The Play + 

Act + 

I + 

In the dining room of a house in Denmark Hill, an elderly lady sits at breakfast reading the newspaper. Her chair is at the end of the oblong dining table furthest from the fire. There is an empty chair at the other end. The fireplace is behind this chair; and the door is next the fireplace, between it and the corner. An armchair stands beside the coal scuttle. In the middle of the back wall is the sideboard, parallel to the table. The rest of the furniture is mostly dining room chairs, ranged against the walls, and including a baby rocking chair on the lady’s side of the room. The lady is a placid person. Her husband, Mr. Robin Gilbey, not at all placid, bursts violently into the room with a letter in his hand. + 

Gilbey + 

Grinding his teeth. This is a nice thing. This is a b⁠⸺⁠ + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Cutting him short. Leave it at that, please. Whatever it is, bad language won’t make it better. + 

Gilbey + 

Bitterly. Yes, put me in the wrong as usual. Take your boy’s part against me. He flings himself into the empty chair opposite her. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

When he does anything right, he’s your son. When he does anything wrong he’s mine. Have you any news of him? + 

Gilbey + 

I’ve a good mind not to tell you. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Then don’t. I suppose he’s been found. That’s a comfort, at all events. + 

Gilbey + 

No, he hasn’t been found. The boy may be at the bottom of the river for all you care. Too agitated to sit quietly, he rises and paces the room distractedly. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Then what have you got in your hand? + 

Gilbey + 

I’ve a letter from the Monsignor Grenfell. From New York. Dropping us. Cutting us. Turning fiercely on her. That’s a nice thing, isn’t it? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What for? + 

Gilbey + 

Flinging away towards his chair. How do I know what for? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What does he say? + 

Gilbey + 

Sitting down and grumblingly adjusting his spectacles. This is what he says. “My dear Mr. Gilbey: The news about Bobby had to follow me across the Atlantic: it did not reach me until today. I am afraid he is incorrigible. My brother, as you may imagine, feels that this last escapade has gone beyond the bounds; and I think, myself, that Bobby ought to be made to feel that such scrapes involve a certain degree of reprobation.” “As you may imagine”! And we know no more about it than the babe unborn. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What else does he say? + 

Gilbey + 

“I think my brother must have been just a little to blame himself; so, between ourselves, I shall, with due and impressive formality, forgive Bobby later on; but for the present I think it had better be understood that he is in disgrace, and that we are no longer on visiting terms. As ever, yours sincerely.” His agitation masters him again. That’s a nice slap in the face to get from a man in his position! This is what your son has brought on me. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Well, I think it’s rather a nice letter. He as good as tells you he’s only letting on to be offended for Bobby’s good. + 

Gilbey + 

Oh, very well: have the letter framed and hang it up over the mantelpiece as a testimonial. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Don’t talk nonsense, Rob. You ought to be thankful to know that the boy is alive after his disappearing like that for nearly a week. + 

Gilbey + 

Nearly a week! A fortnight, you mean. Where’s your feelings, woman? It was fourteen days yesterday. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh, don’t call it fourteen days, Rob, as if the boy was in prison. + 

Gilbey + 

How do you know he’s not in prison? It’s got on my nerves so, that I’d believe even that. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Don’t talk silly, Rob. Bobby might get into a scrape like any other lad; but he’d never do anything low. + 

Juggins, the footman, comes in with a card on a salver. He is a rather low-spirited man of thirty-five or more, of good appearance and address, and iron self-command. + 

Juggins + 

Presenting the salver to Mr. Gilbey. Lady wishes to see Mr. Bobby’s parents, sir. + 

Gilbey + 

Pointing to Mrs. Gilbey. There’s Mr. Bobby’s parent. I disown him. + 

Juggins + 

Yes, sir. He presents the salver to Mrs. Gilbey. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

You mustn’t mind what your master says, Juggins: he doesn’t mean it. She takes the card and reads it. Well, I never! + 

Gilbey + 

What’s up now? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Reading. “Miss D. Delaney. Darling Dora.” Just like that⁠—in brackets. What sort of person, Juggins? + 

Gilbey + 

What’s her address? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

The West Circular Road. Is that a respectable address, Juggins? + 

Juggins + 

A great many most respectable people live in the West Circular Road, madam; but the address is not a guarantee of respectability. + 

Gilbey + 

So it’s come to that with him, has it? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Don’t jump to conclusions, Rob. How do you know? To Juggins. Is she a lady, Juggins? You know what I mean. + 

Juggins + 

In the sense in which you are using the word, no, madam. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

I’d better try what I can get out of her. To Juggins. Show her up. You don’t mind, do you, Rob? + 

Gilbey + 

So long as you don’t flounce out and leave me alone with her. He rises and plants himself on the hearthrug. + 

Juggins goes out. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

I wonder what she wants, Rob? + 

Gilbey + 

If she wants money, she shan’t have it. Not a farthing. A nice thing, everybody seeing her on our doorstep! If it wasn’t that she may tell us something about the lad, I’d have Juggins put the hussy into the street. + 

Juggins + 

Returning and announcing. Miss Delaney. He waits for express orders before placing a chair for this visitor. + 

Miss Delaney comes in. She is a young lady of hilarious disposition, very tolerable good looks, and killing clothes. She is so affable and confidential that it is very difficult to keep her at a distance by any process short of flinging her out of the house. + 

Dora + 

Plunging at once into privileged intimacy and into the middle of the room. How d’ye do, both. I’m a friend of Bobby’s. He told me all about you once, in a moment of confidence. Of course he never let on who he was at the police court. + 

Gilbey + 

Police court! + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Looking apprehensively at Juggins. Tch⁠—! Juggins: a chair. + 

Dora + 

Oh, I’ve let it out, have I! Contemplating Juggins approvingly as he places a chair for her between the table and the sideboard. But he’s the right sort: I can see that. Buttonholing him. You won’t let on downstairs, old man, will you? + 

Juggins + 

The family can rely on my absolute discretion. He withdraws. + 

Dora + 

Sitting down genteelly. I don’t know what you’ll say to me: you know I really have no right to come here; but then what was I to do? You know Holy Joe, Bobby’s tutor, don’t you? But of course you do. + 

Gilbey + 

With dignity. I know Mr. Joseph Grenfell, the brother of Monsignor Grenfell, if it is of him you are speaking. + 

Dora + 

Wide-eyed and much amused. No!!! You don’t tell me that old geezer has a brother a Monsignor! And you’re Catholics! And I never knew it, though I’ve known Bobby ever so long! But of course the last thing you find out about a person is their religion, isn’t it? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

We’re not Catholics. But when the Samuelses got an Archdeacon’s son to form their boy’s mind, Mr. Gilbey thought Bobby ought to have a chance too. And the Monsignor is a customer. Mr. Gilbey consulted him about Bobby; and he recommended a brother of his that was more sinned against than sinning. + 

Gilbey + 

On tenderhooks. She don’t want to hear about that, Maria. To Dora. What’s your business? + 

Dora + 

I’m afraid it was all my fault. + 

Gilbey + 

What was all your fault? I’m half distracted. I don’t know what has happened to the boy: he’s been lost these fourteen days⁠— + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

A fortnight, Rob. + 

Gilbey + 

—and not a word have we heard of him since. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Don’t fuss, Rob. + 

Gilbey + 

Yelling. I will fuss. You’ve no feeling. You don’t care what becomes of the lad. He sits down savagely. + 

Dora + 

Soothingly. You’ve been anxious about him. Of course. How thoughtless of me not to begin by telling you he’s quite safe. Indeed he’s in the safest place in the world, as one may say: safe under lock and key. + 

Gilbey + 

Horrified, pitiable. Oh my⁠—His breath fails him. Do you mean that when he was in the police court he was in the dock? Oh, Maria! Oh, great Lord! What has he done? What has he got for it? Desperate. Will you tell me or will you see me go mad on my own carpet? + 

Dora + 

Sweetly. Yes, old dear⁠— + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Starting at the familiarity. Well! + 

Dora + 

Continuing. I’ll tell you: but don’t you worry: he’s all right. I came out myself this morning: there was such a crowd! and a band! they thought I was a suffragette: only fancy! You see it was like this. Holy Joe got talking about how he’d been a champion sprinter at college. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

A what? + 

Dora + 

A sprinter. He said he was the fastest hundred yards runner in England. We were all in the old cowshed that night. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What old cowshed? + 

Gilbey + 

Groaning. Oh, get on. Get on. + 

Dora + 

Oh, of course you wouldn’t know. How silly of me! It’s a rather go-ahead sort of music hall in Stepney. We call it the old cowshed. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Does Mr. Grenfell take Bobby to music halls? + 

Dora + 

No. Bobby takes him. But Holy Joe likes it: fairly laps it up like a kitten, poor old dear. Well, Bobby says to me, “Darling⁠—” + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Placidly. Why does he call you Darling? + 

Dora + 

Oh, everybody calls me Darling: it’s a sort of name I’ve got. Darling Dora, you know. Well, he says, “Darling, if you can get Holy Joe to sprint a hundred yards, I’ll stand you that squiffer with the gold keys.” + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Does he call his tutor Holy Joe to his face? Gilbey clutches at his hair in his impatience. + 

Dora + 

Well, what would he call him? After all, Holy Joe is Holy Joe; and boys will be boys. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What’s a squiffer? + 

Dora + 

Oh, of course: excuse my vulgarity: a concertina. There’s one in a shop in Green Street, ivory inlaid, with gold keys and Russia leather bellows; and Bobby knew I hankered after it; but he couldn’t afford it, poor lad, though I knew he just longed to give it to me. + 

Gilbey + 

Maria: if you keep interrupting with silly questions, I shall go out of my senses. Here’s the boy in gaol and me disgraced forever; and all you care to know is what a squiffer is. + 

Dora + 

Well, remember it has gold keys. The man wouldn’t take a penny less than 15 pounds for it. It was a presentation one. + 

Gilbey + 

Shouting at her. Where’s my son? What’s happened to my son? Will you tell me that, and stop cackling about your squiffer? + 

Dora + 

Oh, ain’t we impatient! Well, it does you credit, old dear. And you needn’t fuss: there’s no disgrace. Bobby behaved like a perfect gentleman. Besides, it was all my fault. I’ll own it: I took too much champagne. I was not what you might call drunk; but I was bright, and a little beyond myself; and⁠—I’ll confess it⁠—I wanted to show off before Bobby, because he was a bit taken by a woman on the stage; and she was pretending to be game for anything. You see you’ve brought Bobby up too strict; and when he gets loose there’s no holding him. He does enjoy life more than any lad I ever met. + 

Gilbey + 

Never you mind how he’s been brought up: that’s my business. Tell me how he’s been brought down: that’s yours. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh, don’t be rude to the lady, Rob. + 

Dora + 

I’m coming to it, old dear: don’t you be so headstrong. Well, it was a beautiful moonlight night; and we couldn’t get a cab on the nod; so we started to walk, very jolly, you know: arm in arm, and dancing along, singing and all that. When we came into Jamaica Square, there was a young copper on point duty at the corner. I says to Bob: “Dearie boy: is it a bargain about the squiffer if I make Joe sprint for you?” “Anything you like, darling,” says he: “I love you.” I put on my best company manners and stepped up to the copper. “If you please, sir,” says I, “can you direct me to Carrickmines Square?” I was so genteel, and talked so sweet, that he fell to it like a bird. “I never heard of any such Square in these parts,” he says. “Then,” says I, “what a very silly little officer you must be!”; and I gave his helmet a chuck behind that knocked it over his eyes, and did a bunk. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Did a what? + 

Dora + 

A bunk. Holy Joe did one too all right: he sprinted faster than he ever did in college, I bet, the old dear. He got clean off, too. Just as he was overtaking me halfway down the square, we heard the whistle; and at the sound of it he drew away like a streak of lightning; and that was the last I saw of him. I was copped in the Dock Road myself: rotten luck, wasn’t it? I tried the innocent and genteel and all the rest; but Bobby’s hat done me in. + 

Gilbey + 

And what happened to the boy? + 

Dora + 

Only fancy! he stopped to laugh at the copper! He thought the copper would see the joke, poor lamb. He was arguing about it when the two that took me came along to find out what the whistle was for, and brought me with them. Of course I swore I’d never seen him before in my life; but there he was in my hat and I in his. The cops were very spiteful and laid it on for all they were worth: drunk and disorderly and assaulting the police and all that. I got fourteen days without the option, because you see⁠—well, the fact is, I’d done it before, and been warned. Bobby was a first offender and had the option; but the dear boy had no money left and wouldn’t give you away by telling his name; and anyhow he couldn’t have brought himself to buy himself off and leave me there; so he’s doing his time. Well, it was two forty shillingses; and I’ve only twenty-eight shillings in the world. If I pawn my clothes I shan’t be able to earn any more. So I can’t pay the fine and get him out; but if you’ll stand 3 pounds I’ll stand one; and that’ll do it. If you’d like to be very kind and nice you could pay the lot; but I can’t deny that it was my fault; so I won’t press you. + 

Gilbey + 

Heartbroken. My son in gaol! + 

Dora + 

Oh, cheer up, old dear: it won’t hurt him: look at me after fourteen days of it; I’m all the better for being kept a bit quiet. You mustn’t let it prey on your mind. + 

Gilbey + 

The disgrace of it will kill me. And it will leave a mark on him to the end of his life. + 

Dora + 

Not a bit of it. Don’t you be afraid: I’ve educated Bobby a bit: he’s not the mollycoddle he was when you had him in hand. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Indeed Bobby is not a mollycoddle. They wanted him to go in for singlestick at the Young Men’s Christian Association; but, of course, I couldn’t allow that: he might have had his eye knocked out. + 

Gilbey + 

To Dora, angrily. Listen here, you. + 

Dora + 

Oh, ain’t we cross! + 

Gilbey + 

I want none of your gaiety here. This is a respectable household. You’ve gone and got my poor innocent boy into trouble. It’s the like of you that’s the ruin of the like of him. + 

Dora + 

So you always say, you old dears. But you know better. Bobby came to me: I didn’t come to him. + 

Gilbey + 

Would he have gone if you hadn’t been there for him to go to? Tell me that. You know why he went to you, I suppose? + 

Dora + 

Charitably. It was dull for him at home, poor lad, wasn’t it? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh no. I’m at home on first Thursdays. And we have the Knoxes to dinner every Friday. Margaret Knox and Bobby are as good as engaged. Mr. Knox is my husband’s partner. Mrs. Knox is very religious; but she’s quite cheerful. We dine with them on Tuesdays. So that’s two evenings pleasure every week. + 

Gilbey + 

Almost in tears. We done what we could for the boy. Short of letting him go into temptations of all sorts, he can do what he likes. What more does he want? + 

Dora + 

Well, old dear, he wants me; and that’s about the long and short of it. And I must say you’re not very nice to me about it. I’ve talked to him like a mother, and tried my best to keep him straight; but I don’t deny I like a bit of fun myself; and we both get a bit giddy when we’re lighthearted. Him and me is a pair, I’m afraid. + 

Gilbey + 

Don’t talk foolishness, girl. How could you and he be a pair, you being what you are, and he brought up as he has been, with the example of a religious woman like Mrs. Knox before his eyes? I can’t understand how he could bring himself to be seen in the street with you. Pitying himself. I haven’t deserved this. I’ve done my duty as a father. I’ve kept him sheltered. Angry with her. Creatures like you that take advantage of a child’s innocence ought to be whipped through the streets. + 

Dora + 

Well, whatever I may be, I’m too much the lady to lose my temper; and I don’t think Bobby would like me to tell you what I think of you; for when I start giving people a bit of my mind I sometimes use language that’s beneath me. But I tell you once for all I must have the money to get Bobby out; and if you won’t fork out, I’ll hunt up Holy Joe. He might get it off his brother, the Monsignor. + 

Gilbey + 

You mind your own concerns. My solicitor will do what is right. I’ll not have you paying my son’s fine as if you were anything to him. + 

Dora + 

That’s right. You’ll get him out today, won’t you? + 

Gilbey + 

It’s likely I’d leave my boy in prison, isn’t it? + 

Dora + 

I’d like to know when they’ll let him out. + 

Gilbey + 

You would, would you? You’re going to meet him at the prison door. + 

Dora + 

Well, don’t you think any woman would that had the feelings of a lady? + 

Gilbey + 

Bitterly. Oh yes: I know. Here! I must buy the lad’s salvation, I suppose. How much will you take to clear out and let him go? + 

Dora + 

Pitying him: quite nice about it. What good would that do, old dear? There are others, you know. + 

Gilbey + 

That’s true. I must send the boy himself away. + 

Dora + 

Where to? + 

Gilbey + 

Anywhere, so long as he’s out of the reach of you and your like. + 

Dora + 

Then I’m afraid you’ll have to send him out of the world, old dear. I’m sorry for you: I really am, though you mightn’t believe it; and I think your feelings do you real credit. But I can’t give him up just to let him fall into the hands of people I couldn’t trust, can I? + 

Gilbey + 

Beside himself, rising. Where’s the police? Where’s the Government? Where’s the Church? Where’s respectability and right reason? What’s the good of them if I have to stand here and see you put my son in your pocket as if he was a chattel slave, and you hardly out of gaol as a common drunk and disorderly? What’s the world coming to? + 

Dora + 

It is a lottery, isn’t it, old dear? + 

Mr. Gilbey rushes from the room, distracted. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Unruffled. Where did you buy that white lace? I want some to match a collaret of my own; and I can’t get it at Perry and John’s. + 

Dora + 

Knagg and Pantle’s: one and fourpence. It’s machine handmade. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

I never give more than one and tuppence. But I suppose you’re extravagant by nature. My sister Martha was just like that. Pay anything she was asked. + 

Dora + 

What’s tuppence to you, Mrs. Bobby, after all? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Correcting her. Mrs. Gilbey. + 

Dora + 

Of course, Mrs. Gilbey. I am silly. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Bobby must have looked funny in your hat. Why did you change hats with him? + 

Dora + 

I don’t know. One does, you know. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

I never did. The things people do! I can’t understand them. Bobby never told me he was keeping company with you. His own mother! + 

Dora + 

Overcome. Excuse me: I can’t help smiling. + 

Juggins enters. + 

Juggins + 

Mr. Gilbey has gone to Wormwood Scrubbs, madam. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Have you ever been in a police court, Juggins? + 

Juggins + 

Yes, madam. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Rather shocked. I hope you had not been exceeding, Juggins. + 

Juggins + 

Yes, madam, I had. I exceeded the legal limit. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh, that! Why do they give a woman a fortnight for wearing a man’s hat, and a man a month for wearing hers? + 

Juggins + 

I didn’t know that they did, madam. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

It doesn’t seem justice, does it, Juggins? + 

Juggins + 

No, madam. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

To Dora, rising. Well, goodbye. Shaking her hand. So pleased to have made your acquaintance. + 

Dora + 

Standing up. Don’t mention it. I’m sure it’s most kind of you to receive me at all. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

I must go off now and order lunch. She trots to the door. What was it you called the concertina? + 

Dora + 

A squiffer, dear. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Thoughtfully. A squiffer, of course. How funny! She goes out. + 

Dora + 

Exploding into ecstasies of mirth. Oh my! isn’t she an old love? How do you keep your face straight? + 

Juggins + 

It is what I am paid for. + 

Dora + 

Confidentially. Listen here, dear boy. Your name isn’t Juggins. Nobody’s name is Juggins. + 

Juggins + 

My orders are, Miss Delaney, that you are not to be here when Mr. Gilbey returns from Wormwood Scrubbs. + 

Dora + 

That means telling me to mind my own business, doesn’t it? Well, I’m off. Tootle Loo, Charlie Darling. She kisses her hand to him and goes. + 

Act + 

II + 

On the afternoon of the same day, Mrs. Knox is writing notes in her drawing room, at a writing table which stands against the wall. Anyone placed so as to see Mrs. Knox’s left profile, will have the door on the right and the window on the left, both further away than Mrs. Knox, whose back is presented to an obsolete upright piano at the opposite side of the room. The sofa is near the piano. There is a small table in the middle of the room, with some gilt-edged books and albums on it, and chairs near it. + 

Mr. Knox comes in almost furtively, a troubled man of fifty, thinner, harder, and uglier than his partner, Gilbey, Gilbey being a soft stoutish man with white hair and thin smooth skin, whilst Knox has coarse black hair, and blue jaws which no diligence in shaving can whiten. Mrs. Knox is a plain woman, dressed without regard to fashion, with thoughtful eyes and thoughtful ways that make an atmosphere of peace and some solemnity. She is surprised to see her husband at home during business hours. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

What brings you home at this hour? Have you heard anything? + 

Knox + 

No. Have you? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

No. What’s the matter? + 

Knox + 

Sitting down on the sofa. I believe Gilbey has found out. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

What makes you think that? + 

Knox + 

Well, I don’t know: I didn’t like to tell you: you have enough to worry you without that; but Gilbey’s been very queer ever since it happened. I can’t keep my mind on business as I ought; and I was depending on him. But he’s worse than me. He’s not looking after anything; and he keeps out of my way. His manner’s not natural. He hasn’t asked us to dinner; and he’s never said a word about our not asking him to dinner, after all these years when we’ve dined every week as regular as clockwork. It looks to me as if Gilbey’s trying to drop me socially. Well, why should he do that if he hasn’t heard? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I wonder! Bobby hasn’t been near us either: that’s what I can’t make out. + 

Knox + 

Oh, that’s nothing. I told him Margaret was down in Cornwall with her aunt. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Reproachfully. Jo! She takes her handkerchief from the writing-table and cries a little. + 

Knox + 

Well, I got to tell lies, ain’t I? You won’t. Somebody’s got to tell ’em. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Putting away her handkerchief. It only ends in our not knowing what to believe. Mrs. Gilbey told me Bobby was in Brighton for the sea air. There’s something queer about that. Gilbey would never let the boy loose by himself among the temptations of a gay place like Brighton without his tutor; and I saw the tutor in Kensington High Street the very day she told me. + 

Knox + 

If the Gilbeys have found out, it’s all over between Bobby and Margaret, and all over between us and them. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

It’s all over between us and everybody. When a girl runs away from home like that, people know what to think of her and her parents. + 

Knox + 

She had a happy, respectable home⁠—everything⁠— + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Interrupting him. There’s no use going over it all again, Jo. If a girl hasn’t happiness in herself, she won’t be happy anywhere. You’d better go back to the shop and try to keep your mind off it. + 

Knox + 

Rising restlessly. I can’t. I keep fancying everybody knows it and is sniggering about it. I’m at peace nowhere but here. It’s a comfort to be with you. It’s a torment to be with other people. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Going to him and drawing her arm through his. There, Jo, there! I’m sure I’d have you here always if I could. But it can’t be. God’s work must go on from day to day, no matter what comes. We must face our trouble and bear it. + 

Knox + 

Wandering to the window arm in arm with her. Just look at the people in the street, going up and down as if nothing had happened. It seems unnatural, as if they all knew and didn’t care. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

If they knew, Jo, thered be a crowd round the house looking up at us. You shouldn’t keep thinking about it. + 

Knox + 

I know I shouldn’t. You have your religion, Amelia; and I’m sure I’m glad it comforts you. But it doesn’t come to me that way. I’ve worked hard to get a position and be respectable. I’ve turned many a girl out of the shop for being half an hour late at night; and here’s my own daughter gone for a fortnight without word or sign, except a telegram to say she’s not dead and that we’re not to worry about her. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Suddenly pointing to the street. Jo, look! + 

Knox + 

Margaret! With a man! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Run down, Jo, quick. Catch her: save her. + 

Knox + 

Lingering. She’s shaking bands with him: she’s coming across to the door. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Energetically. Do as I tell you. Catch the man before he’s out of sight. + 

Knox rushes from the room. Mrs. Knox looks anxiously and excitedly from the window. Then she throws up the sash and leans out. Margaret Knox comes in, flustered and annoyed. She is a strong, springy girl of eighteen, with large nostrils, an audacious chin, and a gaily resolute manner, even peremptory on occasions like the present, when she is annoyed. + 

Margaret + 

Mother. Mother. + 

Mrs. Knox draws in her head and confronts her daughter. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Sternly. Well, miss? + 

Margaret + 

Oh, mother, do go out and stop father making a scene in the street. He rushed at him and said “You’re the man who took away my daughter” loud enough for all the people to hear. Everybody stopped. We shall have a crowd round the house. Do do something to stop him. + 

Knox returns with a good-looking young marine officer. + 

Margaret + 

Oh, Monsieur Duvallet, I’m so sorry⁠—so ashamed. Mother: this is Monsieur Duvallet, who has been extremely kind to me. Monsieur Duvallet: my mother. Duvallet bows. + 

Knox + 

A Frenchman! It only needed this. + 

Margaret + 

Much annoyed. Father: do please be commonly civil to a gentleman who has been of the greatest service to me. What will he think of us? + 

Duvallet + 

Debonair. But it’s very natural. I understand Mr. Knox’s feelings perfectly. He speaks English better than Knox, having learnt it on both sides of the Atlantic. + 

Knox + 

If I’ve made any mistake I’m ready to apologize. But I want to know where my daughter has been for the last fortnight. + 

Duvallet + 

She has been, I assure you, in a particularly safe place. + 

Knox + 

Will you tell me what place? I can judge for myself how safe it was. + 

Margaret + 

Holloway Gaol. Was that safe enough? + 

Knox and Mrs. Knox + 

Holloway Gaol! + 

Knox + 

You’ve joined the Suffragettes! + 

Margaret + 

No. I wish I had. I could have had the same experience in better company. Please sit down, Monsieur Duvallet. She sits between the table and the sofa. Mrs. Knox, overwhelmed, sits at the other side of the table. Knox remains standing in the middle of the room. + 

Duvallet + 

Sitting down on the sofa. It was nothing. An adventure. Nothing. + 

Margaret + 

Obdurately. Drunk and assaulting the police! Forty shillings or a month! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Margaret! Who accused you of such a thing? + 

Margaret + 

The policeman I assaulted. + 

Knox + 

You mean to say that you did it! + 

Margaret + 

I did. I had that satisfaction at all events. I knocked two of his teeth out. + 

Knox + 

And you sit there coolly and tell me this! + 

Margaret + 

Well, where do you want me to sit? What’s the use of saying things like that? + 

Knox + 

My daughter in Holloway Gaol! + 

Margaret + 

All the women in Holloway are somebody’s daughters. Really, father, you must make up your mind to it. If you had sat in that cell for fourteen days making up your mind to it, you would understand that I’m not in the humor to be gaped at while you’re trying to persuade yourself that it can’t be real. These things really do happen to real people every day; and you read about them in the papers and think it’s all right. Well, they’ve happened to me: that’s all. + 

Knox + 

Feeble-forcible. But they shouldn’t have happened to you. Don’t you know that? + 

Margaret + 

They shouldn’t happen to anybody, I suppose. But they do. Rising impatiently. And really I’d rather go out and assault another policeman and go back to Holloway than keep talking round and round it like this. If you’re going to turn me out of the house, turn me out: the sooner I go the better. + 

Duvallet + 

Rising quickly. That is impossible, mademoiselle. Your father has his position to consider. To turn his daughter out of doors would ruin him socially. + 

Knox + 

Oh, you’ve put her up to that, have you? And where did you come in, may I ask? + 

Duvallet + 

I came in at your invitation⁠—at your amiable insistence, in fact, not at my own. But you need have no anxiety on my account. I was concerned in the regrettable incident which led to your daughter’s incarceration. I got a fortnight without the option of a fine on the ridiculous ground that I ought to have struck the policeman with my fist. I should have done so with pleasure had I known; but, as it was, I struck him on the ear with my boot⁠—a magnificent moulinet, I must say⁠—and was informed that I had been guilty of an act of cowardice, but that for the sake of the entente cordiale I should be dealt with leniently. Yet Miss Knox, who used her fist, got a month, but with the option of a fine. I did not know this until I was released, when my first act was to pay the fine. And here we are. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

You ought to pay the gentleman the fine, Jo. + 

Knox + 

Reddening. Oh, certainly. He takes out some money. + 

Duvallet + 

Oh please! it does not matter. Knox hands him two sovereigns. If you insist⁠—he pockets them Thank you. + 

Margaret + 

I’m ever so much obliged to you, Monsieur Duvallet. + 

Duvallet + 

Can I be of any further assistance, mademoiselle? + 

Margaret + 

I think you had better leave us to fight it out, if you don’t mind. + 

Duvallet + 

Perfectly. Madame bow⁠—Mademoiselle bow⁠—Monsieur bow⁠—He goes out. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Don’t ring, Jo. See the gentleman out yourself. + 

Knox hastily sees Duvallet out. Mother and daughter sit looking forlornly at one another without saying a word. Mrs. Knox slowly sits down. Margaret follows her example. They look at one another again. Mr. Knox returns. + 

Knox + 

Shortly and sternly. Amelia: this is your job. To Margaret. I leave you to your mother. I shall have my own say in the matter when I hear what you have to say to her. He goes out, solemn and offended. + 

Margaret + 

With a bitter little laugh. Just what the Suffragette said to me in Holloway. He throws the job on you. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Reproachfully. Margaret! + 

Margaret + 

You know it’s true. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Margaret: if you’re going to be hardened about it, there’s no use my saying anything. + 

Margaret + 

I’m not hardened, mother. But I can’t talk nonsense about it. You see, it’s all real to me. I’ve suffered it. I’ve been shoved and bullied. I’ve had my arms twisted. I’ve been made scream with pain in other ways. I’ve been flung into a filthy cell with a lot of other poor wretches as if I were a sack of coals being emptied into a cellar. And the only difference between me and the others was that I hit back. Yes I did. And I did worse. I wasn’t ladylike. I cursed. I called names. I heard words that I didn’t even know that I knew, coming out of my mouth just as if somebody else had spoken them. The policeman repeated them in court. The magistrate said he could hardly believe it. The policeman held out his hand with his two teeth in it that I knocked out. I said it was all right; that I had heard myself using those words quite distinctly; and that I had taken the good conduct prize for three years running at school. The poor old gentleman put me back for the missionary to find out who I was, and to ascertain the state of my mind. I wouldn’t tell, of course, for your sakes at home here; and I wouldn’t say I was sorry, or apologize to the policeman, or compensate him or anything of that sort. I wasn’t sorry. The one thing that gave me any satisfaction was getting in that smack on his mouth; and I said so. So the missionary reported that I seemed hardened and that no doubt I would tell who I was after a day in prison. Then I was sentenced. So now you see I’m not a bit the sort of girl you thought me. I’m not a bit the sort of girl I thought myself. And I don’t know what sort of person you really are, or what sort of person father really is. I wonder what he would say or do if he had an angry brute of a policeman twisting his arm with one hand and rushing him along by the nape of his neck with the other. He couldn’t whirl his leg like a windmill and knock a policeman down by a glorious kick on the helmet. Oh, if they’d all fought as we two fought we’d have beaten them. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

But how did it all begin? + 

Margaret + 

Oh, I don’t know. It was boat-race night, they said. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Boat-race night! But what had you to do with the boat race? You went to the great Salvation Festival at the Albert Hall with your aunt. She put you into the bus that passes the door. What made you get out of the bus? + 

Margaret + 

I don’t know. The meeting got on my nerves, somehow. It was the singing, I suppose: you know I love singing a good swinging hymn; and I felt it was ridiculous to go home in the bus after we had been singing so wonderfully about climbing up the golden stairs to heaven. I wanted more music⁠—more happiness⁠—more life. I wanted some comrade who felt as I did. I felt exalted: it seemed mean to be afraid of anything: after all, what could anyone do to me against my will? I suppose I was a little mad: at all events, I got out of the bus at Piccadilly Circus, because there was a lot of light and excitement there. I walked to Leicester Square; and went into a great theatre. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Horrified. A theatre! + 

Margaret + 

Yes. Lots of other women were going in alone. I had to pay five shillings. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Aghast. Five shillings! + 

Margaret + 

Apologetically. It was a lot. It was very stuffy; and I didn’t like the people much, because they didn’t seem to be enjoying themselves; but the stage was splendid and the music lovely. I saw that Frenchman, Monsieur Duvallet, standing against a barrier, smoking a cigarette. He seemed quite happy; and he was nice and sailorlike. I went and stood beside him, hoping he would speak to me. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Gasps. Margaret! + 

Margaret + 

Continuing. He did, just as if he had known me for years. We got on together like old friends. He asked me would I have some champagne; and I said it would cost too much, but that I would give anything for a dance. I longed to join the people on the stage and dance with them: one of them was the most beautiful dancer I ever saw. He told me he had come there to see her, and that when it was over we could go somewhere where there was dancing. So we went to a place where there was a band in a gallery and the floor cleared for dancing. Very few people danced: the women only wanted to show off their dresses; but we danced and danced until a lot of them joined in. We got quite reckless; and we had champagne after all. I never enjoyed anything so much. But at last it got spoilt by the Oxford and Cambridge students up for the boat race. They got drunk; and they began to smash things; and the police came in. Then it was quite horrible. The students fought with the police; and the police suddenly got quite brutal, and began to throw everybody downstairs. They attacked the women, who were not doing anything, and treated them just as roughly as they had treated the students. Duvallet got indignant and remonstrated with a policeman, who was shoving a woman though she was going quietly as fast as she could. The policeman flung the woman through the door and then turned on Duvallet. It was then that Duvallet swung his leg like a windmill and knocked the policeman down. And then three policemen rushed at him and carried him out by the arms and legs face downwards. Two more attacked me and gave me a shove to the door. That quite maddened me. I just got in one good bang on the mouth of one of them. All the rest was dreadful. I was rushed through the streets to the police station. They kicked me with their knees; they twisted my arms; they taunted and insulted me; they called me vile names; and I told them what I thought of them, and provoked them to do their worst. There’s one good thing about being hard hurt: it makes you sleep. I slept in that filthy cell with all the other drunks sounder than I should have slept at home. I can’t describe how I felt next morning: it was hideous; but the police were quite jolly; and everybody said it was a bit of English fun, and talked about last year’s boat-race night when it had been a great deal worse. I was black and blue and sick and wretched. But the strange thing was that I wasn’t sorry; and I’m not sorry. And I don’t feel that I did anything wrong, really. She rises and stretches her arms with a large liberating breath. Now that it’s all over I’m rather proud of it; though I know now that I’m not a lady; but whether that’s because we’re only shopkeepers, or because nobody’s really a lady except when they’re treated like ladies, I don’t know. She throws herself into a corner of the sofa. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Lost in wonder. But how could you bring yourself to do it, Margaret? I’m not blaming you: I only want to know. How could you bring yourself to do it? + 

Margaret + 

I can’t tell you. I don’t understand it myself. The prayer meeting set me free, somehow. I should never have done it if it were not for the prayer meeting. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Deeply horrified. Oh, don’t say such a thing as that. I know that prayer can set us free; though you could never understand me when I told you so; but it sets us free for good, not for evil. + 

Margaret + 

Then I suppose what I did was not evil; or else I was set free for evil as well as good. As father says, you can’t have anything both ways at once. When I was at home and at school I was what you call good; but I wasn’t free. And when I got free I was what most people would call not good. But I see no harm in what I did; though I see plenty in what other people did to me. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I hope you don’t think yourself a heroine of romance. + 

Margaret + 

Oh no. She sits down again at the table. I’m a heroine of reality, if you can call me a heroine at all. And reality is pretty brutal, pretty filthy, when you come to grips with it. Yet it’s glorious all the same. It’s so real and satisfactory. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I don’t like this spirit in you, Margaret. I don’t like your talking to me in that tone. + 

Margaret + 

It’s no use, mother. I don’t care for you and Papa any the less; but I shall never get back to the old way of talking again. I’ve made a sort of descent into hell⁠— + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Margaret! Such a word! + 

Margaret + 

You should have heard all the words that were flying round that night. You should mix a little with people who don’t know any other words. But when I said that about a descent into hell I was not swearing. I was in earnest, like a preacher. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

A preacher utters them in a reverent tone of voice. + 

Margaret + 

I know: the tone that shows they don’t mean anything real to him. They usen’t to mean anything real to me. Now hell is as real to me as a turnip; and I suppose I shall always speak of it like that. Anyhow, I’ve been there; and it seems to me now that nothing is worth doing but redeeming people from it. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

They are redeemed already if they choose to believe it. + 

Margaret + 

What’s the use of that if they don’t choose to believe it? You don’t believe it yourself, or you wouldn’t pay policemen to twist their arms. What’s the good of pretending? That’s all our respectability is, pretending, pretending, pretending. Thank heaven I’ve had it knocked out of me once for all! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Greatly agitated. Margaret: don’t talk like that. I can’t bear to hear you talking wickedly. I can bear to hear the children of this world talking vainly and foolishly in the language of this world. But when I hear you justifying your wickedness in the words of grace, it’s too horrible: it sounds like the devil making fun of religion. I’ve tried to bring you up to learn the happiness of religion. I’ve waited for you to find out that happiness is within ourselves and doesn’t come from outward pleasures. I’ve prayed oftener than you think that you might be enlightened. But if all my hopes and all my prayers are to come to this, that you mix up my very words and thoughts with the promptings of the devil, then I don’t know what I shall do: I don’t indeed: it’ll kill me. + 

Margaret + 

You shouldn’t have prayed for me to be enlightened if you didn’t want me to be enlightened. If the truth were known, I suspect we all want our prayers to be answered only by halves: the agreeable halves. Your prayer didn’t get answered by halves, mother. You’ve got more than you bargained for in the way of enlightenment. I shall never be the same again. I shall never speak in the old way again. I’ve been set free from this silly little hole of a house and all its pretences. I know now that I am stronger than you and Papa. I haven’t found that happiness of yours that is within yourself; but I’ve found strength. For good or evil I am set free; and none of the things that used to hold me can hold me now. + 

Knox comes back, unable to bear his suspense. + 

Knox + 

How long more are you going to keep me waiting, Amelia? Do you think I’m made of iron? What’s the girl done? What are we going to do? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

She’s beyond my control, Jo, and beyond yours. I can’t even pray for her now; for I don’t know rightly what to pray for. + 

Knox + 

Don’t talk nonsense, woman: is this a time for praying? Does anybody know? That’s what we have to consider now. If only we can keep it dark, I don’t care for anything else. + 

Margaret + 

Don’t hope for that, father. Mind: I’ll tell everybody. It ought to be told. It must be told. + 

Knox + 

Hold your tongue, you young hussy; or go out of my house this instant. + 

Margaret + 

I’m quite ready. She takes her hat and turns to the door. + 

Knox + 

Throwing himself in front of it. Here! where are you going? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Rising. You mustn’t turn her out, Jo! I’ll go with her if she goes. + 

Knox + 

Who wants to turn her out? But is she going to ruin us? To let everybody know of her disgrace and shame? To tear me down from the position I’ve made for myself and you by forty years hard struggling? + 

Margaret + 

Yes: I’m going to tear it all down. It stands between us and everything. I’ll tell everybody. + 

Knox + 

Magsy, my child: don’t bring down your father’s hairs with sorrow to the grave. There’s only one thing I care about in the world: to keep this dark. I’m your father. I ask you here on my knees⁠—in the dust, so to speak⁠—not to let it out. + 

Margaret + 

I’ll tell everybody. + 

Knox collapses in despair. Mrs. Knox tries to pray and cannot. Margaret stands inflexible. + 

Act + 

III + 

Again in the Gilbeys’ dining room. Afternoon. The table is not laid: it is draped in its ordinary cloth, with pen and ink, an exercise book, and schoolbooks on it. Bobby Gilbey is in the armchair, crouching over the fire, reading an illustrated paper. He is a pretty youth, of very suburban gentility, strong and manly enough by nature, but untrained and unsatisfactory, his parents having imagined that domestic restriction is what they call “bringing up.” He has learnt nothing from it except a habit of evading it by deceit. + 

He gets up to ring the bell; then resumes his crouch. Juggins answers the bell. + 

Bobby + 

Juggins. + 

Juggins + 

Sir? + 

Bobby + 

Morosely sarcastic. Sir be blowed! + 

Juggins + 

Cheerfully. Not at all, sir. + 

Bobby + 

I’m a gaol-bird: you’re a respectable man. + 

Juggins + 

That doesn’t matter, sir. Your father pays me to call you sir; and as I take the money, I keep my part of the bargain. + 

Bobby + 

Would you call me sir if you weren’t paid to do it? + 

Juggins + 

No, sir. + 

Bobby + 

I’ve been talking to Dora about you. + 

Juggins + 

Indeed, sir? + 

Bobby + 

Yes. Dora says your name can’t be Juggins, and that you have the manners of a gentleman. I always thought you hadn’t any manners. Anyhow, your manners are different from the manners of a gentleman in my set. + 

Juggins + 

They would be, sir. + 

Bobby + 

You don’t feel disposed to be communicative on the subject of Dora’s notion, I suppose. + 

Juggins + 

No, sir. + 

Bobby + 

Throwing his paper on the floor and lifting his knees over the arm of the chair so as to turn towards the footman. It was part of your bargain that you were to valet me a bit, wasn’t it? + 

Juggins + 

Yes, sir. + 

Bobby + 

Well, can you tell me the proper way to get out of an engagement to a girl without getting into a row for breach of promise or behaving like a regular cad? + 

Juggins + 

No, sir. You can’t get out of an engagement without behaving like a cad if the lady wishes to hold you to it. + 

Bobby + 

But it wouldn’t be for her happiness to marry me when I don’t really care for her. + 

Juggins + 

Women don’t always marry for happiness, sir. They often marry because they wish to be married women and not old maids. + 

Bobby + 

Then what am I to do? + 

Juggins + 

Marry her, sir, or behave like a cad. + 

Bobby + 

Jumping up. Well, I won’t marry her: that’s flat. What would you do if you were in my place? + 

Juggins + 

I should tell the young lady that I found I couldn’t fulfil my engagement. + 

Bobby + 

But you’d have to make some excuse, you know. I want to give it a gentlemanly turn: to say I’m not worthy of her, or something like that. + 

Juggins + 

That is not a gentlemanly turn, sir. Quite the contrary. + 

Bobby + 

I don’t see that at all. Do you mean that it’s not exactly true? + 

Juggins + 

Not at all, sir. + 

Bobby + 

I can say that no other girl can ever be to me what she’s been. That would be quite true, because our circumstances have been rather exceptional; and she’ll imagine I mean I’m fonder of her than I can ever be of anyone else. You see, Juggins, a gentleman has to think of a girl’s feelings. + 

Juggins + 

If you wish to spare her feelings, sir, you can marry her. If you hurt her feelings by refusing, you had better not try to get credit for considerateness at the same time by pretending to spare them. She won’t like it. And it will start an argument, of which you will get the worse. + 

Bobby + 

But, you know, I’m not really worthy of her. + 

Juggins + 

Probably she never supposed you were, sir. + 

Bobby + 

Oh, I say, Juggins, you are a pessimist. + 

Juggins + 

Preparing to go. Anything else, sir? + 

Bobby + 

Querulously. You haven’t been much use. He wanders disconsolately across the room. You generally put me up to the correct way of doing things. + 

Juggins + 

I assure you, sir, there’s no correct way of jilting. It’s not correct in itself. + 

Bobby + 

Hopefully. I’ll tell you what. I’ll say I can’t hold her to an engagement with a man who’s been in quod. That’ll do it. He seats himself on the table, relieved and confident. + 

Juggins + 

Very dangerous, sir. No woman will deny herself the romantic luxury of self-sacrifice and forgiveness when they take the form of doing something agreeable. She’s almost sure to say that your misfortune will draw her closer to you. + 

Bobby + 

What a nuisance! I don’t know what to do. You know, Juggins, your cool simple-minded way of doing it wouldn’t go down in Denmark Hill. + 

Juggins + 

I daresay not, sir. No doubt you’d prefer to make it look like an act of self-sacrifice for her sake on your part, or provoke her to break the engagement herself. Both plans have been tried repeatedly, but never with success, as far as my knowledge goes. + 

Bobby + 

You have a devilish cool way of laying down the law. You know, in my class you have to wrap up things a bit. Denmark Hill isn’t Camberwell, you know. + 

Juggins + 

I have noticed, sir, that Denmark Hill thinks that the higher you go in the social scale, the less sincerity is allowed; and that only tramps and riffraff are quite sincere. That’s a mistake. Tramps are often shameless; but they’re never sincere. Swells⁠—if I may use that convenient name for the upper classes⁠—play much more with their cards on the table. If you tell the young lady that you want to jilt her, and she calls you a pig, the tone of the transaction may leave much to be desired; but it’ll be less Camberwellian than if you say you’re not worthy. + 

Bobby + 

Oh, I can’t make you understand, Juggins. The girl isn’t a scullery-maid. I want to do it delicately. + 

Juggins + 

A mistake, sir, believe me, if you are not a born artist in that line.⁠—Beg pardon, sir, I think I heard the bell. He goes out. + 

Bobby, much perplexed, shoves his hands into his pockets, and comes off the table, staring disconsolately straight before him; then goes reluctantly to his books, and sits down to write. Juggins returns. + 

Juggins + 

Announcing. Miss Knox. + 

Margaret comes in. Juggins withdraws. + 

Margaret + 

Still grinding away for that Society of Arts examination, Bobby? You’ll never pass. + 

Bobby + 

Rising. No: I was just writing to you. + 

Margaret + 

What about? + 

Bobby + 

Oh, nothing. At least⁠—How are you? + 

Margaret + 

Passing round the other end of the table and putting down on it a copy of Lloyd’s Weekly and her purse-bag. Quite well, thank you. How did you enjoy Brighton? + 

Bobby + 

Brighton! I wasn’t at⁠—Oh yes, of course. Oh, pretty well. Is your aunt all right? + 

Margaret + 

My aunt! I suppose so. I haven’t seen her for a month. + 

Bobby + 

I thought you were down staying with her. + 

Margaret + 

Oh! was that what they told you? + 

Bobby + 

Yes. Why? Weren’t you really? + 

Margaret + 

No. I’ve something to tell you. Sit down and lets be comfortable. + 

She sits on the edge of the table. He sits beside her, and puts his arm wearily round her waist. + 

Margaret + 

You needn’t do that if you don’t like, Bobby. Suppose we get off duty for the day, just to see what it’s like. + 

Bobby + 

Off duty? What do you mean? + 

Margaret + 

You know very well what I mean. Bobby: did you ever care one little scrap for me in that sort of way? Don’t funk answering: I don’t care a bit for you⁠—that way. + 

Bobby + 

Removing his arm rather huffily. I beg your pardon, I’m sure. I thought you did. + 

Margaret + 

Well, did you? Come! Don’t be mean. I’ve owned up. You can put it all on me if you like; but I don’t believe you care any more than I do. + 

Bobby + 

You mean we’ve been shoved into it rather by the pars and mars. + 

Margaret + 

Yes. + 

Bobby + 

Well, it’s not that I don’t care for you: in fact, no girl can ever be to me exactly what you are; but we’ve been brought up so much together that it feels more like brother and sister than⁠—well, than the other thing, doesn’t it? + 

Margaret + 

Just so. How did you find out the difference? + 

Bobby + 

Blushing. Oh, I say! + 

Margaret + 

I found out from a Frenchman. + 

Bobby + 

Oh, I say! He comes off the table in his consternation. + 

Margaret + 

Did you learn it from a Frenchwoman? You know you must have learnt it from somebody. + 

Bobby + 

Not a Frenchwoman. She’s quite a nice woman. But she’s been rather unfortunate. The daughter of a clergyman. + 

Margaret + 

Startled. Oh, Bobby! That sort of woman! + 

Bobby + 

What sort of woman? + 

Margaret + 

You don’t believe she’s really a clergyman’s daughter, do you, you silly boy? It’s a stock joke. + 

Bobby + 

Do you mean to say you don’t believe me? + 

Margaret + 

No: I mean to say I don’t believe her. + 

Bobby + 

Curious and interested, resuming his seat on the table beside her. What do you know about her? What do you know about all this sort of thing? + 

Margaret + 

What sort of thing, Bobby? + 

Bobby + 

Well, about life. + 

Margaret + 

I’ve lived a lot since I saw you last. I wasn’t at my aunt’s. All that time that you were in Brighton, I mean. + 

Bobby + 

I wasn’t at Brighton, Meg. I’d better tell you: you’re bound to find out sooner or later. He begins his confession humbly, avoiding her gaze. Meg: it’s rather awful: you’ll think me no end of a beast. I’ve been in prison. + 

Margaret + 

You! + 

Bobby + 

Yes, me. For being drunk and assaulting the police. + 

Margaret + 

Do you mean to say that you⁠—oh! this is a letdown for me. She comes off the table and drops, disconsolate, into a chair at the end of it furthest from the hearth. + 

Bobby + 

Of course I couldn’t hold you to our engagement after that. I was writing to you to break it off. He also descends from the table and makes slowly for the hearth. You must think me an utter rotter. + 

Margaret + 

Oh, has everybody been in prison for being drunk and assaulting the police? How long were you in? + 

Bobby + 

A fortnight. + 

Margaret + 

That’s what I was in for. + 

Bobby + 

What are you talking about? In where? + 

Margaret + 

In quod. + 

Bobby + 

But I’m serious: I’m not rotting. Really and truly⁠— + 

Margaret + 

What did you do to the copper? + 

Bobby + 

Nothing, absolutely nothing. He exaggerated grossly. I only laughed at him. + 

Margaret + 

Jumping up, triumphant. I’ve beaten you hollow. I knocked out two of his teeth. I’ve got one of them. He sold it to me for ten shillings. + 

Bobby + 

Now please do stop fooling, Meg. I tell you I’m not rotting. He sits down in the armchair, rather sulkily. + 

Margaret + 

Taking up the copy of Lloyd’s Weekly and going to him. And I tell you I’m not either. Look! Here’s a report of it. The daily papers are no good; but the Sunday papers are splendid. She sits on the arm of the chair. See! Reading: “Hardened at Eighteen. A quietly dressed, respectable-looking girl who refuses her name”⁠—that’s me. + 

Bobby + 

Pausing a moment in his perusal. Do you mean to say that you went on the loose out of pure devilment? + 

Margaret + 

I did no harm. I went to see a lovely dance. I picked up a nice man and went to have a dance myself. I can’t imagine anything more innocent and more happy. All the bad part was done by other people: they did it out of pure devilment if you like. Anyhow, here we are, two gaolbirds, Bobby, disgraced forever. Isn’t it a relief? + 

Bobby + 

Rising stiffly. But you know, it’s not the same for a girl. A man may do things a woman mayn’t. He stands on the hearthrug with his back to the fire. + 

Margaret + 

Are you scandalized, Bobby? + 

Bobby + 

Well, you can’t expect me to approve of it, can you, Meg? I never thought you were that sort of girl. + 

Margaret + 

Rising indignantly. I’m not. You mustn’t pretend to think that I’m a clergyman’s daughter, Bobby. + 

Bobby + 

I wish you wouldn’t chaff about that. Don’t forget the row you got into for letting out that you admired Juggins she turns her back on him quickly⁠—a footman! And what about the Frenchman? + 

Margaret + 

Facing him again. I know nothing about the Frenchman except that he’s a very nice fellow and can swing his leg round like the hand of a clock and knock a policeman down with it. He was in Wormwood Scrubbs with you. I was in Holloway. + 

Bobby + 

It’s all very well to make light of it, Meg; but this is a bit thick, you know. + 

Margaret + 

Do you feel you couldn’t marry a woman who’s been in prison? + 

Bobby + 

Hastily. No. I never said that. It might even give a woman a greater claim on a man. Any girl, if she were thoughtless and a bit on, perhaps, might get into a scrape. Anyone who really understood her character could see there was no harm in it. But you’re not the larky sort. At least you usen’t to be. + 

Margaret + 

I’m not; and I never will be. She walks straight up to him. I didn’t do it for a lark, Bob: I did it out of the very depths of my nature. I did it because I’m that sort of person. I did it in one of my religious fits. I’m hardened at eighteen, as they say. So what about the match, now? + 

Bobby + 

Well, I don’t think you can fairly hold me to it, Meg. Of course it would be ridiculous for me to set up to be shocked, or anything of that sort. I can’t afford to throw stones at anybody; and I don’t pretend to. I can understand a lark; I can forgive a slip; as long as it is understood that it is only a lark or a slip. But to go on the loose on principle; to talk about religion in connection with it; to⁠—to⁠—well, Meg, I do find that a bit thick, I must say. I hope you’re not in earnest when you talk that way. + 

Margaret + 

Bobby: you’re no good. No good to me, anyhow. + 

Bobby + 

Huffed. I’m sorry, Miss Knox. + 

Margaret + 

Goodbye, Mr. Gilbey. She turns on her heel and goes to the other end of the table. I suppose you won’t introduce me to the clergyman’s daughter. + 

Bobby + 

I don’t think she’d like it. There are limits, after all. He sits down at the table, as if to to resume work at his books: a hint to her to go. + 

Margaret + 

On her way to the door. Ring the bell, Bobby; and tell Juggins to show me out. + 

Bobby + 

Reddening. I’m not a cad, Meg. + 

Margaret + 

Coming to the table. Then do something nice to prevent us feeling mean about this afterwards. You’d better kiss me. You needn’t ever do it again. + 

Bobby + 

If I’m no good, I don’t see what fun it would be for you. + 

Margaret + 

Oh, it’d be no fun. If I wanted what you call fun, I should ask the Frenchman to kiss me⁠—or Juggins. + 

Bobby + 

Rising and retreating to the hearth. Oh, don’t be disgusting, Meg. Don’t be low. + 

Margaret + 

Determinedly, preparing to use force. Now, I’ll make you kiss me, just to punish you. She seizes his wrist; pulls him off his balance; and gets her arm round his neck. + 

Bobby + 

No. Stop. Leave go, will you. + 

Juggins appears at the door. + 

Juggins + 

Miss Delaney, Sir. Dora comes in. Juggins goes out. Margaret hastily releases Bobby, and goes to the other side of the room. + 

Dora + 

Through the door, to the departing Juggins. Well, you are a Juggins to show me up when there’s company. To Margaret and Bobby. It’s all right, dear: all right, old man: I’ll wait in Juggins’s pantry till you’re disengaged. + 

Margaret + 

Don’t you know me? + 

Dora + 

Coming to the middle of the room and looking at her very attentively. Why, it’s never No. 406! + 

Margaret + 

Yes it is. + 

Dora + 

Well, I should never have known you out of the uniform. How did you get out? You were doing a month, weren’t you? + 

Margaret + 

My bloke paid the fine the day he got out himself. + 

Dora + 

A real gentleman! Pointing to Bobby, who is staring open-mouthed. Look at him. He can’t take it in. + 

Bobby + 

I suppose you made her acquaintance in prison, Meg. But when it comes to talking about blokes and all that⁠—well! + 

Margaret + 

Oh, I’ve learnt the language; and I like it. It’s another barrier broken down. + 

Bobby + 

It’s not so much the language, Meg. But I think⁠—He looks at Dora and stops. + 

Margaret + 

Suddenly dangerous. What do you think, Bobby? + 

Dora + 

He thinks you oughtn’t to be so free with me, dearie. It does him credit: he always was a gentleman, you know. + 

Margaret + 

Does him credit! To insult you like that! Bobby: say that that wasn’t what you meant. + 

Bobby + 

I didn’t say it was. + 

Margaret + 

Well, deny that it was. + 

Bobby + 

No. I wouldn’t have said it in front of Dora; but I do think it’s not quite the same thing my knowing her and you knowing her. + 

Dora + 

Of course it isn’t, old man. To Margaret. I’ll just trot off and come back in half an hour. You two can make it up together. I’m really not fit company for you, dearie: I couldn’t live up to you. She turns to go. + 

Margaret + 

Stop. Do you believe he could live up to me? + 

Dora + 

Well, I’ll never say anything to stand between a girl and a respectable marriage, or to stop a decent lad from settling himself. I have a conscience; though I mayn’t be as particular as some. + 

Margaret + 

You seem to me to be a very decent sort; and Bobby’s behaving like a skunk. + 

Bobby + 

Much ruffled. Nice language that! + 

Dora + 

Well, dearie, men have to do some awfully mean things to keep up their respectability. But you can’t blame them for that, can you? I’ve met Bobby walking with his mother; and of course he cut me dead. I won’t pretend I liked it; but what could he do, poor dear? + 

Margaret + 

And now he wants me to cut you dead to keep him in countenance. Well, I shan’t: not if my whole family were there. But I’ll cut him dead if he doesn’t treat you properly. To Bobby, with a threatening move in his direction. I’ll educate you, you young beast. + 

Bobby + 

Furious, meeting her halfway. Who are you calling a young beast? + 

Margaret + 

You. + 

Dora + 

Peacemaking. Now, dearies! + 

Bobby + 

If you don’t take care, you’ll get your fat head jolly well clouted. + 

Margaret + 

If you don’t take care, the policeman’s tooth will only be the beginning of a collection. + 

Dora + 

Now, loveys, be good. + 

Bobby, lost to all sense of adult dignity, puts out his tongue at Margaret. Margaret, equally furious, catches his protended countenance a box on the cheek. He hurls himself her. They wrestle. + 

Bobby + 

Cat! I’ll teach you. + 

Margaret + 

Pig! Beast! She forces him backwards on the table. Now where are you? + 

Dora + 

Calling. Juggins, Juggins. They’ll murder one another. + 

Juggins + 

Throwing open the door, and announcing. Monsieur Duvallet. + 

Duvallet enters. Sudden cessation of hostilities, and dead silence. The combatants separate by the whole width of the room. Juggins withdraws. + 

Duvallet + 

I fear I derange you. + 

Margaret + 

Not at all. Bobby: you really are a beast: Monsieur Duvallet will think I’m always fighting. + 

Duvallet + 

Practising jujitsu or the new Iceland wrestling. Admirable, Miss Knox. The athletic young Englishwoman is an example to all Europe. Indicating Bobby. Your instructor, no doubt. Monsieur⁠—He bows. + 

Bobby + 

Bowing awkwardly. How d’y’ do? + 

Margaret + 

To Bobby. I’m so sorry, Bobby: I asked Monsieur Duvallet to call for me here; and I forgot to tell you. Introducing. Monsieur Duvallet: Miss Four hundred and seven. Mr. Bobby Gilbey. Duvallet bows. I really don’t know how to explain our relationships. Bobby and I are like brother and sister. + 

Duvallet + 

Perfectly. I noticed it. + 

Margaret + 

Bobby and Miss⁠—Miss⁠— + 

Dora + 

Delaney, dear. To Duvallet, bewitchingly. Darling Dora, to real friends. + 

Margaret + 

Bobby and Dora are⁠—are⁠—well, not brother and sister. + 

Duvallet + 

With redoubled comprehension. Perfectly. + 

Margaret + 

Bobby has spent the last fortnight in prison. You don’t mind, do you? + 

Duvallet + 

No, naturally. I have spent the last fortnight in prison. + 

The conversation drops. Margaret renews it with an effort. + 

Margaret + 

Dora has spent the last fortnight in prison. + 

Duvallet + 

Quite so. I felicitate Mademoiselle on her enlargement. + 

Dora + 

Trop merci, as they say in Boulogne. No call to be stiff with one another, have we? + 

Juggins comes in. + 

Juggins + 

Beg pardon, sir. Mr. and Mrs. Gilbey are coming up the street. + 

Dora + 

Let me absquatulate. Making for the door. + 

Juggins + 

If you wish to leave without being seen, you had better step into my pantry and leave afterwards. + 

Dora + 

Right oh! She bursts into song. Hide me in the meat safe till the cop goes by. Hum the dear old music as his step draws nigh. She goes out on tiptoe. + 

Margaret + 

I won’t stay here if she has to hide. I’ll keep her company in the pantry. She follows Dora. + 

Bobby + 

Lets all go. We can’t have any fun with the Mar here. I say, Juggins: you can give us tea in the pantry, can’t you? + 

Juggins + 

Certainly, sir. + 

Bobby + 

Right. Say nothing to my mother. You don’t mind, Mr. Doovalley, do you? + 

Duvallet + 

I shall be charmed. + 

Bobby + 

Right you are. Come along. At the door. Oh, by the way, Juggins, fetch down that concertina from my room, will you? + 

Juggins + 

Yes, sir. Bobby goes out. Duvallet follows him to the door. You understand, sir, that Miss Knox is a lady absolutely comme il faut? + 

Duvallet + 

Perfectly. But the other? + 

Juggins + 

The other, sir, may be both charitably and accurately described in your native idiom as a daughter of joy. + 

Duvallet + 

It is what I thought. These English domestic interiors are very interesting. He goes out, followed by Juggins. + 

Presently Mr. and Mrs. Gilbey come in. They take their accustomed places: he on the hearthrug, she at the colder end of the table. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Did you smell scent in the hall, Rob? + 

Gilbey + 

No, I didn’t. And I don’t want to smell it. Don’t you go looking for trouble, Maria. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Snuffing up the perfumed atmosphere. She’s been here. Gilbey rings the bell. What are you ringing for? Are you going to ask? + 

Gilbey + 

No, I’m not going to ask. Juggins said this morning he wanted to speak to me. If he likes to tell me, let him; but I’m not going to ask; and don’t you either. Juggins appears at the door. You said you wanted to say something to me. + 

Juggins + 

When it would be convenient to you, sir. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, what is it? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh, Juggins, we’re expecting Mr. and Mrs. Knox to tea. + 

Gilbey + 

He knows that. He sits down. Then, to Juggins. What is it? + 

Juggins + 

Advancing to the middle of the table. Would it inconvenience you, sir, if I was to give you a month’s notice? + 

Gilbey + 

Taken aback. What! Why? Ain’t you satisfied? + 

Juggins + 

Perfectly, sir. It is not that I want to better myself, I assure you. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, what do you want to leave for, then? Do you want to worse yourself? + 

Juggins + 

No, sir. I’ve been well treated in your most comfortable establishment; and I should be greatly distressed if you or Mrs. Gilbey were to interpret my notice as an expression of dissatisfaction. + 

Gilbey + 

Paternally. Now you listen to me, Juggins. I’m an older man than you. Don’t you throw out dirty water till you get in fresh. Don’t get too big for your boots. You’re like all servants nowadays: you think you’ve only to hold up your finger to get the pick of half a dozen jobs. But you won’t be treated everywhere as you’re treated here. In bed every night before eleven; hardly a ring at the door except on Mrs. Gilbey’s day once a month; and no other manservant to interfere with you. It may be a bit quiet perhaps; but you’re past the age of adventure. Take my advice: think over it. You suit me; and I’m prepared to make it suit you if you’re dissatisfied⁠—in reason, you know. + 

Juggins + 

I realize my advantages, sir; but I’ve private reasons⁠— + 

Gilbey + 

Cutting him short angrily and retiring to the hearthrug in dudgeon. Oh, I know. Very well: go. The sooner the better. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh, not until we’re suited. He must stay his month. + 

Gilbey + 

Sarcastic. Do you want to lose him his character, Maria? Do you think I don’t see what it is? We’re prison folk now. We’ve been in the police court. To Juggins. Well, I suppose you know your own business best. I take your notice: you can go when your month is up, or sooner, if you like. + 

Juggins + 

Believe me, sir⁠— + 

Gilbey + 

That’s enough: I don’t want any excuses. I don’t blame you. You can go downstairs now, if you’ve nothing else to trouble me about. + 

Juggins + 

I really can’t leave it at that, sir. I assure you I’ve no objection to young Mr. Gilbey’s going to prison. You may do six months yourself, sir, and welcome, without a word of remonstrance from me. I’m leaving solely because my brother, who has suffered a bereavement, and feels lonely, begs me to spend a few months with him until he gets over it. + 

Gilbey + 

And is he to keep you all that time? or are you to spend your savings in comforting him? Have some sense, man: how can you afford such things? + 

Juggins + 

My brother can afford to keep me, sir. The truth is, he objects to my being in service. + 

Gilbey + 

Is that any reason why you should be dependent on him? Don’t do it, Juggins: pay your own way like an honest lad; and don’t eat your brother’s bread while you’re able to earn your own. + 

Juggins + 

There is sound sense in that, sir. But unfortunately it is a tradition in my family that the younger brothers should sponge to a considerable extent on the eldest. + 

Gilbey + 

Then the sooner that tradition is broken, the better, my man. + 

Juggins + 

A Radical sentiment, sir. But an excellent one. + 

Gilbey + 

Radical! What do you mean? Don’t you begin to take liberties, Juggins, now that you know we’re loth to part with you. Your brother isn’t a duke, you know. + 

Juggins + 

Unfortunately, he is, sir. + 

Together. + 

Gilbey + 

What! + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Juggins! + 

Juggins + 

Excuse me, sir: the bell. He goes out. + 

Gilbey + 

Overwhelmed. Maria: did you understand him to say his brother was a duke? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Fancy his condescending! Perhaps if you’d offer to raise his wages and treat him as one of the family, he’d stay. + 

Gilbey + 

And have my own servant above me! Not me. What’s the world coming to? Here’s Bobby and⁠— + 

Juggins + 

Entering and announcing. Mr. and Mrs. Knox. + 

The Knoxes come in. Juggins takes two chairs from the wall and places them at the table, between the host and hostess. Then he withdraws. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

To Mrs. Knox. How are you, dear? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Nicely, thank you. Good evening, Mr. Gilbey. They shake hands; and she takes the chair nearest Mrs. Gilbey. Mr. Knox takes the other chair. + 

Gilbey + 

Sitting down. I was just saying, Knox, What is the world coming to? + 

Knox + 

Appealing to his wife. What was I saying myself only this morning? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

This is a strange time. I was never one to talk about the end of the world; but look at the things that have happened! + 

Knox + 

Earthquakes! + 

Gilbey + 

San Francisco! + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Jamaica! + 

Knox + 

Martinique! + 

Gilbey + 

Messina! + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

The plague in China! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

The floods in France! + 

Gilbey + 

My Bobby in Wormwood Scrubbs! + 

Knox + 

Margaret in Holloway! + 

Gilbey + 

And now my footman tells me his brother’s a duke! + 

Knox + 

No! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

What’s that? + 

Gilbey + 

Just before he let you in. A duke! Here has everything been respectable from the beginning of the world, as you may say, to the present day; and all of a sudden everything is turned upside down. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

It’s like in the book of Revelations. But I do say that unless people have happiness within themselves, all the earthquakes, all the floods, and all the prisons in the world can’t make them really happy. + 

Knox + 

It isn’t alone the curious things that are happening, but the unnatural way people are taking them. Why, there’s Margaret been in prison, and she hasn’t time to go to all the invitations she’s had from people that never asked her before. + 

Gilbey + 

I never knew we could live without being respectable. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh, Rob, what a thing to say! Who says we’re not respectable? + 

Gilbey + 

Well, it’s not what I call respectable to have your children in and out of gaol. + 

Knox + 

Oh come, Gilbey! we’re not tramps because we’ve had, as it were, an accident. + 

Gilbey + 

It’s no use, Knox: look it in the face. Did I ever tell you my father drank? + 

Knox + 

No. But I knew it. Simmons told me. + 

Gilbey + 

Yes: he never could keep his mouth quiet: he told me your aunt was a kleptomaniac. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

It wasn’t true, Mr. Gilbey. She used to pick up handkerchiefs if she saw them lying about; but you might trust her with untold silver. + 

Gilbey + 

My Uncle Phil was a teetotaller. My father used to say to me: Rob, he says, don’t you ever have a weakness. If you find one getting a hold on you, make a merit of it, he says. Your Uncle Phil doesn’t like spirits; and he makes a merit of it, and is chairman of the Blue Ribbon Committee. I do like spirits; and I make a merit of it, and I’m the King Cockatoo of the Convivial Cockatoos. Never put yourself in the wrong, he says. I used to boast about what a good boy Bobby was. Now I swank about what a dog he is; and it pleases people just as well. What a world it is! + 

Knox + 

It turned my blood cold at first to hear Margaret telling people about Holloway; but it goes down better than her singing used to. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I never thought she sang right after all those lessons we paid for. + 

Gilbey + 

Lord, Knox, it was lucky you and me got let in together. I tell you straight, if it hadn’t been for Bobby’s disgrace, I’d have broke up the firm. + 

Knox + 

I shouldn’t have blamed you: I’d have done the same only for Margaret. Too much straightlacedness narrows a man’s mind. Talking of that, what about those hygienic corset advertisements that Vines & Jackson want us to put in the window? I told Vines they weren’t decent and we couldn’t show them in our shop. I was pretty high with him. But what am I to say to him now if he comes and throws this business in our teeth? + 

Gilbey + 

Oh, put ’em in. We may as well go it a bit now. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

You’ve been going it quite far enough, Rob. To Mrs. Knox. He won’t get up in the mornings now: he that was always out of bed at seven to the tick! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

You hear that, Jo? To Mrs. Gilbey. he’s taken to whisky and soda. A pint a week! And the beer the same as before! + 

Knox + 

Oh, don’t preach, old girl. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

To Mrs. Gilbey. That’s a new name he’s got for me. To Knox. I tell you, Jo, this doesn’t sit well on you. You may call it preaching if you like; but it’s the truth for all that. I say that if you’ve happiness within yourself, you don’t need to seek it outside, spending money on drink and theatres and bad company, and being miserable after all. You can sit at home and be happy; and you can work and be happy. If you have that in you, the spirit will set you free to do what you want and guide you to do right. But if you haven’t got it, then you’d best be respectable and stick to the ways that are marked out for you; for you’ve nothing else to keep you straight. + 

Knox + 

Angrily. And is a man never to have a bit of fun? See what’s come of it with your daughter! She was to be content with your happiness that you’re always talking about; and how did the spirit guide her? To a month’s hard for being drunk and assaulting the police. Did I ever assault the police? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

You wouldn’t have the courage. I don’t blame the girl. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Oh, Maria! What are you saying? + 

Gilbey + 

What! And you so pious! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

She went where the spirit guided her. And what harm there was in it she knew nothing about. + 

Gilbey + 

Oh, come, Mrs. Knox! Girls are not so innocent as all that. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I don’t say she was ignorant. But I do say that she didn’t know what we know: I mean the way certain temptations get a sudden hold that no goodness nor self-control is any use against. She was saved from that, and had a rough lesson too; and I say it was no earthly protection that did that. But don’t think, you two men, that you’ll be protected if you make what she did an excuse to go and do as you’d like to do if it wasn’t for fear of losing your characters. The spirit won’t guide you, because it isn’t in you; and it never had been: not in either of you. + 

Gilbey + 

With ironic humility. I’m sure I’m obliged to you for your good opinion, Mrs. Knox. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Well, I will say for you, Mr. Gilbey, that you’re better than my man here. He’s a bitter hard heathen, is my Jo, God help me! She begins to cry quietly. + 

Knox + 

Now, don’t take on like that, Amelia. You know I always give in to you that you were right about religion. But one of us had to think of other things, or we’d have starved, we and the child. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

How do you know you’d have starved? All the other things might have been added unto you. + 

Gilbey + 

Come, Mrs. Knox, don’t tell me Knox is a sinner. I know better. I’m sure you’d be the first to be sorry if anything was to happen to him. + 

Knox + 

Bitterly to his wife. You’ve always had some grudge against me; and nobody but yourself can understand what it is. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I wanted a man who had that happiness within himself. You made me think you had it; but it was nothing but being in love with me. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

And do you blame him for that? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I blame nobody. But let him not think he can walk by his own light. I tell him that if he gives up being respectable he’ll go right down to the bottom of the hill. He has no powers inside himself to keep him steady; so let him cling to the powers outside him. + 

Knox + 

Rising angrily. Who wants to give up being respectable? All this for a pint of whisky that lasted a week! How long would it have lasted Simmons, I wonder? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Gently. Oh, well, say no more, Jo. I won’t plague you about it. He sits down. You never did understand; and you never will. Hardly anybody understands: even Margaret didn’t till she went to prison. She does now; and I shall have a companion in the house after all these lonely years. + 

Knox + 

Beginning to cry. I did all I could to make you happy. I never said a harsh word to you. + 

Gilbey + 

Rising indignantly. What right have you to treat a man like that? an honest respectable husband? as if he were dirt under your feet? + 

Knox + 

Let her alone, Gilbey. Gilbey sits down, but mutinously. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Well, you gave me all you could, Jo; and if it wasn’t what I wanted, that wasn’t your fault. But I’d rather have you as you were than since you took to whisky and soda. + 

Knox + 

I don’t want any whisky and soda. I’ll take the pledge if you like. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

No: you shall have your beer because you like it. The whisky was only brag. And if you and me are to remain friends, Mr. Gilbey, you’ll get up tomorrow morning at seven. + 

Gilbey + 

Defiantly. Damn if I will! There! + 

Mrs. Knox + 

With gentle pity. How do you know, Mr. Gilbey, what you’ll do tomorrow morning? + 

Gilbey + 

Why shouldn’t I know? Are we children not to be let do what we like, and our own sons and daughters kicking their heels all over the place? To Knox. I was never one to interfere between man and wife, Knox; but if Maria started ordering me about like that⁠— + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Now don’t be naughty, Rob. You know you mustn’t set yourself up against religion? + 

Gilbey + 

Whos setting himself up against religion? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

It doesn’t matter whether you set yourself up against it or not, Mr. Gilbey. If it sets itself up against you, you’ll have to go the appointed way: it’s no use quarrelling about it with me that am as great a sinner as yourself. + 

Gilbey + 

Oh, indeed! And who told you I was a sinner? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Now, Rob, you know we are all sinners. What else is religion? + 

Gilbey + 

I say nothing against religion. I suppose we're all sinners, in a manner of speaking; but I don’t like to have it thrown at me as if I’d really done anything. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Mrs. Knox is speaking for your good, Rob. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, I don’t like to be spoken to for my good. Would anybody like it? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Don’t take offence where none is meant, Mr. Gilbey. Talk about something else. No good ever comes of arguing about such things among the like of us. + 

Knox + 

The like of us! Are you throwing it in our teeth that your people were in the wholesale and thought Knox and Gilbey wasn’t good enough for you? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

No, Jo: you know I’m not. What better were my people than yours, for all their pride? But I’ve noticed it all my life: we’re ignorant. We don’t really know what’s right and what’s wrong. We’re all right as long as things go on the way they always did. We bring our children up just as we were brought up; and we go to church or chapel just as our parents did; and we say what everybody says; and it goes on all right until something out of the way happens: there’s a family quarrel, or one of the children goes wrong, or a father takes to drink, or an aunt goes mad, or one of us finds ourselves doing something we never thought we’d want to do. And then you know what happens: complaints and quarrels and huff and offence and bad language and bad temper and regular bewilderment as if Satan possessed us all. We find out then that with all our respectability and piety, we’ve no real religion and no way of telling right from wrong. We’ve nothing but our habits; and when they’re upset, where are we? Just like Peter in the storm trying to walk on the water and finding he couldn’t. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Piously. Aye! He found out, didn’t he? + 

Gilbey + 

Reverently. I never denied that you’ve a great intellect, Mrs. Knox⁠— + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Oh get along with you, Gilbey, if you begin talking about my intellect. Give us some tea, Maria. I’ve said my say; and I’m sure I beg the company’s pardon for being so long about it, and so disagreeable. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Ring, Rob. Gilbey rings. Stop. Juggins will think we’re ringing for him. + 

Gilbey + 

Appalled. It’s too late. I rang before I thought of it. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Step down and apologize, Rob. + 

Knox + 

Is it him that you said was brother to a⁠— + 

Juggins comes in with the tea-tray. All rise. He takes the tray to Mrs. Gilbey. + 

Gilbey + 

I didn’t mean to ask you to do this, Mr. Juggins. I wasn’t thinking when I rang. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Trying to take the tray from him. Let me, Juggins. + 

Juggins + 

Please sit down, madam. Allow me to discharge my duties just as usual, sir. I assure you that is the correct thing. They sit down, ill at ease, whilst he places the tray on the table. He then goes out for the curate. + 

Knox + 

Lowering his voice. Is this all right, Gilbey? Anybody may be the son of a duke, you know. Is he legitimate? + 

Gilbey + 

Good lord! I never thought of that. + 

Juggins returns with the cakes. They regard him with suspicion. + 

Gilbey + 

Whispering to Knox. You ask him. + 

Knox + 

To Juggins. Just a word with you, my man. Was your mother married to your father? + 

Juggins + 

I believe so, sir. I can’t say from personal knowledge. It was before my time. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, but look here you know⁠—He hesitates. + 

Juggins + 

Yes, sir? + 

Knox + 

I know whatll clinch it, Gilbey. You leave it to me. To Juggins. Was your mother the duchess? + 

Juggins + 

Yes, sir. Quite correct, sir, I assure you. To Mrs. Gilbey. That is the milk, madam. She has mistaken the jugs. This is the water. + 

They stare at him in pitiable embarrassment. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

What did I tell you? Here’s something out of the common happening with a servant; and we none of us know how to behave. + 

Juggins + 

It’s quite simple, madam. I’m a footman, and should be treated as a footman. He proceeds calmly with his duties, handing round cups of tea as Mrs. Knox fills them. + 

Shrieks of laughter from below stairs reach the ears of the company. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What’s that noise? Is Master Bobby at home? I heard his laugh. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

I’m sure I heard Margaret’s. + 

Gilbey + 

Not a bit of it. It was that woman. + 

Juggins + 

I can explain, sir. I must ask you to excuse the liberty; but I’m entertaining a small party to tea in my pantry. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

But you’re not entertaining Master Bobby? + 

Juggins + 

Yes, madam. + 

Gilbey + 

Who’s with him? + 

Juggins + 

Miss Knox, sir. + 

Gilbey + 

Miss Knox! Are you sure? Is there anyone else? + 

Juggins + 

Only a French marine officer, sir, and⁠—er⁠—Miss Delaney. He places Gilbey’s tea on the table before him. The lady that called about Master Bobby, sir. + 

Knox + 

Do you mean to say they’re having a party all to themselves downstairs, and we having a party up here and knowing nothing about it? + 

Juggins + 

Yes, sir. I have to do a good deal of entertaining in the pantry for Master Bobby, sir. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, this is a nice state of things! + 

Knox + 

What’s the meaning of it? What do they do it for? + 

Juggins + 

To enjoy themselves, sir, I should think. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Enjoy themselves! Did ever anybody hear of such a thing? + 

Gilbey + 

Knox’s daughter shown into my pantry! + 

Knox + 

Margaret mixing with a Frenchman and a footman⁠—Suddenly realizing that the footman is offering him cake. She doesn’t know about⁠—about His Grace, you know. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Perhaps she does. Does she, Mr. Juggins? + 

Juggins + 

The other lady suspects me, madam. They call me Rudolph, or the Long Lost Heir. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

It’s a much nicer name than Juggins. I think I’ll call you by it, if you don’t mind. + 

Juggins + 

Not at all, madam. + 

Roars of merriment from below. + 

Gilbey + 

Go and tell them to stop laughing. What right have they to make a noise like that? + 

Juggins + 

I asked them not to laugh so loudly, sir. But the French gentleman always sets them off again. + 

Knox + 

Do you mean to tell me that my daughter laughs at a Frenchman’s jokes? + 

Gilbey + 

We all know what French jokes are. + 

Juggins + 

Believe me: you do not, sir. The noise this afternoon has all been because the Frenchman said that the cat had whooping cough. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Laughing heartily. Well, I never! + 

Gilbey + 

Don’t be a fool, Maria. Look here, Knox: we can’t let this go on. People can’t be allowed to behave like this. + 

Knox + 

Just what I say. + 

A concertina adds its music to the revelry. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Excited. That’s the squiffer. He’s bought it for her. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, of all the scandalous⁠—Redoubled laughter from below. + 

Knox + 

I’ll put a stop to this. He goes out to the landing and shouts: Margaret! Sudden dead silence. Margaret, I say! + 

Margaret’s voice + 

Yes, father. Shall we all come up? We’re dying to. + 

Knox + 

Come up and be ashamed of yourselves, behaving like wild Indians. + 

Dora’s voice + 

Screaming. Oh! oh! oh! Don’t Bobby. Now⁠—oh! In headlong flight she dashes into and right across the room, breathless, and slightly abashed by the company. I beg your pardon, Mrs. Gilbey, for coming in like that; but whenever I go upstairs in front of Bobby, he pretends it’s a cat biting my ankles; and I just must scream. + 

Bobby and Margaret enter rather more shyly, but evidently in high spirits. Bobby places himself near his father, on the hearthrug, and presently slips down into the armchair. + 

Margaret + 

How do you do, Mrs. Gilbey? She posts herself behind her mother. + 

Duvallet comes in behaving himself perfectly. Knox follows. + 

Margaret + 

Oh⁠—let me introduce. My friend Lieutenant Duvallet. Mrs. Gilbey. Mr. Gilbey. Duvallet bows and sits down on Mr. Knox’s left, Juggins placing a chair for him. + 

Dora + 

Now, Bobby: introduce me: there’s a dear. + 

Bobby + 

A little nervous about it; but trying to keep up his spirits. Miss Delaney: Mr. and Mrs. Knox. Knox, as he resumes his seat, acknowledges the introduction suspiciously. Mrs. Knox bows gravely, looking keenly at Dora and taking her measure without prejudice. + 

Dora + 

Pleased to meet you. Juggins places the baby rocking-chair for her on Mrs. Gilbey’s right, opposite Mrs. Knox. Thank you. She sits and turns to Mrs. Gilbey. Bobby’s given me the squiffer. To the company generally. Do you know what they’ve been doing downstairs? She goes off into ecstasies of mirth. You’d never guess. They’ve been trying to teach me table manners. The Lieutenant and Rudolph say I’m a regular pig. I’m sure I never knew there was anything wrong with me. But live and learn to Gilbey eh, old dear? + 

Juggins + 

Old dear is not correct, Miss Delaney. He retires to the end of the sideboard nearest the door. + 

Dora + 

Oh get out! I must call a man something. He doesn’t mind: do you, Charlie? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

His name isn’t Charlie. + 

Dora + 

Excuse me. I call everybody Charlie. + 

Juggins + 

You mustn’t. + 

Dora + 

Oh, if I were to mind you, I should have to hold my tongue altogether; and then how sorry you’d be! Lord, how I do run on! Don’t mind me, Mrs. Gilbey. + 

Knox + 

What I want to know is, what’s to be the end of this? It’s not for me to interfere between you and your son, Gilbey: he knows his own intentions best, no doubt, and perhaps has told them to you. But I’ve my daughter to look after; and it’s my duty as a parent to have a clear understanding about her. No good is ever done by beating about the bush. I ask Lieutenant⁠—well, I don’t speak French; and I can’t pronounce the name⁠— + 

Margaret + 

Mr. Duvallet, father. + 

Knox + 

I ask Mr. Doovalley what his intentions are. + 

Margaret + 

Oh father: how can you? + 

Duvallet + 

I’m afraid my knowledge of English is not enough to understand. Intentions? How? + 

Margaret + 

He wants to know will you marry me. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What a thing to say! + 

Knox + 

Silence, miss. + 

Dora + 

Well, that’s straight, ain’t it? + 

Duvallet + 

But I am married already. I have two daughters. + 

Knox + 

Rising, virtuously indignant. You sit there after carrying on with my daughter, and tell me coolly you’re married. + 

Margaret + 

Papa: you really must not tell people that they sit there. He sits down again sulkily. + 

Duvallet + 

Pardon. Carrying on? What does that mean? + 

Margaret + 

It means⁠— + 

Knox + 

Violently. Hold your tongue, you shameless young hussy. Don’t you dare say what it means. + 

Duvallet + 

Shrugging his shoulders. What does it mean, Rudolph? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

If it’s not proper for her to say, it’s not proper for a man to say, either. Mr. Doovalley: you’re a married man with daughters. Would you let them go about with a stranger, as you are to us, without wanting to know whether he intended to behave honorably? + 

Duvallet + 

Ah, madam, my daughters are French girls. That is very different. It would not be correct for a French girl to go about alone and speak to men as English and American girls do. That is why I so immensely admire the English people. You are so free⁠—so unprejudiced⁠—your women are so brave and frank⁠—their minds are so⁠—how do you say?⁠—wholesome. I intend to have my daughters educated in England. Nowhere else in the world but in England could I have met at a Variety Theatre a charming young lady of perfect respectability, and enjoyed a dance with her at a public dancing saloon. And where else are women trained to box and knock out the teeth of policemen as a protest against injustice and violence? Rising, with immense elan. Your daughter, madam, is superb. Your country is a model to the rest of Europe. If you were a Frenchman, stifled with prudery, hypocrisy and the tyranny of the family and the home, you would understand how an enlightened Frenchman admires and envies your freedom, your broadmindedness, and the fact that home life can hardly be said to exist in England. You have made an end of the despotism of the parent; the family council is unknown to you; everywhere in these islands one can enjoy the exhilarating, the soul-liberating spectacle of men quarrelling with their brothers, defying their fathers, refusing to speak to their mothers. In France we are not men: we are only sons⁠—grown-up children. Here one is a human being⁠—an end in himself. Oh, Mrs. Knox, if only your military genius were equal to your moral genius⁠—if that conquest of Europe by France which inaugurated the new age after the Revolution had only been an English conquest, how much more enlightened the world would have been now! We, alas, can only fight. France is unconquerable. We impose our narrow ideas, our prejudices, our obsolete institutions, our insufferable pedantry on the world by brute force⁠—by that stupid quality of military heroism which shows how little we have evolved from the savage: nay, from the beast. We can charge like bulls; we can spring on our foes like gamecocks; when we are overpowered by reason, we can die fighting like rats. And we are foolish enough to be proud of it! Why should we be? Does the bull progress? Can you civilize the gamecock? Is there any future for the rat? We can’t even fight intelligently: when we lose battles, it is because we have not sense enough to know when we are beaten. At Waterloo, had we known when we were beaten, we should have retreated; tried another plan; and won the battle. But no: we were too pigheaded to admit that there is anything impossible to a Frenchman: we were quite satisfied when our Marshals had six horses shot under them, and our stupid old grognards died fighting rather than surrender like reasonable beings. Think of your great Wellington: think of his inspiring words, when the lady asked him whether British soldiers ever ran away. “All soldiers run away, madam,” he said; “but if there are supports for them to fall back on it does not matter.” Think of your illustrious Nelson, always beaten on land, always victorious at sea, where his men could not run away. You are not dazzled and misled by false ideals of patriotic enthusiasm: your honest and sensible statesmen demand for England a two-power standard, even a three-power standard, frankly admitting that it is wise to fight three to one: whilst we, fools and braggarts as we are, declare that every Frenchman is a host in himself, and that when one Frenchman attacks three Englishmen he is guilty of an act of cowardice comparable to that of the man who strikes a woman. It is folly: it is nonsense: a Frenchman is not really stronger than a German, than an Italian, even than an Englishman. Sir: if all Frenchwomen were like your daughter⁠—if all Frenchmen had the good sense, the power of seeing things as they really are, the calm judgment, the open mind, the philosophic grasp, the foresight and true courage, which are so natural to you as an Englishman that you are hardly conscious of possessing them, France would become the greatest nation in the world. + 

Margaret + 

Three cheers for old England! She shakes hands with him warmly. + 

Bobby + 

Hurra-a-ay! And so say all of us. + 

Duvallet, having responded to Margaret’s handshake with enthusiasm, kisses Juggins on both cheeks, and sinks into his chair, wiping his perspiring brow. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, this sort of talk is above me. Can you make anything out of it, Knox? + 

Knox + 

The long and short of it seems to be that he can’t lawfully marry my daughter, as he ought after going to prison with her. + 

Dora + 

I’m ready to marry Bobby, if that will be any satisfaction. + 

Gilbey + 

No you don’t. Not if I know it. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

He ought to, Mr. Gilbey. + 

Gilbey + 

Well, if that’s your religion, Amelia Knox, I want no more of it. Would you invite them to your house if he married her? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

He ought to marry her whether or no. + 

Bobby + 

I feel I ought to, Mrs. Knox. + 

Gilbey + 

Hold your tongue. Mind your own business. + 

Bobby + 

Wildly. If I’m not let marry her, I’ll do something downright disgraceful. I’ll enlist as a soldier. + 

Juggins + 

That is not a disgrace, sir. + 

Bobby + 

Not for you, perhaps. But you’re only a footman. I’m a gentleman. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Don’t dare to speak disrespectfully to Mr. Rudolph, Bobby. For shame! + 

Juggins + 

Coming forward to the middle of the table. It is not gentlemanly to regard the service of your country as disgraceful. It is gentlemanly to marry the lady you make love to. + 

Gilbey + 

Aghast. My boy is to marry this woman and be a social outcast! + 

Juggins + 

Your boy and Miss Delaney will be inexorably condemned by respectable society to spend the rest of their days in precisely the sort of company they seem to like best and be most at home in. + 

Knox + 

And my daughter? Whos to marry my daughter? + 

Juggins + 

Your daughter, sir, will probably marry whoever she makes up her mind to marry. She is a lady of very determined character. + 

Knox + 

Yes: if he’d have her with her character gone. But who would? You’re the brother of a duke. Would⁠— + 

Bobby + 

What’s that? + 

Margaret + 

Juggins a duke? + 

Duvallet + 

Comment! + 

Dora + 

What did I tell you? + 

Knox + 

Yes: the brother of a duke: that’s what he is. To Juggins. Well, would you marry her? + 

Juggins + 

I was about to propose that solution of your problem, Mr. Knox. + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

Well I never! + 

Knox + 

D’ye mean it? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Marry Margaret! + 

Juggins + 

Continuing. As an idle younger son, unable to support myself, or even to remain in the Guards in competition with the grandsons of American millionaires, I could not have aspired to Miss Knox’s hand. But as a sober, honest, and industrious domestic servant, who has, I trust, given satisfaction to his employer he bows to Mr. Gilbey I feel I am a man with a character. It is for Miss Knox to decide. + 

Margaret + 

I got into a frightful row once for admiring you, Rudolph. + 

Juggins + 

I should have got into an equally frightful row myself, Miss, had I betrayed my admiration for you. I looked forward to those weekly dinners. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

But why did a gentleman like you stoop to be a footman? + 

Dora + 

He stooped to conquer. + 

Margaret + 

Shut up, Dora: I want to hear. + 

Juggins + 

I will explain; but only Mrs. Knox will understand. I once insulted a servant⁠—rashly; for he was a sincere Christian. He rebuked me for trifling with a girl of his own class. I told him to remember what he was, and to whom he was speaking. He said God would remember. I discharged him on the spot. + 

Gilbey + 

Very properly. + 

Knox + 

What right had he to mention such a thing to you? + 

Mrs. Gilbey + 

What are servants coming to? + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Did it come true, what he said? + 

Juggins + 

It stuck like a poisoned arrow. It rankled for months. Then I gave in. I apprenticed myself to an old butler of ours who kept a hotel. He taught me my present business, and got me a place as footman with Mr. Gilbey. If ever I meet that man again I shall be able to look him in the face. + 

Mrs. Knox + 

Margaret: it’s not on account of the duke: dukes are vanities. But take my advice and take him. + 

Margaret + 

Slipping her arm through his. I have loved Juggins since the first day I beheld him. I felt instinctively he had been in the Guards. May he walk out with me, Mr. Gilbey? + 

Knox + 

Don’t be vulgar, girl. Remember your new position. To Juggins. I suppose you’re serious about this, Mr.⁠—Mr. Rudolph? + 

Juggins + 

I propose, with your permission, to begin keeping company this afternoon, if Mrs. Gilbey can spare me. + 

Gilbey + 

In a gust of envy, to Bobby. It’ll be long enough before you’ll marry the sister of a duke, you young good-for-nothing. + 

Dora + 

Don’t fret, old dear. Rudolph will teach me high-class manners. I call it quite a happy ending: don’t you, lieutenant? + 

Duvallet + 

In France it would be impossible. But here⁠—ah! Kissing his hand. la belle Angleterre! + 