LITMIR.BIZ

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DEDMOND. [Darting a glance at MALISE] If we are to talk this out, it must be in private.

      MALISE. [To CLARE] Do you wish me to go?

      CLARE. No.

      LADY DEDMOND. [At MALISE] I should have thought ordinary decent feeling—Good heavens, girl! Can't you see that you're being played with?

      CLARE. If you insinuate anything against Mr. Malise, you lie.

      LADY DEDMOND. If you will do these things—come to a man's rooms–

      CLARE. I came to Mr. Malise because he's the only person I know with imagination enough to see what my position is; I came to him a quarter of an hour ago, for the first time, for definite advice, and you instantly suspect him. That is disgusting.

      LADY DEDMOND. [Frigidly] Is this the natural place for me to find my son's wife?

      CLARE. His woman.

      LADY DEDMOND. Will you listen to Reginald?

      CLARE. I have.

      LADY DEDMOND. Haven't you any religious sense at all, Clare?

      CLARE. None, if it's religion to live as we do.

      LADY DEDMOND. It's terrible—this state of mind! It's really terrible!

      CLARE breaks into the soft laugh of the other evening. As if galvanized by the sound, SIR CHARLES comes to life out of the transfixed bewilderment with which he has been listening.

      SIR CHARLES. For God's sake don't laugh like that!

      [CLARE Stops]

      LADY DEDMOND. [With real feeling] For the sake of the simple right, Clare!

      CLARE. Right? Whatever else is right—our life is not. [She puts her hand on her heart] I swear before God that I've tried and tried. I swear before God, that if I believed we could ever again love each other only a little tiny bit, I'd go back. I swear before God that I don't want to hurt anybody.

      LADY DEDMOND. But you are hurting everybody. Do—do be reasonable!

      CLARE. [Losing control] Can't you see that I'm fighting for all my life to come—not to be buried alive—not to be slowly smothered. Look at me! I'm not wax—I'm flesh and blood. And you want to prison me for ever—body and soul.

      [They stare at her]

      SIR CHARLES. [Suddenly] By Jove! I don't know, I don't know! What!

      LADY DEDMOND. [To MALISE] If you have any decency left, sir, you will allow my son, at all events, to speak to his wife alone. [Beckoning to her husband] We'll wait below.

      SIR CHARLES. I—I want to speak. [To CLARE] My dear, if you feel like this, I can only say—as a—as a gentleman–

      LADY DEDMOND. Charles!

      SIR CHARLES. Let me alone! I can only say that—damme, I don't know that I can say anything!

      He looks at her very grieved, then turns and marches out, followed by LADY DEDMOND, whose voice is heard without, answered by his: "What!" In the doorway, as they pass, GEORGE is standing; he comes in.

      GEORGE. [Going up to CLARE, who has recovered all her self-control] Will you come outside and speak to me?

      CLARE. No.

      GEORGE glances at MALISE, who is leaning against the wall with folded arms.

      GEORGE. [In a low voice] Clare!

      CLARE. Well!

      GEORGE. You try me pretty high, don't you, forcing me to come here, and speak before this fellow? Most men would think the worst, finding you like this.

      CLARE. You need not have come—or thought at all.

      GEORGE. Did you imagine I was going to let you vanish without an effort–

      CLARE. To save me?

      GEORGE. For God's sake be just! I've come here to say certain things. If you force me to say them before him—on your head be it! Will you appoint somewhere else?

      CLARE. No.

      GEORGE. Why not?

      CLARE. I know all those "certain things." "You must come back. It is your duty. You have no money. Your friends won't help you. You can't earn your living. You are making a scandal." You might even say for the moment: "Your room shall be respected."

      GEORGE. Well, it's true and you've no answer.

      CLARE. Oh! [Suddenly] Our life's a lie. It's stupid; it's disgusting. I'm tired of it! Please leave me alone!

      GEORGE. You rather miss the point, I'm afraid. I didn't come here to tell you what you know perfectly well when you're sane. I came here to say this: Anyone in her senses could see the game your friend here is playing. It wouldn't take a baby in. If you think that a gentleman like that [His stare travels round the dishevelled room till it rests on MALISE] champions a pretty woman for nothing, you make a fairly bad mistake.

      CLARE. Take care.

      But MALISE, after one convulsive movement of his hands, has again become rigid.

      GEORGE. I don't pretend to be subtle or that kind of thing; but I have ordinary common sense. I don't attempt to be superior to plain facts–

      CLARE. [Under her breath] Facts!

      GEORGE. Oh! for goodness' sake drop that hifalutin' tone. It doesn't suit you. Look here! If you like to go abroad with one of your young sisters until the autumn, I'll let the flat and go to the Club.

      CLARE. Put the fire out with a penny hose. [Slowly] I am not coming back to you, George. The farce is over.

      GEORGE. [Taken aback for a moment by the finality of her tone, suddenly fronts MALISE] Then there is something between you and this fellow.

      MALISE. [Dangerously, but without moving] I beg your pardon!

      CLARE. There—is—nothing.

      GEORGE. [Looking from one to the other] At all events, I won't—I won't see a woman who once—[CLARE makes a sudden effacing movement with her hands] I won't see her go to certain ruin without lifting a finger.

      CLARE. That is noble.

      GEORGE. [With intensity] I don't know that you deserve anything of me. But on my honour, as a gentleman, I came here this morning for your sake, to warn you of what you're doing. [He turns suddenly on MALISE] And I tell this precious friend of yours plainly what I think of him, and that I'm not going to play into his hands.

      [MALISE, without stirring from the wall, looks at CLARE, and his lips move.]

      CLARE. [Shakes her head at him—then to GEORGE] Will you go, please?

      GEORGE. I will go when you do.

      MALISE. A man of the world should know better than that.

      GEORGE. Are you coming?

      MALISE. That is inconceivable.

      GEORGE. I'm not speaking to you, sir.

      MALISE. You are right. Your words and mine will never kiss each other.

      GEORGE. Will you come? [CLARE shakes her head]

      GEORGE. [With fury] D'you mean to stay in this pigsty with that rhapsodical swine?

      MALISE. [Transformed] By God, if you don't go, I'll kill you.

      GEORGE. [As suddenly calm] That remains to be seen.

      MALISE. [With most deadly quietness] Yes, I will kill you.

      He goes stealthily along the wall, takes up from where it lies on the pile of books the great black knobby stick, and stealthily approaches GEORGE, his face quite fiendish.

      CLARE. [With a swift movement, grasping the stick] Please.

      MALISE resigns the stick, and the two men, perfectly still, glare at each other. CLARE, letting the stick fall, puts her foot on it. Then slowly she takes off her hat and lays it on the table.

      CLARE. Now will you go! [There is silence]

      GEORGE.

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