LITMIR.BIZ

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DEDMOND. Delightful profession.

      SIR CHARLES. Doesn't tie you! What!

      MALISE. Only by the head.

      SIR CHARLES. I'm always thinkin' of writin' my experiences.

      MALISE. Indeed!

      [There is the sound of a door banged.]

      SIR CHARLES. [Hastily] You smoke, Mr. MALISE?

      MALISE. Too much.

      SIR CHARLES. Ah! Must smoke when you think a lot.

      MALISE. Or think when you smoke a lot.

      SIR CHARLES. [Genially] Don't know that I find that.

      LADY DEDMOND. [With her clear look at him] Charles!

      The door is opened. CLARE DEDMOND in a cream-coloured evening frock comes in from the hall, followed by GEORGE. She is rather pale, of middle height, with a beautiful figure, wavy brown hair, full, smiling lips, and large grey mesmeric eyes, one of those women all vibration, iced over with a trained stoicism of voice and manner.

      LADY DEDMOND. Well, my dear!

      SIR CHARLES. Ah! George. Good dinner?

      GEORGE. [Giving his hand to MALISE] How are you? Clare! Mr. MALISE!

      CLARE. [Smiling-in a clear voice with the faintest possible lisp] Yes, we met on the door-mat. [Pause.]

      SIR CHARLES. Deuce you did! [An awkward pause.]

      LADY DEDMOND. [Acidly] Mr. Malise doesn't play Bridge, it appears.

      Afraid we shall be rather in the way of music.

      SIR CHARLES. What! Aren't we goin' to get a game? [PAYNTER has entered with a tray.]

      GEORGE. Paynter! Take that table into the dining room.

      PAYNTER. [Putting down the tray on a table behind the door] Yes, sir.

      MALISE. Let me give you a hand.

      PAYNTER and MALISE carry one of the Bridge tables out, GEORGE making a half-hearted attempt to relieve MALISE.

      SIR CHARLES. Very fine sunset!

      Quite softly CLARE begins to laugh. All look at her first with surprise, then with offence, then almost with horror. GEORGE is about to go up to her, but HUNTINGDON heads him off.

      HUNTINGDON. Bring the tray along, old man.

      GEORGE takes up the tray, stops to look at CLARE, then allows

      HUNTINGDON to shepherd him out.

      LADY DEDMOND. [Without looking at CLARE] Well, if we're going to play, Charles? [She jerks his sleeve.]

      SIR CHARLES. What? [He marches out.]

      LADY DEDMOND. [Meeting MALISE in the doorway] Now you will be able to have your music.

      [She follows the GENERAL out]

      [CLARE stands perfectly still, with her eyes closed.]

      MALISE. Delicious!

      CLARE. [In her level, clipped voice] Perfectly beastly of me! I'm so sorry. I simply can't help running amok to-night.

      MALISE. Never apologize for being fey. It's much too rare.

      CLARE. On the door-mat! And they'd whitewashed me so beautifully! Poor dears! I wonder if I ought–[She looks towards the door.]

      MALISE. Don't spoil it!

      CLARE. I'd been walking up and down the Embankment for about three hours. One does get desperate sometimes.

      MALISE. Thank God for that!

      CLARE. Only makes it worse afterwards. It seems so frightful to them, too.

      MALISE. [Softly and suddenly, but with a difficulty in finding the right words] Blessed be the respectable! May they dream of—me! And blessed be all men of the world! May they perish of a surfeit of—good form!

      CLARE. I like that. Oh, won't there be a row! [With a faint movement of her shoulders] And the usual reconciliation.

      MALISE. Mrs. Dedmond, there's a whole world outside yours. Why don't you spread your wings?

      CLARE. My dear father's a saint, and he's getting old and frail; and I've got a sister engaged; and three little sisters to whom I'm supposed to set a good example. Then, I've no money, and I can't do anything for a living, except serve in a shop. I shouldn't be free, either; so what's the good? Besides, I oughtn't to have married if I wasn't going to be happy. You see, I'm not a bit misunderstood or ill-treated. It's only–

      MALISE. Prison. Break out!

      CLARE. [Turning to the window] Did you see the sunset? That white cloud trying to fly up?

      [She holds up her bare arms, with a motion of flight.]

      MALISE. [Admiring her] Ah-h-h! [Then, as she drops her arms suddenly] Play me something.

      CLARE. [Going to the piano] I'm awfully grateful to you. You don't make me feel just an attractive female. I wanted somebody like that. [Letting her hands rest on the notes] All the same, I'm glad not to be ugly.

      MALISE. Thank God for beauty!

      PAYNTER. [Opening the door] Mr. and Mrs. Fullarton.

      MALISE. Who are they?

      CLARE. [Rising] She's my chief pal. He was in the Navy.

      She goes forward. MRS. FULLERTON is a rather tall woman, with dark hair and a quick eye. He, one of those clean-shaven naval men of good presence who have retired from the sea, but not from their susceptibility.

      MRS. FULLARTON. [Kissing CLARE, and taking in both MALISE and her husband's look at CLARE] We've only come for a minute.

      CLARE. They're playing Bridge in the dining-room. Mr. Malise doesn't play. Mr. Malise—Mrs. Fullarton, Mr. Fullarton.

      [They greet.]

      FULLARTON. Most awfully jolly dress, Mrs. Dedmond.

      MRS. FULLARTON. Yes, lovely, Clare. [FULLARTON abases eyes which mechanically readjust themselves] We can't stay for Bridge, my dear; I just wanted to see you a minute, that's all. [Seeing HUNTINGDON coming in she speaks in a low voice to her husband] Edward, I want to speak to Clare. How d'you do, Captain Huntingdon?

      MALISE. I'll say good-night.

      He shakes hands with CLARE, bows to MRS. FULLARTON, and makes his way out. HUNTINGDON and FULLERTON foregather in the doorway.

      MRS. FULLARTON. How are things, Clare? [CLARE just moves her shoulders] Have you done what I suggested? Your room?

      CLARE. No.

      MRS. FULLARTON. Why not?

      CLARE. I don't want to torture him. If I strike—I'll go clean. I expect I shall strike.

      MRS. FULLARTON. My dear! You'll have the whole world against you.

      CLARE. Even you won't back me, Dolly?

      MRS. FULLARTON. Of course I'll back you, all that's possible, but I can't invent things.

      CLARE. You wouldn't let me come to you for a bit, till I could find my feet?

      MRS. FULLARTON, taken aback, cannot refrain from her glance at

      FULLARTON automatically gazing at CLARE while he talks with HUNTINGDON.

      MRS. FULLARTON. Of course—the only thing is that–

      CLARE. [With a faint smile] It's all right, Dolly. I'm not coming.

      MRS. FULLARTON. Oh! don't do anything desperate, Clare—you are so desperate sometimes. You ought to make terms—not tracks.

      CLARE. Haggle? [She shakes her head] What have I got to make terms with? What he still wants is just what I hate giving.

      MRS. FULLARTON. But, Clare–

      CLARE. No, Dolly; even you don't understand. All day and every day —just as far apart as we can be—and still—Jolly, isn't it? If you've got a soul at all.

      MRS.

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