Act 2 — Scene 2

Scene 2: A Corner of the Wilderness

It is early morning, perhaps seven o’clock, in that corner of the Wilderness which we have already seen in MANNOCK’S dream. On the wall sits SALLY, LADY CARCHESTER, a woman in the forties now, but still our SALLY. MANNOCK, seeking the fresh air after a restless night, his dream still strong upon him, comes suddenly upon her.

MANNOCK (with a shout). Sally! Oh, my darling! (And then he realises suddenly) I beg your pardon! (He is staggered at what he has said.) I—I beg your pardon, Lady Carchester. Please forgive me.

SALLY (smiling sadly). It’s all right.

MANNOCK. I’m really⁠——What can you think? My only excuse—but I’m ashamed to give it.

SALLY. Please tell me.

MANNOCK (with a laugh). It’s absurd. (Then he tells her) I dreamt last night—the most vivid, absurd—(softly) the most wonderful dream. You and I—here; first as children, then—afterwards. Sometimes I seemed to be looking on at myself; in some funny way there were two of me. Sometimes you were a child, sometimes you were grown up. But always it was you and I. Other people came in; everybody; you know how; but always you and I. Here. Just where you are sitting now—just where, just how, you always used to sit.... And then I woke up and came out here—it was early, nobody else could be up—and there you were. Just as you always used to sit.

SALLY (leaning back on her hands and nodding). I understand.

MANNOCK. Don’t! Don’t!

SALLY. What?

MANNOCK (in distress). It’s the Sally I used to know! Everything. The way she sits, the way she talks, the way she moves. Oh, Sally, don’t! (He recovers himself with an effort) I beg your pardon.

SALLY (smiling faintly). It’s all right.

MANNOCK (trying not to look at her). I’ve never had such a real dream. It almost seems as if you must have been dreaming it too. (With an awkward laugh) Were you?

SALLY. I have those dreams. (Poor dear, it’s all she has.)

MANNOCK. I suppose it was being in that room again. (With a laugh) There are ghosts in that room, Lady Carchester.

SALLY. There are ghosts in every room—in every corner of the gardens⁠——

MANNOCK. And here.

SALLY. And here....

MANNOCK. It must be—how many years since we met?

SALLY. I don’t know.... Did your speeches go off well?

MANNOCK. I think so. Yes. I don’t know.

SALLY. I expect they did ... I’m sorry I wasn’t up when you came. I went to bed early.

MANNOCK. We were late. Nearly midnight. I dined at the hotel, in between the speeches.

SALLY. I thought you would ... I thought you wouldn’t mind if I was not up when you came.

MANNOCK. But you were. (She turns to him) In every room—in every corner of the house.... I tapped on the wall—G.D. (Gently to himself) Good-bye, dear. That’s “God be with you, dear.”

SALLY (softly). I heard it.

(And suddenly, the unearthly sweetness of his dream still with him, MANNOCK forgets that he is married, father of a family, an important and successful man; forgets that this is Lady Carchester. They are boy and girl still, just as in the dream. Is it too late?)

MANNOCK. Sally, Sally, I love you! Oh, my beautiful, I’ve always loved you. It’s too late now—I’ve thrown your love away—but I love you, I love you. Oh, just to say it again—I love you.

SALLY (whispering to herself). Oh, just to hear you say it again—“I love you.”

MANNOCK. I’ve thrown them away—all the lovely things of life, all the precious things. I’ve thrown them away—for nothing. Oh, if you could forgive me—it’s too late now, but if you could forgive me! I’ve hurt you, but I’ve hurt myself more, for it was always you. How can you forgive me? I tore myself out of your heart—you said that would hurt you, Sally—but if you could forgive!

SALLY. I forgive, dearest.

MANNOCK. Success! It closes in on you. That’s what Teddy said. I tried to get free—I did try, Sally—but I couldn’t. It had got me. It closes in on you.

SALLY. I understand, dearest.

MANNOCK. Oh, but just to say, “I love you, Sally,” again!

SALLY. Oh, just to hear you say it, dearest.

MANNOCK (timidly). I suppose you couldn’t say, “I love you, Dick.” Oh no, how can I ask it?

SALLY. “If you stop hurting me, I have stopped loving you”—do you remember?

MANNOCK (remorsefully). Sally!

SALLY (her hand to her heart). It has never stopped hurting.... I had to make something of my life. To sit alone with Pain—(she shakes her head) I had to make something of it. But it has never stopped hurting.

MANNOCK. Oh, my dear! Forgive me.

SALLY. It is early. We are alone with the world. This is part of the dream—you and I. And so—I love you, Dick.

MANNOCK (humbly). Thank you, Sally.

SALLY (giving him her hand). It is part of the dream. (They are hand in hand—silent.)

MANNOCK (quietly). Need it be a dream? There is so much in the world that nobody knows anything about—is it too late to find it together?

SALLY (trembling). It is only part of the dream, dearest.

MANNOCK (earnestly). Need it be? Here we are, you and I—need it be a dream?

SALLY (how she loves him). Your career.

MANNOCK (bitterly). My career! My successful career! (He tears it away) Let me get away from it! Help me to get away from it! It is not too late. Come with me, my beautiful.

SALLY (her last defence). It means giving up everything.

MANNOCK (triumphantly). It means finding everything....

SALLY (quietly). I have always loved you. From the first—from the very first. It was always you. It is you now. If you want me—if you think it is not too late—if it would be better for you—(she breaks off, and then begins again) I don’t know if it’s wrong. I don’t know much about Right and Wrong. But I think, perhaps, that there are some wrongs which are better and braver than Right, and some rights which are worse and more destroying than Wrong.... It is only of you I am thinking. If it would be better for you—(she breaks off again, and then nods gently to herself) I will come with you, dearest.

MANNOCK. Sally, my lovely one! (He holds out his hands to her; she takes them) But you want to come? You do love me still—after all I’ve done to you? Say “I love you, Dick.”

SALLY (from her broken heart). God knows how I love you, Dick.

MANNOCK. Oh, my dear, my dear! (He kisses her hands reverently, and is silent for a little. Then, thinking it out slowly, now for the first time seeing the thing as it is, he says) Now then, you must give me a week, a week to get out of it all, a week to get clear. Sally, you do see, don’t you? I can’t only think of myself—now. Not now. That was the old way—only myself—my success—my career—but now! I must get out of it all first. I must have a week—to get clear.

SALLY (perhaps she guesses). You must have a week—to be certain.

MANNOCK (confidently). Oh, I’m certain enough. (He laughs happily.)

SALLY. Yet I want you to have a week. Not seeing me, not writing to me. I can do nothing for you now, dear. It is for you.... Here am I. If, at the end of a week, you want me, tell me where you want me, and I will come.

MANNOCK. There is a place I’ve seen, a little sleepy village between hills; you will feel at rest there. Nobody comes, nobody will know us. When we are there together, then I will try to thank you.

SALLY (seeing it then, if never afterwards). I will wait for you to say “Come!”

MANNOCK (nodding). A week. Only a week. (He makes a movement as if to go; she too). No, don’t move! Let me have this picture of you for our last week away from each other.... Hands behind you in that way you always had. There! Sally the child, Sally the girl, Sally the woman—and always my belovéd. (Clasping his hands to her) Oh, my lovely!

(He is gone; she waits there. So it was twenty-five years ago. So it is now.)