUCHANAN. Popular Edition, crown 8vo, 1s.

_In Preparation._

WOMAN AND THE MAN. By ROBERT BUCHANAN. In Two Vols.

LITTLE JOHANNES. A Fairy Tale. By F. VAN EEDEN. Translated from the Dutch, by CLARA BELL, with an Introduction by ANDREW LANG, and Illustrations. In One Volume.

THE TOWER OF TADDEO. By OUIDA, Author of "Two Little Wooden Shoes," &c.

ORIOLE'S DAUGHTER. By JESSIE FOTHERGILL, Author of "The First Violin," &c. In Three Vols.

COME LIVE WITH ME AND BE MY LOVE. By ROBERT BUCHANAN.

THE WHITE FEATHER. By "TASMA." In Three Vols.

NOT ALL IN VAIN. By ADA CAMBRIDGE, Author of "A Marked Man," &c.

A BATTLE AND A BOY. By BLANCHE WILLIS HOWARD, Author of "Guenn," &c.

Miscellaneous.

THE WORD OF THE LORD UPON THE WATERS. Sermons read by the Emperor of Germany while on his Voyages to the Land of the Midnight Sun. Composed by Dr. RICHTER. Small 4to, cloth, _2s. 6d._, postage _4d._

THE LITTLE MANX NATION. By HALL CAINE, Author of "The Bondman." Crown 8vo, cloth, _3s. 6d._; paper, _2s. 6d._

GIRLS AND WOMEN. By E. CHESTER. Pott 8vo, _2s. 6d._, or gilt extra, _3s. 6d._

GOSSIP IN A LIBRARY. By EDMUND GOSSE. Crown 8vo, bevelled boards, _7s. 6d._

CONTENTS: Camden's Britannia. A Mirror for Magistrates. A Poet in Prison. Death's Duel. Gerard's Herbal. Pharamond. A Volume of Old Plays. A Censor of Poets. Lady Winchilsea's Poems. Amasia. Love and Business. What Ann Lang read. Cats. Smart's Poems. Pompey the Little. John Buncle. Beau Nash. The Diary of a Lover of Literature. Peter Bell and his Tormentors. The Fancy. Ultra-crepidarius. The Duke of Rutland's Poems. Ionica. The Shaving of Shagpat.

WOMAN--THROUGH A MAN'S EYE-GLASS. By MALCOLM C. SALAMAN. With Illustrations by DUDLEY HARDY. [_In the Press._

THE WORKS OF HEINRICH HEINE. Translated by CHARLES G. LELAND, F.R.L.S., M.A. Volume I.--Florentine Nights, Schnabelewopski. The Rabbi of Bacharach, and Shakespeare's Maidens and Women. Volumes II. and III., Pictures of Travel. In Two Volumes. Volume IV., The Book of Songs. Volumes V. and VI., Germany. In Two Volumes. Crown 8vo, _5s._ each.

* * * * *

_21 BEDFORD STREET, LONDON, W.C._

Transcriber's Note.

Stage directions, other than character's names, are italicised in the original. Italic mark-up in stage directions has been omitted from the text version of this e-book for ease of reading.

Text marked +text+ is underlined, =text= is Blackletter font, and _text_ is italic in the original. Text originally printed in Small Capitals has been changed to BLOCK CAPITALS.

The use of both "Lady T." and "Lady T"; "good-by" and "good-bye" is as per the original.

Typographic errors have been corrected as follows:

On page 135: "[Outside.] Hi, hi! Come here! hi!"--had
'[Ouiside.]'.

Punctuation errors and mismatched brackets have been corrected
without note.

<pre id="pg-footer">