Chapter I: Part 1

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THREE PLAYS BY
GRANVILLE BARKER

_These plays may also be obtained separately: in cloth, 2s. net each; in paper covers, 1s. 6d. net each._

THREE PLAYS BY GRANVILLE BARKER: THE MARRYING OF ANN LEETE--THE VOYSEY INHERITANCE--WASTE

LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD. 3 ADAM STREET, ADELPHI. MCMIX.

_Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A.
All rights reserved._

_First Impression, August 1909_
_Second Impression, September 1909_
_Third Impression, November 1909_

To the memory of my fellow-worker,
St. John Hankin.

The Marrying of Ann Leete

A COMEDY

1899

THE MARRYING OF ANN LEETE

_The first three acts of the comedy pass in the garden at Markswayde_, MR. CARNABY LEETE'S _house near Reading, during a summer day towards the close of the eighteenth century: the first act at four in the morning, the second shortly after mid-day, the third near to sunset. The fourth act takes place one day in the following winter; the first scene in the hall at Markswayde, the second scene in a cottage some ten miles off._

_This part of the Markswayde garden looks to have been laid out during the seventeenth century. In the middle a fountain; the centrepiece the figure of a nymph, now somewhat cracked, and pouring nothing from the amphora; the rim of the fountain is high enough and broad enough to be a comfortable seat._

_The close turf around is in parts worn bare. This plot of ground is surrounded by a terrace three feet higher. Three sides of it are seen. From two corners broad steps lead down; stone urns stand at the bottom and top of the stone balustrades. The other two corners are rounded convexly into broad stone seats._

_Along the edges of the terrace are growing rose trees, close together; behind these, paths; behind those, shrubs and trees. No landscape is to be seen. A big copper beech overshadows the seat on the left. A silver birch droops over the seat on the right. The trees far to the left indicate an orchard, the few to the right are more of the garden sort. It is the height of summer, and after a long drought the rose trees are dilapidated._

_It is very dark in the garden. Though there may be by now a faint morning light in the sky it has not penetrated yet among these trees. It is very still, too. Now and then the leaves of a tree are stirred, as if in its sleep; that is all. Suddenly a shrill, frightened, but not tragical scream is heard. After a moment_ ANN LEETE _runs quickly down the steps and on to the fountain, where she stops, panting_. LORD JOHN CARP _follows her, but only to the top of the steps, evidently not knowing his way_. ANN _is a girl of twenty; he an English gentleman, nearer forty than thirty_.

LORD JOHN. I apologise.

ANN. Why is it so dark?

LORD JOHN. Can you hear what I'm saying?

ANN. Yes.

LORD JOHN. I apologise for having kissed you . . . almost unintentionally.

ANN. Thank you. Mind the steps down.

LORD JOHN. I hope I'm sober, but the air . . .

ANN. Shall we sit for a minute? There are several seats to sit on somewhere.

LORD JOHN. This is a very dark garden.

_There is a slight pause._

ANN. You've won your bet.

LORD JOHN. So you did scream!

ANN. But it wasn't fair.

LORD JOHN. Don't reproach me.

ANN. Somebody's coming.

LORD JOHN. How d'you know?

ANN. I can hear somebody coming.

LORD JOHN. We're not sitting down.

ANN'S _brother_, GEORGE LEETE _comes to the top of the steps, and afterwards down them. Rather an old young man._

GEORGE. Ann!

ANN. Yes.

GEORGE. My lord!

LORD JOHN. Here.

GEORGE. I can't see you. I'm sent to say we're all anxious to know what ghost or other bird of night or beast has frightened Ann to screaming point, and won you . . . the best in Tatton's stables--so he says now. He's quite annoyed.

LORD JOHN. The mare is a very good mare.

ANN. He betted it because he wanted to bet it; I didn't want him to bet it.

GEORGE. What frightened her?

ANN. I had rather, my lord, that you did not tell my brother why I screamed.

LORD JOHN. I kissed her.

GEORGE. Did you?

ANN. I had rather, Lord John, that you had not told my brother why I screamed.

LORD JOHN. I misunderstood you.

GEORGE. I've broke up the whist party. Ann, shall we return?

LORD JOHN. She's not here.

GEORGE. Ann.

LADY COTTESHAM, ANN'S _sister and ten years older, and_ MR. DANIEL TATTON, _a well-living, middle-aged country gentleman, arrive together_. TATTON _carries a double candlestick. . . the lights out_.

MR. TATTON. Three steps?

SARAH. No . . . four.

LORD JOHN. Miss Leete.

TATTON _in the darkness finds himself close to_ GEORGE.

MR. TATTON. I am in a rage with you, my lord.

GEORGE. He lives next door.

MR. TATTON. My mistake. [_He passes on._] Confess that she did it to please you.

LORD JOHN. Screamed!

MR. TATTON. Lost my bet. We'll say . . . won your bet . . . to please you. Was skeered at the dark . . . oh, fie!

LORD JOHN. Miss Leete trod on a toad.

MR. TATTON. I barred toads . . . here.

LORD JOHN. I don't think it.

MR. TATTON. I barred toads. Did I forget to? Well . . . it's better to be a sportsman.

SARAH. And whereabout is she?

ANN. [_From the corner she has slunk to._] Here I am, Sally.

MR. TATTON. Miss Ann, I forgive you. I'm smiling, I assure you, I'm smiling.

SARAH. We all laughed when we heard you.

MR. TATTON. Which reminds me, young George Leete, had you the ace?

GEORGE. King . . . knave . . . here are the cards, but I can't see.

MR. TATTON. I had the king.

ANN. [_Quietly to her sister._] He kissed me.

SARAH. A man would.

GEORGE. What were trumps?

MR. TATTON. What were we playing . . . cricket?

ANN. [_As quietly again._] D'you think I'm blushing?

SARAH. It's probable.

ANN. I am by the feel of me.

SARAH. George, we left Papa sitting quite still.

LORD JOHN. Didn't he approve of the bet?

MR. TATTON. He said nothing.

SARAH. Why, who doesn't love sport!

MR. TATTON. I'm the man to grumble. Back a woman's pluck again . . . never. My lord . . . you weren't the one to go with her as umpire.

GEORGE. No. . . to be sure.

MR. TATTON. How was it I let that pass? Playing two games at once. Haven't I cause of complaint? But a man must give and take.

_The master of the house, father of_ GEORGE _and_ SARAH COTTESHAM _and_ ANN, MR. CARNABY LEETE, _comes slowly down the steps, unnoticed by the others. A man over fifty--a la Lord Chesterfield_.

GEORGE. [_To_ LORD JOHN.] Are you sure you're quite comfortable there?

LORD JOHN. Whatever I'm sitting on hasn't given way yet.

MR. TATTON. Don't forget that you're riding to Brighton with me.

LORD JOHN. Tomorrow.

GEORGE. To-day. Well . . . the hour before sunrise is no time at all.

MR. TATTON. Sixty-five miles.

LORD JOHN. What are we all sitting here for?

MR. TATTON. I say people ought to be in bed and asleep.

CARNABY. But the morning air is delightful.

MR. TATTON. [_Jumping at the new voice._] Leete! Now, had you the ace?

CARNABY. Of course.

MR. TATTON. We should have lost that too, Lady Charlie.

SARAH. Bear up, Mr. Tat.

MR. TATTON. Come, a game of whist is a game of whist.

CARNABY. And so I strolled out after you all.

MR. TATTON. She trod on a toad.

CARNABY. [_Carelessly._] Does she say so?

MR. TATTON. [_With mock roguishness._] Ah!

GEORGE _is on the terrace, looking to the left through the trees_. TATTON _is sitting on the edge of the fountain_.

GEORGE. Here's the sun . . . to show us ourselves.

MR. TATTON. Leete, this pond is full of water!

CARNABY. Ann, if you are there . . .

ANN. Yes, Papa.

CARNABY. Apologise profusely; it's your garden.

ANN. Oh . . .

CARNABY. Coat-tails, Tatton . . . or worse?

MR. TATTON. [_Ruefully discovering damp spots about him._] Nothing vastly to matter.

LORD JOHN. Hardy, well-preserved, country gentleman!

MR. TATTON. I bet I'm a younger man than you, my lord.

ANN. [_Suddenly to the company generally._] I didn't tread upon any toad . . . I was kissed.

_There is a pause of some discomfort._

SARAH. Ann, come here to me.

LORD JOHN. I apologised.

GEORGE. [_From the terrace._] Are we to be insulted?

CARNABY. My dear Carp, say no more.

_There is another short pause. By this it is twilight, faces can be plainly seen._

SARAH. Listen . . . the first bird.

MR. TATTON. Oh, dear no, they begin to sing long before this.

CARNABY. What is it now . . . a lark?

MR. TATTON. I don't know.

ANN. [_Quietly to_ SARAH.] That's a thrush.

SARAH. [_Capping her._] A thrush.

CARNABY. Charming!

MR. TATTON. [__ LORD JOHN.] I don't see why you couldn't have told me how it was that she screamed.

CARNABY. Our dear Tatton! [_Sotto voce to his son._] Hold your tongue, George.

MR. TATTON. I did bar toads and you said I didn't, and anyway I had a sort of right to know.

LORD JOHN. You know now.

SARAH. I wonder if this seat is dry.

LORD JOHN. There's been no rain for weeks.

SARAH. The roads will be dusty for you, Mr. Tat.

MR. TATTON. Just one moment. You don't mind me, Miss Ann, do you?

ANN. I don't mind much.

MR. TATTON. We said distinctly . . . To the orchard end of the garden and back and if frightened--that's the word--so much as to scream . . . ! Now, what I want to know is. . .

LORD JOHN. Consider the bet off.

MR. TATTON. Certainly not. And we should have added. . . Alone.

CARNABY. Tatton has persistence.

SARAH. Mr. Tat, do you know where people go who take things seriously?

MR. TATTON. Miss Leete, were you frightened when Lord John kissed you?

GEORGE. Damnation!

CARNABY. My excellent Tatton, much as I admire your searchings after truth I must here parentally intervene, regretting, my dear Tatton, that my own carelessness of duennahood has permitted this--this . . . to occur.

_After this, there is silence for a minute._

LORD JOHN. Can I borrow a horse of you, Mr. Leete?

CARNABY. My entire stable; and your Ronald shall be physicked.

SARAH. Spartans that you are to be riding!

LORD JOHN. I prefer it to a jolting chaise.

MR. TATTON. You will have my mare.

LORD JOHN. [_Ignoring him._] This has been a most enjoyable three weeks.

CARNABY. Four.

LORD JOHN. Is it four?

CARNABY. We bow to the compliment. Our duty to his grace.

LORD JOHN. When I see him.

GEORGE. To our dear cousin.

MR. TATTON. [_To_ LADY COTTESHAM.] Sir Charles at Brighton?

SARAH. [_Not answering._] To be sure . . . we did discover . . . our mother was second cousin . . . once removed to you.

CARNABY. If the prince will be there . . . he is in waiting.

LORD JOHN. Any message, Lady Cottesham? . . . since we speak out of session.

SARAH. I won't trust you.

CARNABY. Or trouble you while I still may frank a letter. But my son-in-law is a wretched correspondent. Do you admire men of small vices? They make admirable husbands though their wives will be grumbling--Silence, Sarah--but that's a good sign.

SARAH. Papa is a connoisseur of humanity.

ANN. [_To the company as before._] No, Mr. Tatton, I wasn't frightened when Lord John . . . kissed me. I screamed because I was surprised, and I'm sorry I screamed.

SARAH. [_Quietly to_ ANN.] My dear Ann, you're a fool.

ANN. [_Quietly to_ SARAH.] I will speak sometimes.

SARAH. Sit down again.

_Again an uncomfortable silence, a ludicrous air about it this time._

MR. TATTON. Now, we'll say no more about that bet, but I was right.

LORD JOHN. Do you know, Mr. Tatton, that I have a temper to lose?

MR. TATTON. What the devil does that matter to me, sir . . . my lord?

LORD JOHN. I owe you a saddle and bridle.

MR. TATTON. You'll oblige me by taking the mare.

LORD JOHN. We'll discuss it to-morrow.

MR. TATTON. I've said all I have to say.

GEORGE. The whole matter's ridiculous!

MR. TATTON. I see the joke. Good-night, Lady Cottesham, and I kiss your hand.

SARAH. Good morning, Mr. Tat.

MR. TATTON. Good morning, Miss Ann, I . . .

SARAH. [_Shielding her sister._] Good morrow is appropriate.

MR. TATTON. I'll go by the fields. [_To_ CARNABY.] Thank you for a pleasant evening. Good morrow, George. Do we start at mid-day, my lord?

LORD JOHN. Any time you please.

MR. TATTON. Not at all. [_He hands the candlestick--of which he has never before left go--to_ GEORGE.] I brought this for a link. Thank you.

CARNABY. Mid-day will be midnight if you sleep at all now; make it two or later.

MR. TATTON. We put up at Guildford. I've done so before. I haven't my hat. It's a day and a half's ride.

TATTON _goes quickly up the other steps and away. It is now quite light._ GEORGE _stands by the steps_, LORD JOHN _is on one of the seats_, CARNABY _strolls round, now and then touching the rose trees_, SARAH _and_ ANN _are on the other seat_.

GEORGE. Morning! These candles still smell.

SARAH. How lively one feels and isn't.

CARNABY. The flowers are opening.

ANN. [_In a whisper._] Couldn't we go in?

SARAH. Never run away.

ANN. Everything looks so odd.

SARAH. What's o'clock . . . my lord?

LORD JOHN. Half after four.

ANN. [_To_ SARAH.] My eyes are hot behind.

GEORGE. What ghosts we seem!

SARAH. What has made us spend such a night?

CARNABY. Ann incited me to it. [_He takes snuff._]

SARAH. In a spirit of rebellion against good country habits. . .

ANN. [_To her sister again._] Don't talk about me.

SARAH. They can see that you're whispering.

CARNABY. . . . Informing me now she was a woman and wanted excitement.

GEORGE. There's a curse.

CARNABY. How else d'ye conceive life for women?

SARAH. George is naturally cruel. Excitement's our education. Please vary it, though.

CARNABY. I have always held that to colour in the world-picture is the greatest privilege of the husband. Sarah.

SARAH. [_Not leaving_ ANN'S _side_.] Yes, Papa.

CARNABY. Sarah, when Sir Charles leaves Brighton. . .

SARAH _rises but will not move further_.

CARNABY. [_Sweetly threatening._] Shall I come to you?

_But she goes to him now._

CARNABY. By a gossip letter from town . . .

SARAH. [_Tensely._] What is it?

CARNABY. You mentioned to me something of his visiting Naples.

SARAH. Very well. I detest Italy.

CARNABY. Let's have George's opinion.

_He leads her towards_ GEORGE.

GEORGE. Yes?

CARNABY. Upon Naples.

GEORGE. I remember Naples.

CARNABY. Sarah, admire those roses.

SARAH. [_Cynically echoing her father._] Let's have George's opinion.

_Now_ CARNABY _has drawn them both away, upon the terrace, and, the coast being clear_, LORD JOHN _walks towards_ ANN, _who looks at him very scaredly_.

CARNABY. Emblem of secrecy among the ancients.

SARAH. Look at this heavy head, won't it snap off?

_The three move out of sight._

LORD JOHN. I'm sober now.

ANN. I'm not.

LORD JOHN. Uncompromising young lady.

ANN. And, excuse me, I don't want to . . . play.

LORD JOHN. Don't you wish me to apologise quietly, to you?

ANN. Good manners are all mockery, I'm sure.

LORD JOHN. I'm very much afraid you're a cynic.

ANN. I'm not trying to be clever.

LORD JOHN. Do I tease you?

ANN. Do I amuse you?

LORD JOHN. How dare I say so!

ANN. [_After a moment._] I was not frightened.

LORD JOHN. You kissed me back.

ANN. Not on purpose. What do two people mean by behaving so . . . in the dark?

LORD JOHN. I am exceedingly sorry that I hurt your feelings.

ANN. Thank you, I like to feel.

LORD JOHN. And you must forgive me.

ANN. Tell me, why did you do it?

LORD JOHN. Honestly I don't know. I should do it again.

ANN. That's not quite true, is it?

LORD JOHN. I think so.

ANN. What does it matter at all!

LORD JOHN. Nothing.

GEORGE, SARAH _and then_ CARNABY _move into sight and along the terrace_, LORD JOHN _turns to them_.

LORD JOHN. Has this place been long in your family, Mr. Leete?

CARNABY. Markswayde my wife brought us, through the Peters's . . . old Chiltern people . . . connections of yours, of course. There is no entail.

LORD JOHN _walks back to_ ANN.

SARAH. George, you assume this republicanism as you would--no, would not--a coat of latest cut.

CARNABY. Never argue with him . . . persist.

SARAH. So does he.

_The three pass along the terrace._

ANN. [_To_ LORD JOHN.] Will you sit down?

LORD JOHN. It's not worth while. Do you know I must be quite twice your age?

ANN. A doubled responsibility, my lord.

LORD JOHN. I suppose it is.

ANN. I don't say so. That's a phrase from a book . . . sounded well.

LORD JOHN. My dear Miss Ann. . . [_He stops._]

ANN. Go on being polite.

LORD JOHN. If you'll keep your head turned away.

ANN. Why must I?

LORD JOHN. There's lightning in the glances of your eye.

ANN. Do use vulgar words to me.

LORD JOHN. [_With a sudden fatherly kindness._] Go to bed . . . you're dead tired. And good-bye . . . I'll be gone before you wake.

ANN. Good-bye.

_She shakes hands with him, then walks towards her father who is coming down the steps._

ANN. Papa, don't my roses want looking to?

CARNABY. [_Pats her cheek._] These?

ANN. Those.

CARNABY. Abud is under your thumb, horticulturally speaking.

ANN. Where's Sally?

_She goes on to_ SARAH, _who is standing with_ GEORGE _at the top of the steps_. CARNABY _looks_ LORD JOHN _up and down_.

LORD JOHN. [_Dusting his shoulder._] This cursed powder!

CARNABY. Do we respect innocence enough . . . any of us?

GEORGE _comes down the steps and joins them_.

GEORGE. Respectable politics will henceforth be useless to me.

CARNABY. My lord, was his grace satisfied with the young man's work abroad or was he not?

LORD JOHN. My father used to curse everyone.

CARNABY. That's a mere Downing Street custom.

LORD JOHN. And I seem to remember that a letter of yours from . . . where were you in those days?

GEORGE. Paris . . . Naples . . . Vienna.

LORD JOHN. One place . . . once lightened a fit of gout.

CARNABY. George, you have in you the makings of a minister.

GEORGE. No.

CARNABY. Remember the Age tends to the disreputable.

GEORGE _moves away_, SARAH _moves towards them_.

CARNABY. George is something of a genius, stuffed with theories and possessed of a curious conscience. But I am fortunate in my children.

LORD JOHN. All the world knows it.

CARNABY. [_To_ SARAH.] It's lucky that yours was a love match, too. I admire you. Ann is 'to come,' so to speak.

SARAH. [_To_ LORD JOHN.] Were you discussing affairs?

LORD JOHN. Not I.

GEORGE. Ann.

ANN. Yes, George.

_She goes to him; they stroll together up the steps and along the terrace._

SARAH. I'm desperately fagged.

LORD JOHN. [_Politely._] A seat.

SARAH. Also tired of sitting.

CARNABY. Let's have the Brighton news, Carp.

LORD JOHN. If there's any.

CARNABY. Probably I still command abuse. Even my son-in-law must, by courtesy, join in the cry . . . ah, poor duty-torn Sarah! You can spread abroad that I am as a green bay tree.

CARNABY _paces slowly away from them_.

LORD JOHN. Your father's making a mistake.

SARAH. D'you think so?

LORD JOHN. He's played the game once.

SARAH. I was not then in the knowledge of things when he left you.

LORD JOHN. We remember it.

SARAH. I should like to hear it.

LORD JOHN. I have avoided this subject.

SARAH. With him, yes.

LORD JOHN. Oh! . . . why did I desert the army for politics?

SARAH. Better fighting.

LORD JOHN. It sat so nobly upon him . . . the leaving us for conscience sake when we were strongly in power. Strange that six months later we should be turned out.

SARAH. Papa was lucky.

LORD JOHN. But this second time . . . ?

SARAH. Listen. This is very much a private quarrel with Mr. Pitt, who hates Papa . . . gets rid of him.

LORD JOHN. Shall I betray a confidence?

SARAH. Better not.

LORD JOHN. My father advised me to this visit.

SARAH. Your useful visit. More than kind of his Grace.

LORD JOHN. Yes . . . there's been a paragraph in the "Morning Chronicle," 'The Whigs woo Mr. Carnaby Leete.'

SARAH. We saw to it.

LORD JOHN. My poor father seems anxious to discover whether the Leete episode will repeat itself entirely. He is chronically unhappy in opposition. Are your husband and his colleagues trembling in their seats?

SARAH. I can't say.

LORD JOHN. Politics is a game for clever children, and women, and fools. Will you take a word of warning from a soldier? Your father is past his prime.

CARNABY _paces back towards them_.

CARNABY. I'm getting to be old for these all-night sittings. I must be writing to your busy brother.

LORD JOHN. Arthur? . . . is at his home.

SARAH. Pleasantly sounding phrase.

CARNABY. His grace deserted?

SARAH. Quite secretaryless!

LORD JOHN. Lady Arthur lately has been brought to bed. I heard yesterday.

SARAH. The seventh, is it not? Children require living up to. My congratulations.

LORD JOHN. Won't you write them?

SARAH. We are not intimate.

LORD JOHN. A good woman.

SARAH. Evidently. Where's Ann? We'll go in.

LORD JOHN. You're a mother to your sister.

SARAH. Not I.

CARNABY. My wife went her ways into the next world; Sarah hers into this; and our little Ann was left with a most admirable governess. One must never reproach circumstances. Man educates woman in his own good time.

LORD JOHN. I suppose she, or any young girl, is all heart.

CARNABY. What is it that you call heart . . . sentimentally speaking?

SARAH. Any bud in the morning.

LORD JOHN. That man Tatton's jokes are in shocking taste.

CARNABY. Tatton is honest.

LORD JOHN. I'm much to blame for having won that bet.

CARNABY. Say no more.

LORD JOHN. What can Miss Ann think of me?

SARAH. Don't ask her.

CARNABY. Innocency's opinions are invariably entertaining.

LORD JOHN. Am I the first . . . ? I really beg your pardon.

GEORGE _and_ ANN _come down the steps together_.

CARNABY. Ann, what do you think . . . that is to say--and answer me truthfully . . . what at this moment is your inclination of mind towards my lord here?

ANN. I suppose I love him.

LORD JOHN. I hope not.

ANN. I suppose I love you.

CARNABY. No . . no . . no . . no . . no . . no . . no.

SARAH. Hush, dear.

ANN. I'm afraid, papa, there's something very ill-bred in me.

_Down the steps and into the midst of them comes_ JOHN ABUD, _carrying his tools, among other things a twist of bass. A young gardener, honest, clean and common._

ABUD. [_To_ CARNABY.] I ask pardon, sir.

CARNABY. So early, Abud! . . . this is your territory. So late . . . Bed.

ANN _starts away up the steps_, SARAH _is following her_.

LORD JOHN. Good-bye, Lady Cottesham.

_At this_ ANN _stops for a moment, but then goes straight on_.

SARAH. A pleasant journey.

SARAH _departs too_.

GEORGE. [_Stretching himself._] I'm roused.

CARNABY. [_To_ ABUD.] Leave your tools here for a few moments.

ABUD. I will, sir.

ABUD _leaves them, going along the terrace and out of sight_.

CARNABY. My head is hot. Pardon me.

CARNABY _is sitting on the fountain rim; he dips his handkerchief in the water, and wrings it; then takes off his wig and binds the damp handkerchief round his head_.

CARNABY. Wigs are most comfortable and old fashioned . . . unless you choose to be a cropped republican like my son.

GEORGE. Nature!

CARNABY. Nature grows a beard, sir.

LORD JOHN. I've seen Turks.

CARNABY. Horrible . . . horrible! Sit down, Carp.

LORD JOHN _sits on the fountain rim_, GEORGE _begins to pace restlessly; he has been nursing the candlestick ever since_ TATTON _handed it to him_.

CARNABY. George, you look damned ridiculous strutting arm-in-arm with that candlestick.

GEORGE. I am ridiculous.

CARNABY. If you're cogitating over your wife and her expectations . . .

GEORGE _paces up the steps and away. There is a pause._

CARNABY. D'ye tell stories . . . good ones?

LORD JOHN. Sometimes.

CARNABY. There'll be this.

LORD JOHN. I shan't.

CARNABY. Say no more. If I may so express myself, Carp, you have been taking us for granted.

LORD JOHN. How wide awake you are! I'm not.

CARNABY. My head's cool. Shall I describe your conduct as an unpremeditated insult?

LORD JOHN. Don't think anything of the sort.

CARNABY. There speaks your kind heart.

LORD JOHN. Are you trying to pick a quarrel with me?

CARNABY. As may be.

LORD JOHN. Why?

CARNABY. For the sake of appearances.

LORD JOHN. Damn all appearances.

CARNABY. Now I'll lose my temper. Sir, you have compromised my daughter.

LORD JOHN. Nonsense!

CARNABY. Villain! What's your next move?

_For a moment_ LORD JOHN _sits with knit brows_.

LORD JOHN. [_Brutally._] Mr. Leete, your name stinks.

CARNABY. My point of dis-ad-vantage!

LORD JOHN. [_Apologising._] Please say what you like. I might have put my remark better.

CARNABY. I think not; the homely Saxon phrase is our literary dagger. Princelike, you ride away from Markswayde. Can I trust you not to stab a socially sick man? Why it's a duty you owe to society . . . to weed out . . . us.

LORD JOHN. I'm not a coward. How?

CARNABY. A little laughter . . . in your exuberance of health.

LORD JOHN. You may trust me not to tell tales.

CARNABY. Of what . . . of whom?

LORD JOHN. Of here.

CARNABY. And what is there to tell of here?

LORD JOHN. Nothing.

CARNABY. But how your promise betrays a capacity for good-natured invention!

LORD JOHN. If I lie call me out.

CARNABY. I don't deal in sentiment. I can't afford to be talked about otherwise than as I choose to be. Already the Aunt Sally of the hour; having under pressure of circumstances resigned my office; dating my letters from the borders of the Chiltern Hundreds . . . I am a poor politician, sir, and I must live.

LORD JOHN. I can't see that your family's infected . . . affected.

CARNABY. With a penniless girl you really should have been more circumspect.

LORD JOHN. I might ask to marry her.

CARNABY. My lord!

_In the pause that ensues he takes up the twist of bass to play with._

LORD JOHN. What should you say to that?

CARNABY. The silly child supposed she loved you.

LORD JOHN. Yes.

CARNABY. Is it a match?

LORD JOHN. [_Full in the other's face._] What about the appearances of black-mail?

CARNABY. [_Compressing his thin lips._] Do you care for my daughter?

LORD JOHN. I could . . . at a pinch.

CARNABY. Now, my lord, you are insolent.

LORD JOHN. Is this when we quarrel?

CARNABY. I think I'll challenge you.

LORD JOHN. That will look well.

CARNABY. You'll value that kiss when you've paid for it. Kindly choose Tatton as your second. I want his tongue to wag both ways.

LORD JOHN. I was forgetting how it all began.

CARNABY. George will serve me . . . protesting. His principles are vile, but he has the education of a gentleman. Swords or . . . ? Swords. And at noon shall we say? There's shade behind a certain barn, midway between this and Tatton's.

LORD JOHN. [_Not taking him seriously yet._] What if we both die horridly?

CARNABY. You are at liberty to make me a written apology.

LORD JOHN. A joke's a joke.

CARNABY _deliberately strikes him in the face with the twist of bass_.

LORD JOHN. That's enough.

CARNABY. [_In explanatory apology._] My friend, you are so obtuse. Abud!

LORD JOHN. Mr. Leete, are you serious?

CARNABY. Perfectly serious. Let's go to bed. Abud, you can get to your work.

_Wig in hand_, MR. LEETE _courteously conducts his guest towards the house_. ABUD _returns to his tools and his morning's work_.

THE SECOND ACT

_Shortly after mid-day, while the sun beats strongly upon the terrace_, ABUD _is working dexterously at the rose trees_. DR. REMNANT _comes down the steps, hatted, and carrying a stick and a book. He is an elderly man with a kind manner; type of the eighteenth century casuistical parson. On his way he stops to say a word to the gardener._

DR. REMNANT. Will it rain before nightfall?

ABUD. About then, sir, I should say.

_Down the other steps comes_ MRS. OPIE, _a prim, decorous, but well bred and unobjectionable woman. She is followed by_ ANN.

MRS. OPIE. A good morning to you, Parson.

DR. REMNANT. And to you, Mrs. Opie, and to Miss Ann.

ANN. Good morning, Dr. Remnant. [_To_ ABUD.] Have you been here ever since . . . ?

ABUD. I've had dinner, Miss.

ABUD'S _work takes him gradually out of sight_.

MRS. OPIE. We are but just breakfasted.

DR. REMNANT. I surmise dissipation.

ANN. [_To_ MRS. OPIE.] Thank you for waiting five hours.

MRS. OPIE. It is my rule to breakfast with you.

DR. REMNANT. [_Exhibiting the book._] I am come to return, and to borrow.

ANN. Show me.

DR. REMNANT. Ballads by Robert Burns.

ANN. [_Taking it._] I'll put it back.

MRS. OPIE. [_Taking it from her._] I've never heard of him.

DR. REMNANT. Oh, ma'am, a very vulgar poet!

GEORGE LEETE _comes quickly down the steps_.

GEORGE. [_To_ REMNANT.] How are you?

DR. REMNANT. Yours, sir.

GEORGE. Ann.

ANN. Good morning, George.

GEORGE. Did you sleep well?

ANN. I always do . . . but I dreamt.

GEORGE. I must sit down for a minute. [_Nodding._] Mrs. Opie.

MRS. OPIE. I wish you a good morning, sir.

GEORGE. [_To_ ANN.] Don't look so solemn.

LADY COTTESHAM _comes quickly to the top of the steps_.

SARAH. Is Papa badly hurt?

ANN. [_Jumping up._] Oh, what has happened?

GEORGE. Not badly.

SARAH. He won't see me.

_His three children look at each other._

DR. REMNANT. [_Tactfully._] May I go my ways to the library?

SARAH. Please do, Doctor Remnant.

DR. REMNANT. I flatly contradicted all that was being said in the village.

SARAH. Thoughtful of you.

DR. REMNANT. But tell me nothing.

DR. REMNANT _bows formally and goes_. GEORGE _is about to speak when_ SARAH _with a look at_ MRS. OPIE _says_. . .

SARAH. George, hold your tongue.

MRS. OPIE. [_With much hauteur._] I am in the way.

_At this moment_ DIMMUCK, _an old but unbenevolent-looking butler, comes to the top of the steps_.

DIMMUCK. The master wants Mrs. Opie.

MRS. OPIE. Thank you.

GEORGE. Your triumph!

MRS. OPIE _is departing radiant_.

DIMMUCK. How was I to know you was in the garden?

MRS. OPIE. I am sorry to have put you to the trouble of a search, Mr. Dimmuck.

DIMMUCK. He's in his room.

_And he follows her towards the house._

GEORGE. Carp fought with him at twelve o'clock.

_The other two cannot speak from amazement._

SARAH. No!

GEORGE. Why, they didn't tell me and I didn't ask. Carp was laughing. Tatton chuckled . . . afterwards.

SARAH. What had he to do?

GEORGE. Carp's second.

SARAH. Unaccountable children!

GEORGE. Feather parade . . . throw in . . . parry quarte: over the arm . . . put by: feint . . . flanconade and through his arm . . . damned easy. The father didn't wince or say a word. I bound it up . . . the sight of blood makes me sick.

_After a moment_, SARAH _turns to_ ANN.

SARAH. Yes, and you've been a silly child.

GEORGE. Ah, give me a woman's guess and the most unlikely reason to account for anything!

ANN. I hate that man. I'm glad Papa's not hurt. What about a surgeon?

GEORGE. No, you shall kiss the place well, and there'll be poetic justice done.

SARAH. How did you all part?

GEORGE. With bows and without a word.

SARAH. Coming home with him?

GEORGE. Not a word.

SARAH. Papa's very clever; but I'm puzzled.

GEORGE. Something will happen next, no doubt.

ANN. Isn't this done with?

SARAH. So it seems.

ANN. I should like to be told just what the game has been.

GEORGE. Bravo, Ann.

ANN. Tell me the rules . . . for next time.

SARAH. It would have been most advantageous for us to have formed an alliance with Lord John Carp, who stood here for his father and his father's party . . . now in opposition.

GEORGE. Look upon yourself--not too seriously--Ann, as the instrument of political destiny.

ANN. I'm afraid I take in fresh ideas very slowly. Why has Papa given up the Stamp Office?

SARAH. His colleagues wouldn't support him.

ANN. Why was that?

SARAH. They disapproved of what he did.

ANN. Did he do right . . . giving it up?

SARAH. Yes.

GEORGE. We hope so. Time will tell. An irreverent quipster once named him Carnaby Leech.

SARAH. I know.

GEORGE. I wonder if his true enemies think him wise to have dropped off the Stamp Office?

ANN. Has he quarrelled with Sir Charles?

SARAH. Politically.

ANN. Isn't that awkward for you?

SARAH. Not a bit.

GEORGE. Hear a statement that includes our lives. Markswayde goes at his death . . . see reversionary mortgage. The income's an annuity now. The cash in the house will be ours. The debts are paid . . . at last.

ANN. And there remains me.

GEORGE. Bad grammar. Meanwhile our father is a tongue, which is worth buying; but I don't think he ought to go over to the enemy . . . for the second time.

SARAH. One party is as good as another; each works for the same end, I should hope.

GEORGE. I won't argue about it.

ANN. I suppose that a woman's profession is marriage.

GEORGE. My lord has departed.

ANN. There'll be others to come. I'm not afraid of being married.

SARAH. What did Papa want Mrs. Opie for?

ANN. There'll be a great many things I shall want to know about men now.

GEORGE. Wisdom cometh with sorrow . . . oh, my sister.

SARAH. I believe you two are both about as selfish as you can be.

GEORGE. I am an egotist . . . with attachments.

ANN. Make use of me.

GEORGE. Ann, you marry--when you marry--to please yourself.

ANN. There's much in life that I don't like, Sally.

SARAH. There's much more that you will.

GEORGE. I think we three have never talked together before.

ABUD, _who has been in sight on the terrace for a few moments, now comes down the steps_.

ABUD. May I make so bold, sir, as to ask how is Mrs. George Leete?

GEORGE. She was well when I last heard.

ABUD. Thank you, sir.

_And he returns to his work._

ANN. I wonder will it be a boy or a girl.

GEORGE. Poor weak woman.

SARAH. Be grateful to her.

ANN. A baby is a wonderful thing.

SARAH. Babyhood in the abstract . . . beautiful.

ANN. Even kittens . . .

_She stops, and then in rather childish embarrassment, moves away from them._

SARAH. Don't shudder, George.

GEORGE. I have no wish to be a father. Why?

SARAH. It's a vulgar responsibility.

GEORGE. My wayside flower!

SARAH. Why pick it?

GEORGE. Sarah, I love my wife.

SARAH. That's easily said.

GEORGE. She should be here.

SARAH. George, you married to please yourself.

GEORGE. By custom her rank is my own.

SARAH. Does she still drop her aitches?

GEORGE. Dolly . . .

SARAH. Pretty name.

GEORGE. Dolly aspires to be one of us.

SARAH. Child-bearing makes these women blowzy.

GEORGE. Oh heaven!

ANN. [_Calling to_ ABUD _on the terrace_.] Finish to-day, Abud. If it rains . . .

_She stops, seeing_ MR. TETGEEN _standing at the top of the steps leading from the house. This is an intensely respectable, selfcontained-looking lawyer, but a man of the world too._

MR. TETGEEN. Lady Cottesham.

SARAH. Sir?

MR. TETGEEN. My name is Tetgeen.

SARAH. Mr. Tetgeen. How do you do?

MR. TETGEEN. The household appeared to be in some confusion and I took the liberty to be my own messenger. I am anxious to speak with you.

SARAH. Ann, dear, ask if Papa will see you now.

DIMMUCK _appears_.

DIMMUCK. The master wants you, Miss Ann.

SARAH. Ask papa if he'll see me soon.

ANN _goes towards the house_.

SARAH. Dimmuck, Mr. Tetgeen has been left to find his own way here.

DIMMUCK. I couldn't help it, my lady.

_And he follows_ ANN.

SARAH. Our father is confined to his room.

GEORGE. By your leave.

_Then_ GEORGE _takes himself off up the steps, and out of sight. The old lawyer bows to_ LADY COTTESHAM, _who regards him steadily_.

MR. TETGEEN. From Sir Charles . . . a talking machine.

SARAH. Please sit.

_He sits carefully upon the rim of the fountain, she upon the seat opposite._

SARAH. [_Glancing over her shoulder._] Will you talk nonsense until the gardener is out of hearing? He is on his way away. You have had a tiring journey?

MR. TETGEEN. Thank you, no . . . by the night coach to Reading and thence I have walked.

SARAH. The country is pretty, is it not?

MR. TETGEEN. It compares favourably with other parts.

SARAH. Do you travel much, Mr. Tetgeen? He has gone.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Deliberately and sharpening his tone ever so little._] Sir Charles does not wish to petition for a divorce.

SARAH. [_Controlling even her sense of humour._] I have no desire to jump over the moon.

MR. TETGEEN. His scruples are religious. The case would be weak upon some important points, and there has been no public scandal . . . at the worst, very little.

SARAH. My good manners are, I trust, irreproachable, and you may tell Sir Charles that my conscience is my own.

MR. TETGEEN. Your husband's in the matter of . . .

SARAH. Please say the word.

MR. TETGEEN. Pardon me . . . not upon mere suspicion.

SARAH. Now, is it good policy to suspect what is incapable of proof?

MR. TETGEEN. I advise Sir Charles, that, should you come to an open fight, he can afford to lose.

SARAH. And have I no right to suspicions?

MR. TETGEEN. Certainly. Are they of use to you?

SARAH. I have been a tolerant wife, expecting toleration.

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles is anxious to take into consideration any complaints you may have to make against him.

SARAH. I complain if he complains of me.

MR. TETGEEN. For the first time, I think . . . formally.

SARAH. Why not have come to me?

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles is busy.

SARAH. [_Disguising a little spasm of pain._] Shall we get to business?

MR. TETGEEN _now takes a moment to find his phrase_.

MR. TETGEEN. I don't know the man's name.

SARAH. This, surely, is how you might address a seduced housemaid.

MR. TETGEEN. But Sir Charles and he, I understand, have talked the matter over.

_The shock of this brings_ SARAH _to her feet, white with anger_.

SARAH. Divorce me.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Sharply._] Is there ground for it?

SARAH. [_With a magnificent recovery of self control._] I won't tell you that.

MR. TETGEEN. I have said we have no case . . . that is to say, we don't want one; but any information is a weapon in store.

SARAH. You did quite right to insult me.

MR. TETGEEN. As a rule I despise such methods.

SARAH. It's a lie that they met . . . those two men?

MR. TETGEEN. It may be.

SARAH. It must be.

MR. TETGEEN. I have Sir Charles's word.

_Now he takes from his pocket some notes, putting on his spectacles to read them._

SARAH. What's this . . . a written lecture?

MR. TETGEEN. We propose . . . first: that the present complete severance of conjugal relations shall continue. Secondly: that Lady Cottesham shall be at liberty to remove from South Audley Street and Ringham Castle all personal and private effects, excepting those family jewels which have merely been considered her property. Thirdly: Lady Cottesham shall undertake, formally and in writing not to molest--a legal term--Sir Charles Cottesham. [_Her handkerchief has dropped, here he picks it up and restores it to her._] Allow me, my lady.

SARAH. I thank you.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Continuing._] Fourthly: Lady Cottesham shall undertake . . . etc. . . . not to inhabit or frequent the city and towns of London, Brighthelmstone, Bath, The Tunbridge Wells, and York. Fifthly: Sir Charles Cottesham will, in acknowledgement of the maintenance of this agreement, allow Lady C. the sum of two hundred and fifty pounds per annum, which sum he considers sufficient for the upkeep of a small genteel establishment; use of the house known as Pater House, situate some seventeen miles from the Manor of Barton-le-Street, Yorkshire; coals from the mine adjoining; and from the home farm, milk, butter and eggs. [_Then he finds a further note._] Lady Cottesham is not to play cards.

SARAH. I am a little fond of play.

MR. TETGEEN. There is no question of jointure.

SARAH. None. Mr. Tetgeen . . . I love my husband.

MR. TETGEEN. My lady . . . I will mention it.

SARAH. Such a humorous answer to this. No . . . don't. What is important? Bread and butter . . . and eggs. Do I take this?

MR. TETGEEN. [_Handing her the paper._] Please.

SARAH. [_With the ghost of a smile._] I take it badly.

MR. TETGEEN. [_Courteously capping her jest._] I take my leave.

SARAH. This doesn't call for serious notice? I've done nothing legal by accepting it?

MR. TETGEEN. There's no law in the matter; it's one of policy.

SARAH. I might bargain for a bigger income. [MR. TETGEEN _bows_.] On the whole I'd rather be divorced.

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles detests scandal.

SARAH. Besides there's no case . . . is there?

MR. TETGEEN. Sir Charles congratulates himself.

SARAH. Sir Charles had best not bully me so politely . . . tell him.

MR. TETGEEN. My lady!

SARAH. I will not discuss this impertinence. Did those two men meet and talk . . . chat together? What d'you think of that?

MR. TETGEEN. 'Twas very practical. I know that the woman is somehow the outcast.

SARAH. A bad woman . . . an idle woman! But I've tried to do so much that lay to my hands without ever questioning . . . ! Thank you, I don't want this retailed to my husband. You'll take a glass of wine before you go?

MR. TETGEEN. Port is grateful.

_She takes from her dress two sealed letters._

SARAH. Will you give that to Sir Charles . . . a letter he wrote me which I did not open. This, my answer, which I did not send.

_He takes the one letter courteously, the other she puts back._

SARAH. I'm such a coward, Mr. Tetgeen.

MR. TETGEEN. May I say how sorry . . . ?

SARAH. Thank you.

MR. TETGEEN. And let me apologise for having expressed one opinion of my own.

SARAH. He wants to get rid of me. He's a bit afraid of me, you know, because I fight . . . and my weapons are all my own. This'll blow over.

MR. TETGEEN. [_With a shake of the head._] You are to take this offer as final.

SARAH. Beyond this?

MR. TETGEEN. As I hinted, I am prepared to advise legal measures.

SARAH. I could blow it over . . . but I won't perhaps. I must smile at my husband's consideration in suppressing even to you . . . the man's name. Butter and eggs . . . and milk. I should grow fat.

ANN _appears suddenly_.

ANN. We go to Brighton to-morrow! [_And she comes excitedly to her sister._]

SARAH. Was that duel a stroke of genius?

ANN. All sorts of things are to happen.

SARAH. [_Turning from her to_ MR. TETGEEN.] And you'll walk as far as Reading?

MR. TETGEEN. Dear me, yes.

SARAH. [_To_ ANN.] I'll come back.

SARAH _takes_ MR. TETGEEN _towards the house_. ANN _seats herself. After a moment_ LORD JOHN CARP, _his clothes dusty with some riding appears from the other quarter. She looks up to find him gazing at her._

LORD JOHN. Ann, I've ridden back to see you.

ANN. [_After a moment._] We're coming to Brighton tomorrow.

LORD JOHN. Good.

ANN. Papa's not dead.

LORD JOHN. [_With equal cheerfulness._] That's good.

ANN. And he said we should be seeing more of you.

LORD JOHN. Here I am. I love you, Ann. [_He goes on his knees._]

ANN. D'you want to marry me?

LORD JOHN. Yes.

ANN. Thank you very much; it'll be very convenient for us all. Won't you get up?

LORD JOHN. At your feet.

ANN. I like it.

LORD JOHN. Give me your hand.

ANN. No.

LORD JOHN. You're beautiful.

ANN. I don't think so. You don't think so.

LORD JOHN. I do think so.

ANN. I should like to say I don't love you.

LORD JOHN. Last night you kissed me.

ANN. Do get up, please.

LORD JOHN. As you wish.

_Now he sits by her._

ANN. Last night you were nobody in particular . . . to me.

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. Please don't; I can't think clearly.

LORD JOHN. Look at me.

ANN. I'm sure I don't love you because you're making me feel very uncomfortable and that wouldn't be so.

LORD JOHN. Then we'll think.

ANN. Papa . . . perhaps you'd rather not talk about Papa.

LORD JOHN. Give yourself to me.

ANN. [_Drawing away from him._] Four words! There ought to be more in such a sentence . . . it's ridiculous. I want a year to think about its meaning. Don't speak.

LORD JOHN. Papa joins our party.

ANN. That's what we're after . . . thank you.

LORD JOHN. I loathe politics.

ANN. Tell me something against them.

LORD JOHN. In my opinion your father's not a much bigger blackguard--I beg your pardon--than the rest of us.

ANN. . . . Miserable sinners.

LORD JOHN. Your father turns his coat. Well . . . ?

ANN. I see nothing at all in that.

LORD JOHN. What's right and what's wrong?

ANN. Papa's right . . . for the present. When shall we be married?

LORD JOHN. Tomorrow?

ANN. [_Startled._] If you knew that it isn't easy for me to be practical you wouldn't make fun.

LORD JOHN. Why not tomorrow?

ANN. Papa--

LORD JOHN. Papa says yes . . suppose.

ANN. I'm very young . . not to speak of clothes. I must have lots of new dresses.

LORD JOHN. Ask me for them.

ANN. Why do you want to marry me?

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. It suddenly occurs to me that sounds unpleasant.

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. Out of place.

LORD JOHN. I love you.

ANN. What if Papa were to die?

LORD JOHN. I want you.

ANN. I'm nothing . . I'm nobody . . I'm part of my family.

LORD JOHN. I want you.

ANN. Won't you please forget last night?

LORD JOHN. I want you. Look straight at me.

_She looks, and stays fascinated._

LORD JOHN. If I say now that I love you--

ANN. I know it.

LORD JOHN. And love me?

ANN. I suppose so.

LORD JOHN. Make sure.

ANN. But I hate you too . . I know that.

LORD JOHN. Shall I kiss you?

ANN. [_Helplessly._] Yes.

_He kisses her full on the lips._

ANN. I can't hate you enough.

LORD JOHN. [_Triumphantly._] Speak the truth now.

ANN. I feel very degraded.

LORD JOHN. Nonsense.

ANN. [_Wretchedly._] This is one of the things which don't matter.

LORD JOHN. Ain't you to be mine?

ANN. You want the right to behave like that as well as the power.

LORD JOHN. You shall command me.

ANN. [_With a poor laugh._] I rather like this in a way.

LORD JOHN. Little coquette!

ANN. It does tickle my vanity.

_For a moment he sits looking at her, then shakes himself to his feet._

LORD JOHN. Now I must go.

ANN. Yes . . I want to think.

LORD JOHN. For Heaven's sake . . no!

ANN. I came this morning straight to where we were last night.

LORD JOHN. As I hung about the garden my heart was beating.

ANN. I shall like you better when you're not here.

LORD JOHN. We're to meet in Brighton?

ANN. I'm afraid so.

LORD JOHN. Good-bye.

ANN. There's just a silly sort of attraction between certain people, I believe.

LORD JOHN. Can you look me in the eyes and say you don't love me?

ANN. If I looked you in the eyes you'd frighten me again. I can say anything.

LORD JOHN. You're a deep child.

GEORGE LEETE _appears on the terrace_.

GEORGE. My lord!

LORD JOHN. [_Cordially._] My dear Leete.

GEORGE. No . . I am not surprised to see you.

ANN. George, things are happening.

LORD JOHN. Shake hands.

GEORGE. I will not.

ANN. Lord John asks me to be married to him. Shake hands.

GEORGE. Why did you fight?

ANN. Why did you fight?

LORD JOHN. [_Shrugging._] Your father struck me.

ANN. Now you've hurt him . . that's fair.

_Then the two men do shake hands, not heartily._

GEORGE. We've trapped you, my lord.

LORD JOHN. I know what I want. I love your sister.

ANN. I don't like you . . but if you're good and I'm good we shall get on.

GEORGE. Why shouldn't one marry politically?

LORD JOHN. [_In_ ANN'S _ear_.] I love you.

ANN. No . . no . . no . . no . . no . . [_Discovering in this an echo of her father, she stops short._]

GEORGE. We're a cold-blooded family.

LORD JOHN. I don't think so.

GEORGE. I married for love.

LORD JOHN. Who doesn't? But, of course there should be other reasons.

GEORGE. You won't receive my wife.

LORD JOHN. Here's your sister.

LADY COTTESHAM _comes from the direction of the house_.

SARAH. Back again?

LORD JOHN. You see.

_From the other side appears_ MR. TATTON.

MR. TATTON. As you all seem to be here I don't mind interrupting.

GEORGE. [_Hailing him._] Well . . neighbour?

MR. TATTON. Come . . come . . what's a little fighting more or less!

GEORGE. Bravo, English sentiment . . relieves a deal of awkwardness.

_The two shake hands._

SARAH. [_Who by this has reached_ LORD JOHN.] . . And back so soon?

ANN. Lord John asks to marry me.

LORD JOHN. Yes.

MR. TATTON. I guessed so . . give me a bit of romance!

SARAH. [_Suavely._] This is perhaps a little sudden, my dear Lord John. Papa may naturally be a little shocked.

GEORGE. Not at all, Sarah.

MR. TATTON. How's the wound?

GEORGE. Not serious . . nothing's serious.

SARAH. You are very masterful, wooing sword in hand.

ANN. George and I have explained to Lord John that we are all most anxious to marry me to him and he doesn't mind--

LORD JOHN. Being made a fool of. I love--

ANN. I will like you.

GEORGE. Charming cynicism, my dear Sarah.

MR. TATTON. Oh, Lord!

ANN. [_To her affianced._] Good-bye now.

LORD JOHN. When do I see you?

ANN. Papa says soon.

LORD JOHN. Very soon, please. Tatton, my friend, Brighton's no nearer.

MR. TATTON. Lady Cottesham . . Miss Leete . . I kiss your hands.

LORD JOHN. [_Ebulliently clapping_ GEORGE _on the back_.] Look more pleased. [_Then he bends over_ LADY COTTESHAM'S _hand_.] Lady Charlie . . my service to you . . all. Ann. [_And he takes_ ANN'S _hand to kiss_.]

ANN. If I can think better of all this, I shall. Good-bye.

_She turns away from him. He stands for a moment considering her, but follows_ TATTON _away through the orchard_. GEORGE _and_ SARAH _are watching their sister, who then comments on her little affair with life_.

ANN. I'm growing up. [_Then with a sudden tremor._] Sally, don't let me be forced to marry.

GEORGE. Force of circumstances, my dear Ann.

ANN. Outside things. Why couldn't I run away from this garden and over the hills? . . I suppose there's something on the other side of the hills.

SARAH. You'd find yourself there . . and circumstances.

ANN. So I'm trapped as well as that Lord John.

SARAH. What's the injury?