ACT I.

Scene.—The Vicarage Garden, according to plan.

Time.—Early morning.

(After the curtain rises Thorsby enters at gate L. I. E., looks at French window, crosses and looks at kitchen window, goes over cautiously to the tree R.; he mounts on the seat and extracts a letter from the cavity in the tree, replacing it with one of his own; he then stands leaning against the tree, while he opens, kisses, and begins to read the letter; while he is doing this, Gandy comes out of the house with toast in rack and jam on dish on salver; he catches sight of Thorsby; crosses to top of table L.)

Gan. Good morning, Mr. Thorsby!

Thor. (startled, squashes letter into his pocket) Eh! Oh, good morning! I was—I—wanted to see Mr. Pillenger.

Gan. Mr. Pillenger ain't much in the 'abit of climbin' trees before breakfast. (puts jam on table)

Thor. No, of course not. (he jumps down) I thought I saw a bird's nest, (looks) I was mistaken; but feeling (Boy heard whistling the A.M.B.) rather warm after my walk, I fancied it would be cooler under the branches. My object, in fact, was——

Gan. Shady! (crosses down L. of table)

Thor. What?

Gan. I was sayin' it's shady under the h'oak. (puts toast on table)

Thor. Exactly.

(Newsboy enters at gate, crosses to C. and calls towards kitchen window.)

Boy. Papiers!

Gan. Late again! (crosses in front of table)

Boy. No, I ain't. (turns and faces Gandy)

Gan. Yes, you h'are. (looks at silver watch) Four minutes and a half late. (Thorsby sits R. and reads letter) Your prospects of a Christmas-box are darkenin' week by week.

Boy. Well, but I say, Gandy! (crosses down C.)

Gan. Mr. Gandy! A leetle more respect might assist your grandmother's next h'application to the coal and blanket fund. Now, is this to-day's "Standard?"

Boy. Yus! (giving it)

Gan. Very good. And the other papers?

Boy. "Sportin' Life!" (gives it)

Thor. "Sporting Life!" (Boy sees jam, and works round to top of table) That's rather an innovation, isn't it?

Gan. (crosses to Thorsby C.) It's for Captain Dorvaston. We deplore it, but we're 'elpless. (places papers on table R. C., startles Boy and comes towards him. Boy backs towards gate. To Boy) Go along with you, and, mind me, if there's any more tip-cat down our road, I call at the police station.

Boy. All right. Keep your 'air on. (goes off, singing the chorus of A.M.B.)

(Lucy comes out of house with bowl of flowers.)

Lucy. Good morning, Mr. Thorsby! (C.)

Thor. Good morning! (rises)

Lucy. You're an early visitor. (puts bowl on table)

Thor. Yes, I—I was——

Gan. (has crossed and turns at porch) Bird's nestin'! (he goes in through porch)

Lucy. (they both watch him off, Lucy goes up a little and down again) What does he mean?

Thor. He caught me standing up on that seat. I had just found your letter, (she hushes him) and I had to give some explanation.

Lucy. And couldn't you rise to anything better than that? My dear Harry, what an idiot you are.

Thor. You see, I greatly dislike any deviation from the truth.

Lucy. Truth is a luxury very few of us can afford. When you and I are married——

Thor. (advancing) Darling! (rushes to embrace her, she waves him off)

Lucy. Stay where you are! All the back windows have eyes to them. Muslin curtains don't count. When we are married—— (crosses L.)

Thor. In fact, after to-morrow——

Lucy. Oh, Harry, do shut up a minute. You object to shams, how is a properly organised household to be carried on without 'em? (sits R. of breakfast table) Suppose I'm up to my neck in something important—putting finishing touches to a new ball-dress, we'll say—and some female horror calls—mustn't I be out because I happen to be at home? Deviation from the truth! My dear boy, I should deviate for all I was worth. So you got my letter?

Thor. Yes.

Lucy. And your answer?

Thor. I posted it in our usual letter box. (going to tree)

Lucy. All right, I'll get it directly. Does it give full directions?

Thor. I think so. (comes C.)

Lucy. Got the special license?

Thor. Yes. (makes to embrace her, she puts him off and points to windows)

Lucy. You've arranged with old Bristowe?

Thor. Yes.

Lucy. And we bike over to Ingledene Church—what time? Early of course?

Thor. I said nine.

Lucy. Very well. (rises) Now you'd better go. (he objects) They'll be coming out to breakfast.

Thor. (again advancing) Darling!

Lucy. (motions him off again) Back windows! (crosses up C. to house to see if they have been seen)

Thor. (turning towards her) I was going to say that I can't help regretting the way we are treating Captain Dorvaston.

Lucy. You mind your own business. (she crosses down R. and leans on rustic table) Captain Dorvaston is in my department.

Thor. I never fully understood how you came to be engaged. (crosses to her)

Lucy. Simple enough. My father was a colonel who did some rather big things on the Indian frontier, and in a dust up with one of the native Princes got himself into rather a tight corner. Jack Dorvaston—he was only a subaltern then—pulled him out of it, and in fact saved his life; so when the governor died a year or two later, he left a strong wish behind that the Captain should marry me.

Thor. I understand.

Lucy. (crosses round and sits on tree seat R.) It was a queer way of showing his gratitude, seeing that I was then a particularly unattractive child, all elbows and knees.

Thor. Lucy!

Lucy. It's all right, don't be nervous; time has softened them down. (beckons him nearer) I have a notion that Jack has always funked the thing, but his colonel had given his orders, (he sits on table) don't you see? And that was enough for him. I don't regard discipline—military or parental—with the same amount of respect. British freedom means the right to make a fool of one's self in one's own way. You're my way, and that's enough for you. (he tries to take her hand, she draws it away) Back windows!

Thor. I suppose no one guesses that we——?

Lucy. Mean business! No, with the exception possibly of Cook.

Thor. Cook! (he looks at her in surprise)

Lucy. Somehow I've a notion she's tumbled to it.

Thor. Would it matter? Would she——?

Lucy. Prattle about it? No, I think she rather likes me—tolerates would be a better word.

Thor. Tolerates? A woman of that class?

Lucy. Cook is a very great personage; she rules the vicarage. Auntie made a show of resistance at first, but Uncle and Jack have been abject slaves from the start.

Thor. Really?

Lucy. Oh yes; when a woman is striking in appearance, evidently has a past history, and can make an omelette, I don't see what's going to stop her.

Thor. What's her history?

Lucy. How should I know? She was recommended to us by the Duchess of Sturton at the time she opened the bazaar—you remember. Local philanthropic?

Thor. Then you've nothing tangible to go on?

Lucy. Not from a masculine standpoint. (rises) Cook doesn't give herself away, but, like Achilles, she has one vulnerable point, and in the same locality.

Thor. How is that? (rising with Lucy)

Lucy. She wears the neatest, quietest shoes imaginable, only I happened to notice they have Louis heels. (he looks in wonder) That tells you nothing—the inference is too subtle; but it's quite enough for me. (Gandy appears with butter on tray, he comes right of table) Make a dignified clerical exit—here comes Gandy.

Thor. (takes hat and backs to C.) I think I won't wait, Miss Lucy. (Gandy coughs, Thorsby turns nervously, and looks at him) So will you kindly give my message to Mr. Pillenger?

Lucy. Certainly!

Thor. Thank you. (crosses to gate L.) Good morning!

Lucy. Good morning. (he looks towards Lucy—catches Gandy's eye and exits through gate. Lucy is applauding his exit when Gandy turns and hides her action. Lucy sits on garden chair and opens the "Standard") Gandy! what is there for breakfast? (Gandy has crossed to top of table and placed butter on it)

Gan. H'eggs!

Lucy. Poached?

Gan. Biled.

Lucy. Auntie said poached.

Gan. Cook said biled.

Lucy. Oh! There's some fish, isn't there?

Gan. Kidneys.

Lucy. But Auntie particularly mentioned fish.

Gan. Cook thought kidneys would be preferable.

Lucy. Oh! (she reads paper)

(Mr. Pillenger comes out C. looking at his watch.)

Pil. Ah, Lucy! breakfast not ready? (Lucy rises and crosses to C.)

Lucy. Breakfast is late—as usual.

Pil. As usual? What do you mean by as usual?

Lucy. I mean—as usual. (returns to seat)

Pil. Cook is most punctual. If some trivial hitch has occurred this morning, I daresay a perfectly reasonable explanation will be forthcoming. (takes "Sporting Life" off table)

Gan. Kidneys was late! (at table)

Pil. Kidneys was late! (to Lucy)—er—were late. I knew it! That man Skeggs' meat—which I more than suspect of being colonial—is never delivered in time. (to Gandy) Explain to Cook that the delay is of no consequence, and beg her not to hurry.

Gan. (speaking as he goes) She won't hurry! (he goes into the house; Pil. and Lucy look at each other; Pil. then opens paper and sees his mistake.)

Pil. (takes "Standard" from Lucy) If I shall not be depriving you of the "Standard"——?

Lucy. Not at all! (she picks up "Sporting Life") I'll have a look at Jack's "Sporting Life."

Pil. (crossing to table, turn to her) By the way, during the—I trust—brief interval of time that must elapse before your marriage with Captain Dorvaston, you might hint to him that the newspaper he favours is at variance with the general tone of a pious household.

Lucy. I'll mention it.

Pil. I am obliged to you. (crosses and sits L.)

(Miss Pillenger comes out through French window.)

Miss P. Good morning, Audley!

Pil. Good morning. (Lucy rises, crosses and kisses Miss Pillenger and returns R.)

Miss P. Well, Lucy!

Lucy. Good morning, Auntie.

Miss P. Is breakfast not ready? (looking at table through glasses)

Pil. No, it isn't ready—not quite ready. I have no doubt it's nearly ready.

Miss P. I shall really have to speak sharply to Cook. (moves towards kitchen)

Pil. I see no necessity for any—er—drastic step of that description. The delay is due to that man Skeggs.

Miss P. Skeggs? (returns to C.)

Pil. Skeggs. It is also traceable, in a minor degree to yourself—your injudicious selection of kidneys.

Miss P. Kidneys?

Pil. Yes; you are aware of my preference for fish, and therefore I consider the substitution of kidneys——

Miss P. I ordered fish—and I did not order kidneys. Cook is entirely responsible for the change, and I shall certainly—— (moves towards kitchen again)

Pil. Hannah! Hannah! If Cook understood your order, which is by no means obvious (Miss Pillenger crosses round and sits L.), she was doubtless influenced by—er—by Lucy's partiality for kidneys.

Lucy. I never touch them.

Pil. Well, she couldn't know that. Really I think this discussion has been sufficiently prolonged.

(Gandy comes out with breakfast. He places large salver with tea in tea-pot, dish of kidneys, and eggs in stand on chair at top R. of table. Mr. Pillenger hands him the "Standard," which he puts on back of chair. He then places eggs and dish of kidneys on table, takes tea-pot and tray up, and crosses to L. to place it in position; he then removes cover of kidney dish, and slowly exits through porch.)

Pil. Here is the breakfast. Let us endeavor to approach it in a seemly spirit. Where is Captain Dorvaston? (Lucy crosses to L.) Upon my word, Lucy, considering the ties that will unite you, I hope very shortly, to Captain Dorvaston, I think he might conform to my rules.

Lucy. Jack was late last night. (sits and takes napkin out of ring)

Pil. He was. Creaking boots after midnight are a serious infliction.

Lucy. I'll call up to him if you like.

Pil. I should be indebted. (Lucy rises and goes up C. Mr. Pillenger takes napkin out of ring and puts it inside his collar)

Lucy. (goes up stage) Jack! Jack! (Captain Dorvaston opens window, he is in his shirt sleeves)

Dor. Hulloa!

Lucy. Breakfast!

Dor. What say, little woman?

Lucy. Breakfast! Kidneys! Devilled! (Mr. Pillenger, Miss Pillenger and Gandy all start)

Pil. Tut! tut! Broiled—broiled!

Dor. Right-O! down in a minute! (he shuts the window. Lucy returns to the table)

Miss P. What are your plans for to-day, Audley? (Miss Pillenger has undone napkin and is pouring out tea)

Pil. I expect to be rather busy.

Lucy. It's sermon day, isn't it? (hands toast to Mr. Pillenger, and takes an egg and toast herself)

Pil. It is. So I trust your piano practice will be reduced to a minimum.

Lucy. I'm going down to the village. I suppose you'll have broken the back of it by lunch time.

Pil. Possibly—probably!

(Dorvaston comes out from French window; takes Lucy's hand between both his caressingly.)

Dor. 'Fraid I'm a bit late. How are you, sir? (bowing to Mr. Pillenger and Miss Pillenger)

Pil. In my ordinary health, I am obliged to you.

Dor. You look astonishing fit. (sits) Now d'you know, I feel as jumpy as a flea.

Miss P. Captain Dorvaston!

Dor. Fact, ma'am! (takes his napkin out of ring) How are you this morning?

Miss P. Without being actually indisposed, I feel—— (hands tea to Lucy)

Dor. Chippy—I know; same here. Where are those kidneys you were shouting about, Lucy? (Mr. Pillenger hands them) Thanks! (Mr. Pillenger passes kidneys to Dorvaston, which he serves himself)

Lucy. You kept it up again last night, Jack?

Dor. I had a gentle flutter at the Plough and Rainbow. There was a little pool, so of course I went in.

Miss P. I hope you changed your things, (Dorvaston and Lucy laugh) Captain Dorvaston. Damp clothing is so very dangerous.

Lucy. Pool is a kind of billiards, Auntie.

Miss P. Oh, I misunderstood! Your tea, Captain Dorvaston. (she hands tea to Dorvaston)

Dor. Thank you, ma'am. (Pillenger hands salt, etc.)

Lucy. How did you do over it? (hands toast to Dorvaston)

Dor. So so. I took a few lives at the finish.

Miss P. Dear me! It sounds rather a bloodthirsty pastime.

Dor. There was a man there named Crayll—nailing good player! Potted 'em just as he liked. He seemed to be a thirsty little beggar. I should say he took a bit of knowing.

Lucy. Who's that, Jack?

Dor. This fellah Crayll. He's stopping at the Plough and Thingummy—we're going to try a horse together.

Lucy. To-day?

Dor. Yes. Said he'd call round some time this morning. (pause)

Pil. Hannah, we must dine earlier this evening, in view of the Penny Reading.

Dor. Another of those festive gatherings! Hope you don't expect me to tip 'em anything this time?

Pil. No, Captain Dorvaston; your contribution on the last occasion may have been well intentioned—I judge no man, and will hope so——

Dor. Thought it was just the thing to wake 'em up after that Shakespearian bit of yours—The Ball of Worsted.

Pil. The Fall of Wolsey!

Miss P. I was not present last time. What did Captain Dorvaston read?

Dor. It was an account of the last American glove fight, don't you know?

Miss P. Oh!

Pil. Described with a wealth of technical detail. (hands his cup to Miss Pillenger) The whole occurrence was most regrettable. I was observing, Hannah, we shall have to dine earlier——

Miss P. I had some idea of making it a cold meal.

Pil. Cold meal! A most unpleasant suggestion. Cold food, especially in the evening, has a tendency to lie heavy on the stom—er—that is, I see nothing feasible in the notion.

Dor. Oh no, hang it all, ma'am! Cold stuff ain't the kind of thing to do a Penny Reading on.

Miss P. I thought under the circumstances it might be easier for Cook.

Pil. Eh?

Dor. What? (long pause, the men look at her)

Miss P. But as you both object——

Dor. Hold on, ma'am!

Pil. One moment, Hannah!

Miss P. I will explain to Cook.

Pil. Hannah! Hannah! You're so hasty.

Dor. Hannah—ma'am—pity to be hasty.

Pil. If you will permit me to explain myself, Captain Dorvaston? I have no wish, Hannah, to add weight to Cook's very arduous duties.

Dor. Hear, hear! (slaps the table)

Pil. (raising his voice) And therefore it seems to me—er—unmanly to lay stress upon possible digestive difficulties which fortitude and a little pepsin should enable us to face with calmness. Let the meal be a cold one. (Lucy has folded up napkin again, and taken "Standard" from back of chair, and is reading it)

Dor. Point of fact, it makes a pleasant change.

Miss P. But, Audley!

Pil. The question is decided. We will not pursue the subject. (pause)

Dor. (to Lucy) Anything in the paper?

Lucy. There's something about the Huntworth Divorce case.

Pil. We have no wish to hear any news relating to such a matter.

Dor. But it's an old business, ain't it? When I was at Malta last year, the chaps used to chat about it at mess.

Lucy. Lord Huntworth brought the divorce, didn't he?

Pil. Yes, Lord Huntworth was the petitioner. It was a sad case.

Dor. I know Bob Carruthers.

Lucy. Who's he? (rises and crosses up to Dorvaston—still reading the paper)

Dor. The co——

Pil. Tut! tut!

Dor. Bob was an extraordinary good chap!

Pil. How can any individual be described as good who has occupied the position of—er—a co-respondent?

Dor. Bob managed it.

Pil. You seem to ignore poor Lord Huntworth.

Dor. Didn't know Huntworth—did know Bob. He once lent me a monkey when I wanted it badly—lent it when he wanted it badly. Devilish good chap!

Pil. Tut! tut!

Dor. Beg pardon, sir—slipped out.

Lucy. Did you know Lady Huntworth, Jack? (crosses to R. and sits under tree)

Dor. No. Heard she was a nice woman.

Pil. Nice?

Dor. So fellahs who met her used to say.

Miss P. But I always understood the suit was undefended.

Pil. Entirely undefended.

Dor. Matrimonial thimblerig is a confusing game to watch.

Pil. Thimblerig?

Dor. Three thimbles, don't you know? Husband—wife—and the other chap. (Mr. Pillenger looks up) Well, what I meant to say was, it ain't easy for the looker-on to say which thimble the fault is under. By-the-bye, I saw something in the paper about Lady Huntworth the other day.

Pil. Surely the whole affair is uninteresting and unsavory?

Dor. Noosance to forget a thing! What was the bit you were reading, Lucy?

Lucy. That yesterday the rule was made absolute. What does that mean?

Dor. Only that the time was up. They keep 'em in blinkers for six months after the verdict. (Dorvaston draws napkin through the ring) But that wasn't what I read? What the devil was it now?

Pil. Tut! Really! Really! I think we've all finished, haven't we? (Gandy appears with letters, three of which Mr. Pillenger takes, and two Miss Pillenger) Hannah, you will probably wish to interview Cook. (Dorvaston rises, takes chair R., sits and begins to load his pipe)

Miss P. I will see her in your presence. (Gandy has come back to top of table) Gandy, will you ask Cook to come to me? I wish to give her my orders.

Gan. H'orders? (Dorvaston fills pipe and lights it)

Miss P. Orders.

Gan. I'll name it to her. (slowly exits through porch)

Pil. (opening letter, which he holds during the whole scene with Cook) Hannah, I would suggest that whatever you have to say to Cook may be said calmly and without undue severity.

Miss P. (opening letters which she holds during the whole scene with Cook) That should be left to my discretion; a stand must be made somewhere.

(Caroline has come out of kitchen during this; she advances to the table.)

Car. You wished to speak to me? (the men turn and face her)

Miss P. Yes, Cook. I want to give you the orders for to-day's dinner.

Car. Certainly! What do you fancy? What would you all like? (she glances round, both men beam at her)

Miss P. Before we speak of that I have a word to say with regard to the breakfast.

Car. To-morrow's breakfast?

Miss P. No, to-day's. I am very much astonished and annoyed.

Pil. Tut, tut!

Car. What was wrong with the breakfast? When I sent it out it looked all right.

Miss P. Why were my directions disregarded? I ordered the eggs to be poached—you boiled them; I mentioned fried bacon—none came to table; I requested you to procure fish—you gave us kidneys. Now what have you to say?

Car. I'm afraid I forgot about the eggs? I haven't any other excuse to offer.

Pil. A most reasonable explanation!

Dor. Things do slip one's memory. (Miss Pillenger glares at Dorvaston)

Car. I didn't cook any bacon; it had got rather low, and I didn't think the result would please you.

Pil. Impossible to cut rashers from bacon that is—er—practically non-existent.

Dor. Thing no fellah could do! (Miss Pillenger glares at him)

Car. I remember you did mention fish, but you've had a good deal of fish lately, so I thought I'd try you with kidneys. But if there has been any inconvenience, I'm sorry.

Pil. There has been no inconvenience.

Dor. None at all. (Miss Pillenger glares at Dorvaston)

Pil. Hannah, I think we may pass (as they say in the House of Commons) to the orders of the day.

Dor. Hear, hear! (Pillenger looks at him)

Miss P. Well, Cook, since you express your regret (Dorvaston and Lucy laugh) I will say no more. Now as to this evening, you will be in sole charge of the house, (both men look up) as I have given Keziah permission to go to the Penny Reading—so I think we will make it a cold meal, as that will entail less washing up.

Car. Just as you like.

Miss P. We will begin with salmon.

Car. (reflectively) Salmon? Yes, you might have salmon.

Miss P. Pickled salmon.

Car. Oh, no, not pickled! (both men shake their heads) That would be a pity! I'll make you a mayonnaise.

Pil. Delightful!

Dor. Rippin'!

Car. I shall want some lettuces. I'll tell Gandy.

Miss P. After that we will have two cold ducklings.

Car. Ducklings? It's late for ducklings.

Pil. Maturity in poultry is to be deprecated.

Dor. Leathery beasts at this time of the year. (Miss Pillenger glares at Dorvaston)

Miss P. Then why not a gosling?

Car. It's early for geese.

Dor. Deuced early!

Pil. Entirely premature.

Miss P. When I mentioned a goose I was thinking of Mr. Pillenger. (Dorvaston and Lucy laugh)

Pil. Tut, tut! Hannah!

Dor. Hope, ma'am, when you mentioned a duck, you were thinking of me.

Miss P. I fail to understand you. My brother is exceedingly partial to goose.

Car. There's a ham in cut, so I think we'd better fall back on fowls. It isn't easy to do anything very novel with cold fowls, but if I stuff and glaze them, I've no doubt they'll pass muster.

Miss P. But, Cook, I——

Car. You like sweets, of course?

Miss P. Certainly, you had better make us——

Car. Will you leave the sweets to me? I want to try a new kind of fruit salad; it's my first attempt, but you'll find it will be all right—and perhaps I might throw in a shape of jelly—we'll see.

Miss P. But——

Car. What time will you dine?—at least it isn't dinner—what time will you sup?

Miss P. At seven to-night, instead of half-past.

Car. Seven! I shall be ready. Is there anything else you wish to say to me?

Miss P. No, Cook; I don't suppose anything will be gained by my saying any more. (turns away and reads letters)

Car. Very good! (takes kidney dish off table, Mr. Pillenger assisting her; she crosses C.)

Dor. (speaking eagerly) Ah! here's that bit about Lady Huntworth. (Caroline looks round at him in a startled manner) It's in the Agony column. (reads) "Will Lady Huntworth communicate with Messrs. Brampton and Stokes, Capel Court, on a matter of considerable importance?"

Pil. Why should we resume the discussion of that disgraceful woman? (Caroline turns and looks at him)

Miss P. Why, indeed? (Caroline looks at her)

Dor. (to Lucy) When we were talking just now, couldn't remember where I'd read that. Hate to forget a thing.

Miss P. Cook! (Caroline stands thinking quietly) Cook!

Car. I—beg your pardon!

Miss P. We needn't keep you, if you quite understand about the supper.

Car. Oh, quite, thanks! (exit into kitchen; Dorvaston rises, looks after her U. B.)

Miss P. Don't you think that woman has a very singular manner?

Pil. Singular! No, she is certainly superior—very superior.

Miss P. (rises, crosses C.) She is so superior that she seems above taking my orders.

(Gandy comes out during this and continues clearing away. He places Mr. Pillenger's chair up B. C. and Miss Pillenger's chair up L. above gate. Folds cloth over tray, and takes it into the kitchen. Then comes back, folds up table and takes it away into house before cue, "This is July.")

Dor. I wouldn't say that, (crosses to C.), ma'am; she met you half way over the salmon. (returns to window. Miss Pillenger goes up with dignity and enters house through French window)

Pil. (rises, crosses C.) Thorsby is late. I expected him to call.

Lucy. He came early this morning, but he wouldn't wait.

Pil. Tut, tut! He knows I wished to see him. I have two christenings at one-thirty, and an interment at three. However, Lucy and—er—Captain Dorvaston (crosses and brings Dorvaston down) as you are together for once—I will avail myself of the opportunity to say a few serious words to you both. (Dorvaston and Lucy look at each other nervously)

Dor. Peg away, sir! (Lucy stands near table R. Dorvaston stands centre)

Pil. I have no wish to appear unduly inquisitive on a subject with which I have merely an indirect concern (sits R. of table) but may I enquire if you have fixed the time that will make you both—that will make us all happy? (puts arm on table and leans back. Lucy and Dorvaston again look at each other) Has a date been arrived at?

Lucy. Not precisely.

Dor. Not to a day or so.

Pil. Have you settled on the week or the month?

Dor. No, we haven't got as far as that. But something was said about the autumn.

Lucy. The late autumn.

Pil. (has been leaning his arm on the table—now sits up and faces them) The late autumn! (sits up) But last autumn something was said about the early spring; the question was then relegated to the late summer. This is July, and where are we? (he leans back and is about to rest his arm on table, but Gandy has just removed it, with the result that he loses his balance and comes on his hand. Dorvaston goes to his assistance)

Dor. Allow me, sir!

Pil. Thank you. I was unaware that Gandy had removed the table. But, to resume what I was saying—can you give me any definite information?

Dor. You see, sir, I haven't worried Lucy, because I know girls are apt to be a bit—a bit——

Pil. Well?

Dor. Noosance! I've lost a word. Girls are apt to be a bit——

Lucy. Coy.

Dor. That's it! Thanks, little woman—a bit coy. (comes to Pillenger)

Pil. Coy! (rises, comes C.) Well, the expression hardly seems to me to convey Lucy's habitual demeanour; but in any case she is of age. (to Lucy) You were twenty-one last week I think?

Lucy. Yes, I was.

Pil. Your small fortune is carefully tied up.

Dor. Quite right, sir, so it ought to be.

Pil. Captain Dorvaston (patting him on the shoulder) is in a firm financial position.

Dor. Pretty fair as things go.

Pil. Then why any further delay? Why not August? Nice seaside month. My own thoughts are turning towards Eastbourne.

Dor. I had an offer from a fellah I know to go halves in a shoot this August, (going to Lucy) but I wouldn't let that stand in the way, not for a moment.

Lucy. Thanks, Jack, (crosses down R. a little)

Pil. Take my advice, let no trivial obstacle intervene between you. Let there be no postponement or interruption.

Dor. There shan't be, sir. (Caroline comes out from porch)

Pil. That's well! (they shake hands) That's well!

Car. Gandy! (both men turn round to her without releasing hands)

Pil. Do you want anything, Cook? (crosses up to her L.)

Dor. Anything I could do? (they both go up, Dorvaston on her R.)

Car. I wanted Gandy for a second.

Pil. Certainly. He was here just now.

Dor. Saw him a minute ago.

Pil. I'll call him. (goes L.) Gandy!

Dor. Fancy he went this way. (goes R.) Gandy!

Pil. Sorry to detain you! Gandy!

Dor. Noosance having to wait! Gandy!

Car. Pray don't bother about it; I only wanted him to pick me some parsley.

Pil. No trouble at all. Where is Gandy?

Dor. What's happened to the beggar? Could I—er—take on the job?

Pil. Tut, tut! absurd! How should you know the proper way to—er—pick parsley?

Dor. Never too old to learn, sir. (to Caroline) Where should I be likely to drop across it?

Car. There's a small parsley bed over there (she points left)

Dor. Right-O! (crosses L., kneels)

Car. But it's really too bad to trouble you. (crosses C. Mr. Pillenger goes with Caroline on her L.)

Dor. Not a bit! To oblige you I'd pick oakum! (he kneels and picks parsley)

Pil. I—er—regret—that—er—the absence of Gandy—as to which I shall require some explanation, should have caused you all this inconvenience.

Car. It doesn't signify. Captain Dorvaston is doing the work very nicely.

Dor. Fact is I've broken out in a new place. Where shall I put the pieces? (holding up parsley)

Car. In this dish. (Mr. Pillenger takes dish from her, and Dorvaston snatches it from him—puts parsley in it, and holds it out)

Dor. It's very easy when you get into the swing of it. Will that be enough?

Car. Plenty, thanks.

Dor. There! (rises, crosses to hand her bowl; Pillenger trying to get hold of it)

Car. I'm much obliged.

Dor. Don't you think I should make a good gardener?

Car. Capital, I should say. (crosses to porch)

Pil. Tut! tut! (she goes up stage)

Dor. Cook! Cook! (she turns round) If I try for the situation will you give me a character?

Car. I'm afraid I haven't one to spare! (he laughs; she returns to the kitchen)

Dor. (going up to window, then turns to Pillenger) By George she's a devilish—er——

Pil. Tut! tut! (up L. C.; Lucy knocks on the table two or three times to draw their attention)

Dor. Just so, sir; but I mean she is—don't you know—isn't she?

Pil. (crosses down L. C.) She is undoubtedly possessed of great refinement for anyone in her present sphere.

Dor. Refinement! (crosses down R. C.)

Pil. We gathered from the Duchess of Sturton that Cook had seen better days. Her Grace is somewhat vague conversationally; but we understood as much as that.

Dor. (confidentially, he hides Lucy from Pillenger's view) Funny thing a woman like that should be running loose. Odd she hasn't married some fellah.

Pil. It is singular—in fact remarkable. For a certain type of man she would make—I should say—an admirable wife.

Dor. Just the wife for a soldier man!

Pil. Pardon me, I disagree with you. No—she has a quietude, a dignified reserve—that would fit her to preside over the household of a staid medical man—or a barrister in fair practice—who was no longer young—or even—a—a—— (catches Dorvaston's eye) But we're wasting the morning. (crosses L.)

Lucy. Don't say that, uncle. (they both stare at her)

Pil. Lucy! (crosses to top of chair R.)

Dor. Hulloa, little woman! Still there?

Lucy. Yes, I'm still here.

Dor. By George, sir, (crosses and sits on chair facing the others) weren't we all chatting over something?

Pil. I—er—think I was urging you both—to—er——

Lucy. You were urging us to name the day—and to avoid any kind of trivial interruption. (the men look at each other)

Pil. I—believe that is so.

Lucy. And Jack agreed.

Dor. Yes.

Lucy. And I chimed in with the general sentiment. But of course—at the time—it was impossible to foresee the parsley, (the two men exchange glances—she rises) I'm going down to the village. I punctured a tire yesterday, and I've got to fetch my bike.

Pil. I must get to work. I'm late as it is. (crosses C. looking at watch)

Dor. Make it a ten minutes' sermon, sir, weather's extr'ordinary hot.

Pil. I beg, Captain Dorvaston, you will spare me any such irreverent suggestions; and I trust that if you must sleep in a sacred edifice, you will render your slumber less aggressive. (moves to French window)

Lucy. You do snore, Jack—you nearly drowned the second lesson last Sunday.

Pil. (turning to Lucy) You are not blameless. As his future wife, it is your duty—and—er—privilege—to nudge him. For what purpose has Heaven given you elbows? (he goes into house. Slight pause. Dorvaston puts pipe away. Lucy crosses up, turns to chair R.)

Lucy. Jack!

Dor. Yes, little woman?

Lucy. Do you care for me?

Dor. 'Course I do!

Lucy. How much? (crosses to chair and kneels on it)

Dor. How much? (rises, crosses C.) Well, I'm a bad hand at explaining things.

Lucy. For instance, would you give up a big thing for my sake?

Dor. What sort of big thing?

Lucy. An Empire?

Dor. Oh, yes.

Lucy. A peerage?

Dor. Oh, Lord, yes!

Lucy. Would you give up—a dish of parsley?

Dor. (long puzzled look) What do you mean? I—don't understand.

Lucy. You're a humbug!

Dor. Sorry you think that.

Lucy. Well, do something to please me.

Dor. Anything I can.

Lucy. Fetch me an orchid, (he looks surprised) to wear this evening—there are lots in the orchid house—will you?

Dor. 'Course I will.

Lucy. Thanks. (Dorvaston crosses up R. Lucy crosses L. C., and Dorvaston crosses down to her)

Dor. (places hands upon Lucy's shoulder and speaking over her shoulder) Little woman! Ever since the time when your dear old dad first gave us the word of command, I've always had a pretty clear notion where the word duty came in; so when once you've pulled yourself together, and named the day, I mean to pull myself together and do my level damnedest to make you happy. D'you see? (turns her round)

Lucy. (facing him) Yes, I see. (puts hand on his shoulder) I'm quite sure you mean all you say, and it's nice of you to say it, and to mean it. The only thing is, you seem to be entering upon a matrimonial campaign without any transports.

Dor. I don't follow.

Lucy. (takes him by the lapels of coat) When I said you were a humbug, I meant there is one person you are always trying to deceive.

Dor. Who's that?

Lucy. Jack Dorvaston! (he looks bewildered) Don't you mind what I say; go and fetch my orchid. (turns him round and pushes him away. He pauses, rubs his head reflectively, and at last strolls off R. Lucy goes over to the tree and sits for a moment in thought. She suddenly remembers the letter in tree, and jumps on seat to get it. Caroline has come out, bringing with her two pudding basins which she places on the seat under the garden window; she comes down to table R. to take up the newspaper, she catches sight of Lucy who is trying to get the letter out of cavity)

Car. (coming C.) Shall I do that?

Lucy. Oh, Cook, is that you? (turning quickly) You startled me.

Car. Did I? I'm sorry.

Lucy. What was it you said?

Car. I offered to get your letter for you. I have a longer reach.

Lucy. What letter? (jumps down)

Car. The latest one from Mr. Thorsby.

Lucy. Cook! How dare you?

Car. I'm not naturally timid.

Lucy. You are excessively impertinent.

Car. Am I? Very likely. But as that is your opinion, I'll chance a rather rude question—When are you going to bolt with Mr. Thorsby?

Lucy. What do you mean? I'm foolish to listen to you at all. I shall go to my uncle and aunt and tell them what you've just said. (comes close to Cook, then wavers and takes a step back)

Car. (pause) If I am mistaken about you and Mr. Thorsby, you would be quite right to tell them. Am I mistaken? (Lucy tries to brave her, but her head droops) Quite so! Then I think I would get the compromising letter out of the tree and say no more about it—unless you'll let me do it. (makes a movement to get letter)

Lucy. Oh, no! (she jumps hastily on seat and gets letter) There! I don't care if you do know. Anybody may know after to-morrow.

Car. So it's to be to-morrow?

Lucy. (jumps down) Yes, it is. I am bound to trust you—I can't help myself; so if you choose to give the whole thing away, you can.

Car. I shan't do that. On the contrary, I should like to do any little thing I could to help you. (Lucy looks in wonder)

Lucy. Thank you. (slight pause; sits) How did you find out—about—us? (looking at Cook)

Car. (goes up a step) Two or three Sundays ago—I was coming home about ten in the evening—it was my Sunday out—and as I came round the corner, you and Mr. Thorsby were outside the gate.

Lucy. Oh! (her eyes drop)

Car. You were supposed to be spending the evening with your friend Mrs. Bronson, if you remember?

Lucy. Yes.

Car. You didn't hear me coming and Mr. Thorsby said good-night to you.

Lucy. Oh!

Car. He said it—very thoroughly.

Lucy. Yes—I believe he did.

Car. That was how I found out.

Lucy. (after slight pause) How funny it seems to be talking to you about it all. What did you think—when you saw—what you saw?

Car. I was rather amused.

Lucy. What did you think of me?

Car. Need we go into that?

Lucy. I should like you to say.

Car. Well, to tell you the truth, I thought you weren't going quite straight.

Lucy. Because of Captain Dorvaston?

Car. Yes.

Lucy. I don't care for Captain Dorvaston—and I do care for Mr. Thorsby. Surely it's better to marry the man you love?

Car. I daresay it would be. I have nothing to say against Mr. Thorsby—he seems a very pleasant young fellow. I shouldn't think he would take to drink (Lucy looks in surprise) or turn out badly to any special extent. Of course, one can't tell beforehand.

Lucy. Cook! (surprised)

Car. It would be all right if you weren't engaged to another man.

Lucy. But Jack isn't in love with me! (rises)

Car. You think not?

Lucy. He likes me, and he wouldn't admit to anybody—certainly not to himself—that I wasn't all the world to him, and a bit over; but in the way of real love he doesn't care a rap for me. He doesn't care—a sprig of parsley! (they look at each other, Cook smiles, and then Lucy takes it up)

Car. Ah! that makes a difference. (slight pause) Well, I must see to the mayonnaise. (she turns and goes up to the seat under the kitchen window, she begins to break eggs into the basin. Lucy goes up to porch and sits on it, leaning her head against the pillar)

Lucy. Do you know, I think you've been trying to be very kind to me?

Car. Not at all.

Lucy. I was wondering—if you would tell me a little—about yourself.

Car. Tell you what?

Lucy. Tell me—about—your life.

Car. My life! No. It's waste of time to discuss failures.

Lucy. You are a riddle—because you are—pardon me—a lady.

Car. Well?

Lucy. And yet—yet—(looking away) Who are you? What are you?

Car. The Vicar's cook. (their eyes meet) You will do me a favor, Miss Pillenger, if you will leave it at that.

Lucy. Oh, certainly! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to be inquisitive.

(Church clock chimes the half-hour.)

Car. I'm sure you didn't.

Lucy. I ought to go down to the village. (crosses to French window)

Car. (takes up fork and begins to stir eggs) Don't let me make you late for any appointment. (Cook puts bowl on window; Lucy tries to laugh, and exits through French window)

(Dorvaston enters with large orchid.)

Dor. Here you are, little woman,. (looks for Lucy)

Car. She has gone down to the village.

Dor. Hulloa! Are you there, Cook? (goes to her)

Car. Yes.

Dor. Doing a bit of al fresco cooking?

Car. I'm mixing the mayonnaise.

Dor. Are you, by George! That's devilish interesting. I suppose, now, the kitchen's a bit hot for things that go off color.

Car. Yes.

Dor. Eggs, for instance. (sits R. of Cook) I suppose you start with eggs as a ground plan—and then—and then you beat 'em. I often thought I should like to beat eggs. (seriously)

Car. (rising) You can beat these; at least, you can stir them, if you've a fancy that way. I want to baste my two fowls.

Dor. Oh! (disappointed, stops stirring)

Car. (she gives him the basin; pause; rises and turns to porch) Don't leave off stirring till I come back.

Dor. (beginning to stir) Not for worlds. (Cook turns) But basting now, basting must be an unusual engrossing branch of the science. Couldn't I come and watch you baste?

Car. (standing at entrance to porch) No; go on with the eggs please. That orchid seems rather in your way.

Dor. Got it for Lucy to wear to-night.

Car. Give it me.

Dor. Thanks! (gives it to her)

Car. Tell her I'm taking care of it. (going)

Dor. I say, Cook!

Car. (pausing) Yes.

Dor. I want awfully to have a chat with you. (edging to end of bench)

Car. You're chatting now. (leans against post and faces Dorvaston)

Dor. Can't talk here—people about—and there's the basting.

Car. That's true.

Dor. You'll be all alone this evening. Don't fancy I shall want much of the Penny Reading—a ha'porth will be plenty. Thought I'd stroll back—and then, don't you understand?

Car. I think I understand you, but I'm doubtful if you quite understand me. I've an idea that what you want to say wouldn't interest me at all.

Dor. (rises) You're wrong. I don't mean an atom of harm—swear I don't. What I want to say I would say before anybody—only I'd rather talk it over quietly. May I come?

Car. If you like.

Dor. Then you believe in me?

Car. (pauses) Yes, I think I do. What time are you likely to be back?

Dor. Round about nine thirty.

Car. Nine thirty! All right! Don't forget to stir the eggs (he begins eagerly) Very gently. (enters porch and then kitchen. Dorvaston watches her off and is looking through window, still stirring, when Pillenger comes out of French window)

Pil. Captain Dorvaston! Captain Dorvaston! Captain Dorvaston! (Dorvaston turns to him) If you are at leisure I should be glad if—— (seeing basin and pointing to it) What is that?

Dor. Fancy they call it a pudden basin.

Pil. What are you——? why should you——?

Dor. I'm stirring the eggs for the mayonnaise. Cook asked me to.

Pil. Tut, tut! I have received a letter from the lawyers, respecting the draught copy of your marriage settlement. I gave it to you. May I ask you to fetch it!

Dor. Just now, sir?

Pil. Naturally. Why not?

Dor. Promised I wouldn't leave off stirring. Look here, sir, if I fetch the paper, will you go on with the eggs? (gives him basin—they both stir—so as not to stop)

Pil. Well, rather than cause—er—domestic inconvenience (takes basin) but have the goodness to make haste. The position is not without embarrassment.

Dor. I'll look sharp, sir. (crosses up back) Don't forget to stir very gently.

Pil. The caution is quite superfluous. (crosses to back of chair R.)

(Miss Pillenger comes out followed by Lucy; both dressed for walking.)

Dor. Hulloa, ma'am! Going for a prowl?

Miss P. Fowl? (crosses C.)

Pil. Tut, tut! (conceals the basin behind him)

Miss P. (crossing to him) You here, Audley? I am accompanying Lucy to the village. I imagined you were writing your sermon.

Pil. I have been delayed by—er—unforeseen interruptions (Dorvaston tells Lucy about basin; she goes up behind Pillenger and taps it) You are yourself wasting the freshness of the morning.

Miss P. I thought the moment was opportune for the purchase of your new socks.

Pil. Tut, tut!

Miss P. But you have given me no instructions as to pattern or texture.

Pil. Both are indifferent to me. I rely on your taste and judgment.

Miss P. I will go then. (she moves L.; Dorvaston opens gate and stands talking to her; Lucy laughs)

Pil. What is amusing you, Lucy?

Lucy. I was laughing because——

Pil. I have no wish to hear. I object to frivolity.

Lucy. Do you, uncle? (crosses L.) Wait for me, Auntie. (turns to Dorvaston) Jack, where's my orchid?

Dor. Cook is taking care of it.

Lucy. (looking at Pillenger) What a treasure Cook is. (looking at Dorvaston) I wonder what any of us would do without her? (exit. The two men face each other for a second)

Dor. (laughs) Sorry I let you in, sir, (coming C.) but Lucy won't say anything. I'll be back directly—and, I say, you won't forget to stir very gently? (exit off)

Pil. (angrily) No, I won't! No, I won't! No, I won't! (crosses; sits R. of table, stirs violently for a moment, then remembers and slows down; Cook comes out)

Car. Captain Dorvaston! (sees Pillenger) Is Captain Dorvaston—— (he turns round) Oh, you've got it! (comes to top of table)

Pil. The basin? Yes. I was compelled to interrupt Captain Dorvaston, so I was endeavoring to supply his place; I fear with poor results. (puts paper on seat)

Car. Let me look? (takes basin, crosses a little C.) Thanks. (she looks at it) Oh, no—it's all right.

Pil. I am relieved to hear it. Still, it probably needs the—er—hum—the final touch of the artist. (she turns to go) You don't care for—er—compliments?

Car. (looking round) No! (coming C.)

Pil. Rather an unkind restriction.

Car. A bird of some experience is apt to change its first opinion of bird-lime.

Pil. Yes, very true. But compliments that are the expression of honest and—er—respectful appreciation—what of them?

Car. I don't know. I've never met that kind of compliment. If you'll excuse me, I'll go back to the fowls. (going up)

Pil. (he follows her between tree and table to porch) I have no right to detain you from more congenial society. (door bell heard) But I have something I particularly wish to say to you. (she looks at him) Something I wish to explain.

Car. Certainly! What is it?

Pil. My explanation might—in fact, would occupy some time. (door bell heard more violently) The present moment is obviously ill-chosen for the purpose. You will be the sole occupant of the house this evening.

Car. Shall I?

Pil. Everybody—Keziah included—is going to the Penny Reading—even Gandy has asked permission to visit his aged mother.

Car. Has he an aged mother? I didn't know.

Pil. He doesn't lay much stress on her—she suffers from spasms, and is a Nonconformist.

Car. Well?

Pil. I thought if I came back early from the Parish room, I could explain what I—er—wish to explain. (very violent ring at bell without interruption)

Car. You would discuss this all-important matter in the kitchen?

Pil. If you—er—see no objection.

Car. It's your kitchen, and your responsibility; but if I were you I wouldn't explain.

Pil. Do you prohibit me from doing so?

Car. No, come if you like. What time am I to expect you?

Pil. About nine o'clock. It's a quiet hour, and usually free from callers.

Car. We'll hope it will prove so. Very well—till nine o'clock then. (she goes into kitchen—he crosses up to French window at Cook's exit, still looking after her, buried in thought. Crayll comes through gateway, stands at steps, sees Pillenger and speaks)

Cray. Mornin'! (Pillenger does not hear, so Crayll prods him in back with stick) Mornin'.

Pil. Eh! Oh, good morning! (comes C.)

Cray. What time's the funeral?

Pill. Funeral?

Cray. Ain't anybody dead? I rang your beastly front door bell till my arm ached; so I turned it up and came round to the back.

Pil. My butler—er—my male servant—is rather remiss. But to the best of my knowledge, he is still alive.

Cray. Damn sorry for it.

Pil. Tut, tut!

Cray. What's the matter?

Pil. I cannot countenance such language. My sacred calling——

Cray. (looking at him more attentively) Oh, I see! Didn't know you were a magpie. Come to think of it, s'pose I passed your place of business a little way up the road, (pointing up L.)

Pil. Er—hum—yes.

Cray. Oh, well then, I take back the damn. After all, it don't do to open one's front door too quick. S'pose you thought I was the Water Rate. (puts foot on chair, pulls out handkerchief, and dusts boot)

Pil. No, sir.

Cray. Gas?

Pil. Certainly not.

Cray. Then what the devil did you think? (dusts other boot)

Pil. I had no theory on the subject; and as to your language—I really must beg——

Cray. Beg? Yes, that's your trade. Same time I'll take back the devil. We don't often part company. Talking of the devil, did you ever have D.T.?

Pil. D.T.? D.T.? If you refer to the "Daily Telegraph," I usually read the "Standard."

Cray. No, no! D.T. Jim-jams!

Pil. Jim-jams?

Cray. Delirium tremens—ever had 'em?

Pil. Eh? What? Never, sir, never!

Cray. Lucky beast! Well, when you do have 'em, you'll know 'em again. I've had 'em twice.

Pil. Really!

Cray. The last bout was a blazer. A man generally sees snakes, or rats, or spiders. It was spiders with me. (makes movement of spider on Pillenger's chest)

Pil. Was it indeed?

Cray. Yes—fat brutes with as many legs to 'em as an Empire ballet—all over the walls by day—all over the bed at night. If you lit a candle you saw 'em—if you didn't you felt 'em. Pah! filthy devils! (sits exhausted) Could I have a whiskey and soda?

Pil. You haven't mentioned the object of your visit.

Cray. Man named Dorvaston hangs out here, don't he?

Pil. Captain Dorvaston is my guest at present.

Cray. Thought so. Promised to look him up. We're goin' to price a horse—a nailer—risin' thirteen—and well up to Dorvaston's weight—which is sayin' somethin'.

Pil. Captain Dorvaston's physique is substantial.

Cray. If he stood on your foot, I expect you'd ask him to move.

Pil. Probably!

Cray. He's goin' to be somethin' to you by marriage, ain't he?

Pil. He is affianced to my niece.

Cray. Hope he'll like it. (takes cigar out of case)

Pil. Why should he not, sir?

Cray. I daresay you stick up for marriage—double blessedness and all that kind of muck. (biting end of cigar)

Pil. I regard the married state as best calculated to confer the greatest happiness that—er—the——

Cray. Have you ever bin married? (looking up at him)

Pil. No.

Cray. (lights cigar) I thought not. You beggars are always jawin' about what you don't understand. You've never had D.T., but that wouldn't stop you preaching about drink. You've never bin married, and yet you get up in the pulpit and talk about Hell as if you knew the country.

Pil. May I ask, Mr.—er——

Cray. Crayll.

Pil. May I enquire, Mr. Crayll, if you are married?

Cray. (blows out light and smiles) Not at present.

(Dorvaston comes out.)

Pil. Ah! Here is Captain Dorvaston.

Dor. (coming to Pillenger C.) There's the paper you wanted, sir. It took a bit of finding. Keziah cleaned my room out yesterday. (gives it to him) Hulloa, Crayll! (slaps him on back and crosses L.)

Cray. Hulloa! (rises)

Pil. (to Dorvaston) Now you have come, I will ask Mr. Crayll to excuse me.

Cray. Don't name it. (crosses to L.) Dorvaston will see to me. I daresay he knows where the whiskey's kept. (Dorvaston laughs and goes up a step or two with Pillenger)

Pil. (aside) Surely a most offensive person. (crosses up)

Dor. He's all right, sir. He takes a bit of knowing. (Pillenger goes into the house)

Cray. Now, for the Lord's sake get me a drop of whiskey to wash the parson out of my mouth.

Dor. (C.) Whiskey it is! Take potash with it?

Cray. A little potash. (crosses R.)

Dor. Right-O! Have a look at "Sporting Life"?

Cray. What d'ye fancy for the Leger?

Dor. Centipede! It's a dead snip. You should have a bit on it.

Cray. No, thank ye. Don't like the name—it's too spidery. (Dorvaston goes up to kitchen window unseen by Crayll. Crayll crosses behind chair, gets "Sporting Life," comes round L. of table, puts hat on ground, stick behind him, and starts to read paper)

Dor. Cook! Cook! (at window Cook appears)

Car. Yes?

Dor. Fact is, friend of mine has just turned up, and he's unusual thirsty. Would you bring him out a whiskey and potash?

Car. Certainly.

Dor. Very kind of you—extr'ordinary kind.

Car. Not at all. (she disappears from window. Dorvaston goes back to Crayll)

Dor. Look here, I'll run up and put another coat on, and then we'll start.

Cray. How about the whiskey?

Dor. It'll be here directly. (exits through French window)

Cray. Thank ye. (he resumes the newspaper; Cook comes to table R. with small tray containing whiskey, etc.; she brings it down to small table, and speaks before putting the tray down)

Car. Whiskey and potash!

Cray. All right! (he puts down cigar on tray and turns slowly, the paper falls. They face each other in mutual astonishment)

Cray. Goodness a'mighty! (slight pause) Is that you? (she is silent) Is that you? (speaking louder)

Car. Yes—what then?

Cray. Phew! (wipes his forehead) When I saw you standin' there, dressed like that, I thought I'd got 'em again. Damned if I didn't.

Car. Why?

Cray. Why, who'd expect to see Lady Huntworth masqueradin' as a cook.

Car. I'm not Lady Huntworth any longer. Surely Lord Huntworth is the last person who should need the reminder.

Cray. I'm not Lord Huntworth down here. My name's Crayll for the present.

Car. Really?

Cray. I'm keepin' out of the way—for—reasons.

Car. The local police don't strike me as being very shrewd.

Cray. Police! What d'you mean? It's duns I'm hidin' from.

Car. Duns!

Cray. It's debt—it ain't crime.

Car. Ah! not yet. Well, good-day, Mr. Crayll. I must go back to my cooking. (crosses up)

Cray. Here, hold on. Damn it, don't be in such a hurry. (crosses down C.) I want to talk to you.

Car. I have to baste the fowls.

Cray. Curse the beastly fowls. I must see you alone for half-an-hour, d'you hear?

Car. I hear.

Cray. It's infernal important. Will you meet me to-night?

Car. No.

Cray. Why not? What are you afraid of?

Car. I'm not afraid of you. I think you know that.

Cray. That long fool will be back in a minute. You'll see me somehow to-night, because—you've damned well got to—d'you understand?

Car. I haven't the smallest notion why you want to see me, but since fate has played me a final dirty trick by throwing us together again, perhaps we had better understand each other. So you can come here this evening for half-an-hour. I shall be alone. You had better tap at the window.

Cray. That'll do—I'll come.

Car. What time shall I have the honor?

Cray. I'll get here about nine.

Car. (smiling) Nine! You must make it earlier than that. I expect I shall be rather busy about nine.

Cray. Eight-thirty then.

Car. Yes, that would suit me. (crosses to porch and then stops)

Cray. (turns and sees she is in hesitation) Is there anything else?

Car. (crosses down C. to him) As you seem to want to talk about something important you might break through a rule for once—and turn up in a possible condition.

Cray. Not come drunk—is that what you mean?

Car. No, I don't want to be unreasonable. At that time in the evening you are certain to be drunk,—but try not to be too drunk to be coherent. I'll expect you at eight-thirty. (she goes up stage, stands at kitchen window; after she has gone Crayll picks up cigar from tray and draws at it, finding it out he throws it down violently and swears. He then pours out whiskey and drinks. Dorvaston comes out dressed for walking)

Dor. Ready, old chap? (Crayll half chokes)

Cray. In half-a-minute. (drinks more whiskey)

Dor. (speaking across to Cook) Ah! Cook! friend and I are going for a stroll.

Car. It's a pleasant day for walking.

Dor. How is our mayonnaise coming on? (Crayll looks up on hearing this)

Car. Very well, I think.

Dor. That's all right! (to Crayll, who has been listening vacantly) Shall we get along?

Cray. Yes. (Dorvaston goes out at the gate; Crayll puts hat on, takes stick, rises, crosses L. C., and looks back. As he does so, Cook turns and looks at him) Goodness A'mighty. (he then goes out at gate)

(After he has gone Cook comes down to the rustic table and takes up "Standard.")

Car. (reads) "Will Lady Huntworth communicate with Brampton and Stokes, Capel-Court, on a matter of considerable importance?" (she stands in thought for a moment, then turns and goes up, reading the paper as she goes)

Curtain.