The Project Gutenberg eBook, Niobe, All Smiles, by Harry Paulton and Edward A. (Edward Antonio) Paulton

Niobe, All Smiles

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NIOBE,
ALL SMILES

A Farcical Comedy in Three Acts

BY
HARRY AND EDWARD PAULTON

Copyright, 1904, by T. H. French.

New York:
SAMUEL FRENCH,
PUBLISHER,
24, WEST 22nd STREET.

London:
SAMUEL FRENCH Ltd.,
PUBLISHERS,
26, SOUTHAMPTON ST.,
STRAND.

[NIOBE, ALL SMILES.]

[CAST OF CHARACTERS.]

ACT I.—Dunn’s Drawing Room. Looking to the North. (7.15 p.m.) In the Absence of the Family.

ACT II.—Same. Looking to the South. In the Presence of the Family.

ACT III.—Same. Looking to West. Afternoon of the Same Day.

Time.—Present. Location.—London.

NIOBE, ALL SMILES

[ACT I.]

Scene.—Dunn’s drawing-room. At the L. of front corner, a large bay window on to the street; L. C. an arched opening with portiere to stairs and entrance hall; R. door to dining-room. On the R. of entrance a four-fold screen like a box case, surrounding Statue of Niobe, in which is a Vampire opening at back. An opening also in Flat behind screen. One fold of screen opens to L. of stage towards centre opening. Two folds open to R. Small castors on the bottom of opening folds. Piano R. below door; couch in front of it; table L. C.; chairs R. and L. of it; piano stool, foot stool, chairs, etc.

At rise of curtain, Hattie R. at piano; Helen standing C., beating time to Hattie’s playing “The Maiden’s Prayer” for opening of act; Carrie seated L. of table L. C.; Beatrice seated R. of table, discovered examining album, sketches, etc.; after curtain is up, Mary enters from R. with three small cups and saucers on tray; Helen up C., takes one, drinks, Mary offers other cups to Carrie and Beatrice; Carrie offers one to Beatrice.

Bea. (with album) Who in the name of goodness is that dreadful looking guy?

Car. That is Mr. Dunn when he was a boy.

Bea. Your husband! oh!

Mary after offering coffee to Beatrice passes front of table to L., giving coffee to Carrie.

Car. Are you quite sure you won’t take coffee?

Bea. Quite sure!

After this Mary going up L. to exit C.

Hel. (up C., sternly) Mary, the fire!

Mary goes to fireplace L., puts tray on chair; Mary poking the fire—Helen eyes Mary severely.

Hat. (at piano R., finishes playing) Oh, Helen! That’s twice this evening I’ve played the “Maiden’s Prayer.”

Hel. (up C.; turning to Hattie fiercely) You will play the “Maiden’s Prayer” twice morning and evening until you are perfect.

Helen turns from Hattie and drinks coffee.

Hat. (impertinently) Ugh! I’d like to catch you saying your maiden prayers twice morning and evening.

Hattie turns—resumes playing.

Mary. (advancing C. to Helen, tray in hand) What time shall I order the carriage round?

Hel. Seven fifty.

Helen returns cup to Mary—Mary exits C. and R. at back.

We shall be at the Theatre then before the Curtain goes up.

Helen advances R. C., severely watches Hattie play—with glasses on.

Hat. Well, you oughtn’t to do it. You’ll lose caste if you get to your seats without disturbing the performance.

Hattie playing softly while she talks.

Hel. (advancing to Beatrice, L. C.) Beatrice, you are well posted on Theatrical matters; is the play we are going to see to-night strictly proper?

Bea. I know nothing to the contrary. (closing album.)

Hattie plays ff.

Hel. (very angrily) Hattie! Take your foot off the loud pedal; we can’t hear ourselves speaking.

Hattie shuts up piano petulantly; pouting as sits on couch, back to audience.

Car. (rising) I was sorry Mr. Sillocks couldn’t come to dinner.

Carrie goes to window down L., looks out.

Bea. Papa regretted it very much, but he is sure to be here to escort us. (crosses R. to couch and sits.)

Car. I’m glad of that, because Corney is never satisfactory as a Chaperon.

Bea. Oh, Carrie, I’m sure Corney is most attentive.

Hel. (L. C.) If you were his sister, you would not think so. He neglects us shamefully.

Hat. (R.) Quite right, too! It’s a pity if a fellow can’t stick to the girl he’s spooning. (sitting R. and laughingly hugging Bea.)

Hel. Hattie! You are a very slangy child. Such terms are most improper.

Hat. Corney uses them, and I don’t know any better way of saying it. (crosses to C.)

Hel. Could you not say adhere to the lady he’s engaged to?

Hattie crosses back to sofa.

Bea. We can hardly consider ourselves engaged, while Corney is, so to speak, on trial. If Papa approves of him, of course we shall be married.

Bus.; Hattie and Beatrice quietly congratulate each other.

Hel. I’m sorry I cannot live with you and manage the household, but Carrie could not get along without me. She has no talent for management and Peter is too engrossed with outside business.

Hat. (laughingly) If you’d watched him at dinner, you’d think he did not neglect his inside business.

Carrie and Beatrice laugh.

Hel. (sternly) I can see nothing humorous in that ribald remark.

Car. (L.) A man of Peter’s excitable temperament has enough worry abroad, he deserves to enjoy himself at home.

Carrie goes up L. to fireplace, puts cup on mantelpiece, as if looking for something.

Hel. But he brings his worries home with him. I’m sure we didn’t want that troublesome Statue in the house, though Mr. Tompkins does think it the greatest treasure on earth. He calls it Niobe Lachrymans,—whatever that means.

Bea. Why did Mr. Dunn bring it home? (knock and bell.)

Mary crosses at back from R. to L.

Hel. For safety he says; it is insured in the Universal, of which Mr. Dunn is Manager, for quite a large sum, and as Mr. Dunn granted the policy on his own responsibility, he is anxious to guard the Statue from injury.

Bea. (curiously) I should like to look at it.

Beatrice rises, going up towards screen.

Hel. (interrupts her) Not while Hattie is in the room.

Hat. (on couch R.) Oh! I’ve seen it, and why not! It’s decent enough. She only shows a bit of her shoulder; it’s nothing to the display at Society balls.

Hel. Hattie! The child is incorrigible. (goes up R. C.)

Car. (at fireplace up L.) Where are the Opera glasses?

Hat. Better ask Corney. He was at the Alhambra last evening.

Beatrice at piano, looking at music.

Hel. (turns) Oh, you dreadful girl! (door slams off L. U. E.)

Mary. (L. C.) They’re in the drawing room, Sir!

Sillocks enters L. C.; Mary crosses L. to R., always in front of stairs.

Sill. (C.) Good evening! Here we are! 7:30 to the tick! How’s Dunn?

Car. (at fireplace L.) My husband is very well, thank you!

Sill. How are you? (to Helen, coming down C.) Hello, Bea. (to Beatrice) Ah! Hattie! (Hattie crosses to Sillocks, C., who takes off overcoat.) and the babies, my little cherubs, Bertie and Maud.

Hel. (crossing at back to fireplace) They are in the nursery; we don’t allow them in the drawing-room.

Car. (down L. of L. C. table) They ought to be in bed; it is past their hour.

Beatrice crosses at back to fireplace.

Sill. Very early, isn’t it? even for infants?

Hel. Judging from results, no! Look what a healthy child Hattie is. Few girls have so fresh a complexion.

Hat. Unless they get it at the Chemist’s. (Sillocks laughs.)

Beatrice goes up L. to fireplace; Hattie puts on Sillocks’ hat, goes up stage C. at back; places coat and hat on rack in hallway; Sillocks sits R. of table.

Dunn. (without R.) No! No! Everything is comparative; smoking is bad, but chewing is a precious sight worse; and have you reached the limit of comparative noxiousness then? No, sir; no! (Dunn enters with Corney R. D. Corney crosses to Beatrice L.) Hallo, Sillocks! Did you notice how Nitrates were at closing?

Sill. (coming down front in centre to Dunn) 92½, a point and a quarter rise. You’re not interested in that Electric Light Consolidation scheme, are you?

Dunn. (R. C.) No! There’s no money in it.—Well! That’s my opinion.

Sill. Aren’t you coming with us to the Theatre?

Dunn. I? Oh no!

Sill. Why not?

Dunn. Not asked. Never intrude where I’m not wanted.

Sill. But your wife——

Dunn. Well, my wife——They did ask me to go once or twice; but owing to some business, I couldn’t accept; now, I never get the chance of refusing.

Sillocks goes and sits R. of table, opens album; Dunn up C., looking at his paper.

Hel. (back of table) Peter, if you wish to see the children while we are away, go up to them in the nursery. Carrie does not approve of their coming into the drawing-room.

Corn. (advancing slightly down L.) Quite right! Children up to a certain age should be kept in a room as devoid of furniture as possible; the only way to keep them out of mischief, is to chain them up to a ring in the wall——

Bea. What horrible notions you have Corney!

Leaving Corney, she goes up and crosses at back to R.

Sill. (looking at album) Hallo, legs! (Helen turns quickly, comes down to back of table) You’ve got some choice specimens of the Ballet here, I see!

Hat. (starting for table from R. corner) Where? Let’s have a look at them.

Hel. (commandingly) Stand back, Hattie! I must know before we proceed any further, how this indelicate picture happens to be placed by the side of mine, in the album?

Hattie goes to Beatrice up R., laughing.

Corn. (down L., aside) Hang it! I shall be ruined with Beatrice if Sillocks suspects me.

Hel. Corney!

Corn. (alarmed) Yes!

Hel. Do you know anything of this?

Corn. Why yes! Peter put ’em there!

Dunn. (down C.) What! I put them there?

Corn. (crosses to Dunn C.) Yes, of course, now—what’s the good of denying it, old man? (aside, digging Dunn’s ribs as he gets R. of him) Say yes, or Sillocks won’t approve of me.

Car. (advances slightly L.) Is that true Peter? Did you put them there?

Dunn. (perplexed) Well—(Corney looks at him) Yes—I suppose I must have done.

Corn. (over Dunn’s shoulder) Thanks—one extra lie can’t press much on your conscience.

Corney turns to Beatrice, who is R. C.

Bea. I’m so glad it wasn’t you, Corney.

Corn. So am I. Don’t make such a fuss about it, Helen, there’s no great crime in having photos of pretty girls.

Beatrice and Corney go up towards dining-room R. H.

Hel. (at back of table, with a withering glance at Dunn) Then we may fairly assume that those yellow-backed French novels I found in the study, are yours also?

Dunn. (turning C.) Mine!! Look here, Helen——

Corn. (turns quickly, coming back to C.) Helen! You’re too prying by half! Peter never imagined for a moment that you’d rake them out.

Dunn looks at Corney inquiringly.

Hat. (R.) Oh, Helen; they’re not so very dreadful! At least, the one I read wasn’t.

Hel. What! Oh, Carrie! What are we to do?

Corn. There’s not so much harm in these French books after all. They’re very much over-rated—I mean, exaggerated.

Dunn. I suppose Dobbin sent them up in a mistake for a bundle of circulars. (aside to Corney, with paper, his back to audience) What is it? What’s the idea?

Corn. Old Sillocks! Must stand well with the father. It’s all right, you can bear it. I cannot stand wrong——

Bea. Corney!

Corn. Oh, excuse me, Bea.

Joins Beatrice and exits with her in earnest conversation R. U. E., after pushing Hattie out of the way.

Hel. It is fortunate the servants are ignorant of French; it is a blessing they cannot realize the enormity of your offence.

Dunn goes to couch, sitting.

Dunn. (C.) I’m as bad as the servants—Neither can I.

Car. (crossing to Dunn, sits L. of him) It is fortunate we detected them before the new Governess arrived.

Dunn. Yes; it wouldn’t do to throw temptation in her way.

Hat. (R. of couch) When is she coming, Peter?

Dunn. I can’t tell you that. She has started—I believe, but has found it agreeable to call on some friends at Leamington.

Car. Then she may not be here for a day or two.

Dunn. It looks like it. She has sent her Leamington address, so she probably expects a message from us.

Hel. (coming fiercely to Dunn) Why have you kept this knowledge from us?

Dunn. You could have had it any time for the asking.

Hel. Where is her note?

Dunn. There’s no occasion to put on that tragedy queen expression. Here it is—(selects and gives letter.)

Hel. (crosses L. as she reads) Madeline Mifton, care of Mrs. Miller, Barton street.

Hat. Did she seem a jolly sort of girl?

Hel. (turning L. corner) She’s not engaged to be jolly!

Hattie with toss of her head, goes up R.

Dunn. She appeared to me an agreeable kind of person, and the people at Chester, where she was living, spoke very well of her.

Car. (arm in Dunn’s) I hope she will be good to the children.

Dunn. Well! She looked the kind of person who would be good to the children.

Hel. You have so little discrimination—I ought to have gone to Chester myself.

Goes up L. near fireplace.

Dunn. Well, nobody stopped you; and you have her references anyway. (Carrie soothes him and up to fireplace to Helen.)

Sill. I’m sorry you’re not going with us, Dunn.

Dunn. (crossing Sillocks and sitting L. of table) It’s just as well as it happens; I’ve had a letter from Tompkins, saying that he’s going to be in town for a few hours; he is sure to run in to look at his treasures.

Sill. I saw in the Telegraph that he had bought the celebrated statue “Niobe” from the Bernoldi collection; is that so?

Dunn. Yes! I have it here in the house. We have insured it for £10,000.

Sill. A good sum—what was your idea of bringing it here?

Helen, Hattie and Carrie up at back near fireplace.

Dunn. Oh! Mr. Tompkin’s new mansion, at Henley, isn’t ready yet; and I did not care to risk it in storage.

Sill. You don’t go in for curiosities yourself?

Dunn. No! No money in ’em! I’ve a genuine Rembrandt in the dining-room,—said to be worth £12,000.

Sill. Yours?

Dunn. No! Tompkins’s! Come and have a look at it—it may be your only chance. Just as well to be able to say you’ve seen these things.

Exit Sillocks and Dunn R. D., both talking; Hattie follows to door, mimicking them; then turns to Helen.

Hat. We ought to get our wraps on now. It’s a quarter to eight.

Hel. (going C.) How impatient you are!

Hat. No more so than you; only you think it clever to look as wooden as a Chinese idol.

Hel. Hattie! We’ll leave you behind if you’re not good.

Helen exits C. and R. up stairs.

Hat. (calling after her) You’d send me to bed without my supper too, if you could, only I have had it.

Car. (with pretended severity) Don’t be so forward, Hattie!

Carrie exits C. and R. up stairs; Corney and Beatrice enter from R. D., spooning.

Corn. Oh yes, Bea, if I asked you very sweetly, wouldn’t you? (Hattie gets in front of them.)

Bea. Here is Hattie?

Hat. (laughing with hands behind her) Disturbed again, eh? Poor dears. Can’t you get left to yourselves anywhere?

Corn. Yes, here—if you leave us. Get out.

Corney goes for Hattie C.; Beatrice drops down R. to couch and sits.

Hat. Now behave Corney, or I’ll tell Helen who put the photos in the album.

Corn. Be off, Miss Impudence—(runs her off upstairs R. C.) That girl’s a terror. (returns to Bea, speaking as he comes down) You can’t think Beatrice—(sits on couch) You can’t think.

Hat. (returning) You can think; we haven’t much time, Bea; you’ll be late.

Corn. Will you get out—(Corney chases her round table and up stairs C. and R.; he returns) She gets worse and worse! (looking back after Hattie.)

Bea. I didn’t see anything so dreadful in the photos, Corney; if you own up to them, I don’t mind.

Corn. Oh, well! If you don’t mind, I will!

Bea. I thought they couldn’t be poor Mr. Dunn’s; he looked so innocent.

Corn. (seated on couch R., laughing) Yes, Peter’s appearance does rather discount him.

Bea. It was too bad to infer they were his.

Corn. Oh, he doesn’t mind. We put everything on to Peter; and I’m so much afraid of your father’s displeasure; you don’t know the treasure you are Bea; and the fume a fellow gets in for fear of losing you. (with arm round Bea.)

Bea. Why should you be so anxious? If your past was only blameless.

Corn. (absent minded) Yes! If it only was!

Bea. Do you tell me it is not?

Corn. (quickly) No! Of course I don’t, you don’t think I’m such a jay—gay—gay deceiver? (turns slightly away) If we were only married. Then I shouldn’t have to be so careful.

Bea. Have you to be careful?

Corn. Of myself, yes! But then, you can take care of me; and I can be careful of you; and I shan’t have to invent stories about Art photographs, or French Novels.

Bea. Novels, Corney?

Corn. Though they’re not really mine; Innings brought them here.

Bea. We’ve not seen Mr. Innings lately.

Corn. Not for two or three days; he’s away on business.

Bea. I thought he had no business to be away upon.

Corn. No! he has no business to be away, when I want him here—that is—he isn’t away on his business. It’s business of mine.

Bea. (curiously) Business of yours?

Corn. Yes! well! pleasure more than business—when I say pleasure I mean business—I wanted a change—but I couldn’t spare the time—and Phil could—he took the change—it was really my change; for he paid the time before; you know how one fellow will take another fellow’s change. He’s a most obliging fellow.

Knock; Hattie runs down stairs.

Hat. Here’s Mr. Innings, Corney!

Hattie rushes off L.

Corn. Thank goodness—I was getting a bit mixed. (goes L. as Innings enters C. from L., Hattie following.) How are you, Phil?

Bea. Good evening, Mr. Innings!

Inn. Good evening, Miss Sillocks!

Innings down R.

Bea. Come Hattie!

Beatrice going up C.

Hat. (C., gushing at Innings) Oh, there’s heaps of time; it’s so rude to leave Mr. Innings.

Corn. (going up to Hattie) You haven’t a minute; the carriage is at the door now; I’ll do the polite to Innings.

Corney sees girls off C. R. up stairs and returns to Innings.

What kept you so long? I expected you yesterday!

Inn. (taking off gloves as he sits on couch) I had more to do than I thought. You said——

Corn. (C. anxiously) Never mind what I said; what have you to say? Your news?

Inn. Well! I went to Cambridge you know——

Corn. And you have come back, I know, but what did you do there? What have you discovered?

Inn. I found Ethel——

Corn. Good!

Inn. Was no longer there——

Corn. Then you didn’t find her?

Inn. (sitting on couch) No; nor the slightest trace of where she had gone.

Corn. (goes L. and up round table) Then she’ll turn up when least expected; what a confounded fool I was! If the affair reaches old Sillocks’s ears, good bye to Beatrice; hang it! I’d have discovered something if I’d gone. (sits R. of table.)

Inn. (rises and coming C.) It wasn’t much, but I discovered something—I learnt that Ethel had a sister, a governess. Did you know Ethel had a sister, a governess?

Corn. Yes, but I never saw her!

Inn. Knew you’d think I hadn’t tried, if I didn’t find out something; so obtained the address of Sister, at a situation in Chester—went to Chester; sister had left—referred to a friend. Miss Topping; found Topping; worked round stealthily to subject, but the moment I mentioned Ethel’s name, Miss T. shut up like an Oyster; no news there, except that Ethel’s sister, Madeline Mifton——

Corn. Yes!

Inn. Had gone to a situation as governess, in London. Resigned a good situation, for “some ridiculous notion”—that’s what Miss T. called it—of coming to London—to look up—or hunt down—a young man to whom her sister was or had been engaged.

Corn. (delighted) Ridiculous notion! Good for Topping! She might as well search for a needle in a haystack—I’m safe enough.

Knock; Mary crosses from R. to L. at back.

Inn. I wonder she didn’t pursue you herself, instead of putting the sister on your track.

Corn. Well, Ethel is something like myself—she cannot stand worry.

Door slam; enter Mary C. from L.; Innings goes to R. of table.

Mary. Mr. Tompkins!

Corn. Show him in, and I’ll send Mr. Dunn to him. (Mary exits to L.; Corney goes over to door R.) Peter! Here’s Mr. Tompkins—I’m going to the Theatre Phil, so I can’t stop and entertain you. I’m immensely tickled with the idea of the Sister coming to London to hunt me down. I shall think of nothing else all the evening.

Dunn. (speaking as he enters from room R.) How de do, Tompkins, (Innings going towards Dunn) why, it’s Innings! (Dunn down to couch) I thought you said Mr. Tompkins was here.

Corn. He is here.

Dunn. Where?

Corn. There! (indicating hall off C.) How you do worry, Peter!

Corney and Innings exit into dining-room R., as Tompkins enters L. C.; Dunn rises and meets him C.

Tomp. Let me thank you, Mr. Dunn, for taking such particular care of my treasure. It was most considerate of you to bring it into your own house.

Tompkins posing L. C.

Dunn. (R. C.) Not at all! I was anxious to have it unpacked, just to make sure it hadn’t suffered in shipment.

Tomp. (enthusiastically—taking off gloves) Ah! you thought of the centuries that beautiful form had retained its completeness, without damage or disfigurement, and were impressed with a tender, almost loving, care.

Dunn. Not a bit! I thought of the loss to our Company if it got chipped. There was no sentiment or friendship in the business. Sentiment’s all very well, but there’s no money in it.

Dunn crosses to window, L. C.; Sillocks enters from dining-room R.; lights begin to go slowly down.

Sill. (R. C.) How do you do, Mr. Tompkins. I congratulate you Sir, on the possession of such a gem.

Tomp. (L. C.) Beautiful, is it not?

Sill. (R. C.) Grand! A painting like that——

Tomp. Painting! I am speaking of my Statue, Niobe.

Sill. Oh, I haven’t seen it.

Tomp. (C.) Ah, when you do! Where among your moderns is a work like it? Where among your Sculptors, the peer of Phidias, Praxiteles, Scophas or Polydorus of Rhodes?

Dunn. (L. of table) And which of the whole lot would compare with Edison?

Tomp. Ah, Dunn! You are not familiar with the Elgin Marbles.

Dunn. Haven’t played a game since I was a boy! (sits L. of table)

Tomp. (despondently) Sculpture is dead now Sillocks.

Sill. Don’t despond Tompkins, it may revive!

Dunn. Sculpture’s right enough in its way—but it isn’t in it with the Telephone, or the Telegraph, or the Tape, or the Typewriter.

Tomp. Ugh! All such inventions tend to warp the noblest traits of human nature.

Dunn. Statues are all right for decorating Parks, but there’s no money in them.

Sill. I’m in favor of the modern myself.

Tomp. And I sigh for the Antique—(sits R. of table L. C.) I should like to have lived in the days of Homer!

Dunn. Not for me. I can’t fancy existence without cheap postage, fast steamers, and penny-in-the-slot machines. I countenance every improvement. Move with the times I say, and get ahead of ’em if you can. (rise) I’m getting the Electric light put in now; we make our connection from the street here, just as you do with your gas.

Tomp. I hate gas. I would go back to the pine torch or the days of candles!

Dunn. (L.) Yes! You’re crazed on the subject of Early Greece.

Sillocks laughs.

Tomp. (L. C.) I am, and I glory in it.

Sill. (R.) Well for modern tastes, there isn’t always too much clothing on our remnants of that early period.

Dunn. (crosses to Sillocks) You’re right. That’s one reason the women objected to the Niobe; and it’s decent enough for anything. The dress is apparently split up a bit on one side, and shows part of the knee.

Tomp. (enthusiastically) A classic knee, Sir, which nothing in nature—Modern nature—could equal.

Dunn. (C. ) I did manage to have my own way for once, and there it is, behind that four-fold screen, which boxes it in completely. It’s nicely out of the way there too.

Tomp. (rising) You’d like to see it, Sillocks?

Sill. Yes!

Tomp. A glorious figure, Sir!

Goes L. and around table.

Dunn. (up C.) I suppose as Statues go, it is very well turned out.

Swings back fold of screen, showing Statue of Niobe; Dunn is now R., holding back two folds of screen; red glow from fire.

Tomp. (L. C. behind table) Lovely! What exquisite moulding—That knee especially!

Sill. (curiously) What’s she supposed to be doing?

Tomp. (back of table) Weeping! You know the story of Niobe. The gods wearied of her incessant tears: turned her into stone.

Dunn. She’d make an elegant ornament for a family vault.

Tomp. Sillocks! I would not take ten thousand pounds for that Statue.

Dunn. Sillocks won’t tempt you!

Tomp. (with enthusiasm) This beautiful image was dug up in the ruins of Thebes in 1785; it passed into the hands of a Florentine gentleman; but in 1825 Count Bernoldi purchased it and it remained in his collection, till I tempted his grandson, a spendthrift youth, with an offer he could not resist. Oh, how perfectly that nose is chiselled, and that shoulder——

Dunn. That cold shoulder——

Tomp. (approaching Statue) What are those wires around the feet?

Mary. (who is seen busy in hall C.—quickly) Excuse me, Sir, don’t touch them; the Electric man said as you were to be very careful with the wires.

Dunn. The connection with the street is made then? (Dunn closes the screen and lights go up again)

Mary. (C. in doorway) Yes, Sir! But he hadn’t time to bury the wires under the floor to-day; so he wrapped ’em round the feet of the Statue, where they wouldn’t be likely to hurt no one.

Dunn. Who the devil gave him permission to touch the figure? Don’t you know you are expressly forbidden to touch the figures?

Ladies come down stairs to hallway; Corney and Innings from R. in hallway join them.

Mary. Miss Griffin, Sir!

Dunn. Oh Miss—— That’ll do!

Mary exits at back R.

N. B.—After Dunn closes screen Niobe removes white wig, makes up, etc., for re-appearance in the flesh.

Tomp. Confound your modern appliances! They managed to get along without them in Attica! Bah! We might all have been killed!

Tompkins crosses L. corner; lights going up.

Dunn. (C.) Not this time. The pressure isn’t on.

Sill. How do you know that?

Dunn. (following Tompkins, crosses to window L.) Because the lights in the street are not going yet.

Helen, Beatrice, Corney, Hattie and Innings, and Carrie advance from hallway C.

Corn. (putting on gloves) Sorry Phil, that you can’t come along with us. (Corney down L. C.)

Inn. I’m not dressed to go to the Theatre.

Car. What a pity there isn’t another seat?

Carrie comes down R.; Sillocks gets up back of ladies to centre.

Hat. Oh, you must come, Mr. Innings.

Hel. (coming C.) If you will give up your seat to Mr. Innings.

Inn. (protestingly) No, no!

Dunn. If you are all settled in your seats, let me introduce Mr. Tompkins, Mr. Hamilton Tompkins, my wife—(ladies get into line with Corney top; Dunn waving his hand comprehensively) My wife’s family.

Corn. (waving his hand) How are you, Tompkins?

Hel. We are delighted to meet you.

All ladies in row curtsey rather marked; Carrie is R. corner, Helen next, Hattie next, Bea next to Corney.

Sill. (C. at back) Come along, Mrs. Dunn; we shall be late!

Carrie exits C. and L. with Sillocks.

Corn. Come on Phil, give your arm to Hattie, and pilot her to the carriage.

Bea. Some of us will have to walk; the brougham will only hold four.

Exit Corney and Beatrice, others following C. and L.

Hat. Mr. Innings can sit on my lap. (exits taking Inning’s arm.)

Hel. Hattie! I can do nothing with her.

Exit Helen C. and L.; slam of door; lights slowly going down.

Tomp. (front of table) All your wife’s family?

Dunn. (C., coming down) Nearly!

Tomp. Some of your own?

Dunn. Oh no! I married out of my own family circle into my wife’s—I got rid of one Griffin by changing it to a Dunn, and three other Griffins sprang up in its place. Takes it out of the Phenix, don’t it? (rings bell on table)

Mary enters R. C.; Dunn signs to her; she exits R. D.

Tomp. (crosses R.) Griffin! Griffin! Was that your wife’s maiden name?

Dunn. Yes! The Griffins of Brentford.

Tomp. (as if thinking, sitting on couch R.) Indeed! Unless I’m much mistaken, there was quite a scandal years ago about a Miss Griffin of Brentford, but that could not be your wife?

Dunn. No, but it might be Helen! And oh, if it were! Tompkins, if you could only find out for certain, and place me in possession of the facts——

Tomp. (on couch) I certainly can and will with pleasure. I think (bus.) she eloped with the coachman.

Enter Mary with trays, drinks, 3 glasses, Decanter, glass jug, with a little water in it, and exit R. C.

Dunn. Helen eloped! Eureka! I see the dawn of emancipation—Tompkins, do I look like a slave? (C.)

Tomp. (eyeing Dunn) No, I don’t see that you do!

Dunn. (C.) But I am—we all are—this is Uncle Tom’s Cabin; I’m Uncle Tom, and Helen Griffin is my Legree. (crosses L. of table) But provided with such a weapon, I could rear the standard of revolt and free our beloved home.

Dunn L. of table with decanter; Tompkins follows Dunn to R. of table.

Tomp. The intelligence shall be yours, (sits R. of table)

Dunn. The few of my own people that are left, I never see, never hear of. My own dear little sister Mabel has never been asked to visit us. The Griffin has never fixed her Basilisk eye on her, and apparently doesn’t want to.

Tomp. The attendant ills of married life! Ah! The women will never victimize me.

They drink.

Dunn. (sitting L. of table) Ah Tompkins! Don’t be too sure of that. You never know what it is that gives you indigestion, but you get it just the same.

Tomp. I shall never marry, if you mean that; I would not marry a modern, and I’m not likely to meet with an Antique.

Dunn. I’ve a Maiden Aunt; the one my Sister’s with, who is antique enough for anything.

Tomp. (interested) How far back does she go?

Dunn. Well, past the middle ages; she’s over sixty; but it’s the rarity of her that would attract you, Tompkins!

Tomp. (indignantly rising, going R.) Sir, I’m not forming a museum of curiosities, but a gallery of Art treasures.

Dunn. (rising) Yes! Of course! Are you going already?

Mary enters from C. and L. with trunk; Tompkins putting gloves on C.

Mary. (C.) Here’s a trunk, Sir, has been delivered for a Miss Mifton.

Dunn. Miss Mifton! Oh, the Governess’s trunk. She said it would be sent on. Leave it there, Mary. We’ll get it carried up bye and bye. I remember she said in her letter it would be sent on.

Mary places trunk near R. of C. doorway and goes to turn up lamp on stand below fireplace.

Dunn. Never mind the lamp, Mary; I’ll turn it up myself when I want it; (Mary exits C. and R.) I like to sit in the gloaming! What’s your hurry Tompkins? Sit down and take another drink.

Tomp. I am due at the Antiquarian Society. A discussion on what History owes to numismatics!

Dunn. Well, go and fix the amount and get History to settle up—Good evening! Mary! Oh! Good evening, Tompkins! (lights down low)

Mary appears C. and R., ushers Tompkins out L. C., then crosses to R. at back.

Dunn. (goes to Statue again, softly humming a tune) A pretty thing for our Company if that idiot had damaged his Statue with those infernal wires. Just like my beautiful sister-in-law, to give permission to wrap them round the figure, just to show that my wishes were of no account. I’ll get a staple and padlock to-morrow; and fasten that screen up like a packing case. (sits on sofa) I suppose the Electricity can’t affect the marble; ha! it’s such a mysterious agent, one never knows what it may do. P’raps I’d better light up. I wonder what’s the matter with the Electric lamps in the street? (crosses at front of table L. C. and looks out of window) They’re generally making the gas look sickly before this—must be something wrong this evening. Ah! There it goes! (flash on electric light outside window, flooding stage, Dunn sits L. of table L. C.) Well! That’s light enough to think by. (low moan; weird music begins) What’s that? (moan) Some Psychological phenomenon! An omen of some kind! (rising, towards window; Niobe extending her arms, pushes open screen and is seen moving, as if awakening to life; Dunn slowly turns) Great Heavens! The Statue’s alive!

Falls on knees at chair L. of table.

Nio. My feet! Oh, Amphion! Amphion!

Dunn. (looking at Statue) Is this nightmare? Am I dreaming?

Nio. My feet! This thrill! A liquid fire seems coursing through my veins. Ah!

As if bursting the spell steps down from pedestal, remains, making picture.

Dunn. No! No! It can’t be that—I don’t drink to that extent.

Niobe comes slowly down C., examining room in wonderment; goes round up R. and then deliberately to C.; Dunn, who has crouched behind or beside table, disarranges himself, tie, hair, etc.; then crawls round table up C., as Niobe turns and confronts him, he shrinks back on to knees, hands on chair. Music ceases. Niobe comes near Dunn regarding him with amazement; picture.

Nio. Hail to thee! What man art thou? How came you in this strange guise? Are you a slave?

Dunn. Yes—No—Certainly not! (aside) There’s no use in letting every stranger know I’m a cipher in my own house.

Nio. A Lord?

Dunn. (timidly rising) Lord and Master! (aside) I can truthfully say it while Helen is not on the premises.

Niobe approaches Dunn before speaking; he backs away from her.

Nio. How strange! (goes lower and regarding him, back to audience) How strange!

Dunn. (with wonderment) Strange! She thinks me strange! If she could only change places and regard herself, and doubt the existence of her faculties, as I do—(Niobe now moves, going up R.) When I see her move and hear her speak. No! I’ve got to believe it. It’s the Electricity. She’s there alive, Niobe herself; not a Statue. And I’m not dreaming, or drunk or demented. (staggers front of table)

Niobe has looked round apartment.

Nio. (advancing C.) Who has made these changes? Where’s Amphion? Is he not yet back from Olympia?

Dunn. (getting L. of table, half frightened) I’m sure I don’t know—he’ll be some time yet; if he is staying for the Ballet.

Nio. Who has won the Kotinos of poetry? My Amphion was the Alutarches.

Dunn. Very likely! But he isn’t now! I’m afraid you don’t quite realize what has happened to you. That you have just been—revived—I suppose—as it were: That you’re not in your Palace here, but mine! That we are now in Anno Domini 1896, and that the trifling events you’re thinking and speaking of, occurred about one thousand years B. C.; before you changed your mortal flesh into Parian marble.

During this speech, Niobe, her hand to her head, appears to be trying to recall the past.

Nio. (as if recollecting—coming down stage) Ah! No! The gods! Knowledge returns; alas! Phœbus and Artemis punished me—Changed! Ah fate! Oh, my unhappy fate. (kneeling, sobs bitterly)

Dunn. (L. C.) That’s a settler—I never can; I never could bear to see a woman cry—Never! There, don’t grieve, dear; you were turned into stone, but you’ve turned out all right; don’t cry! Please don’t cry.

Nio. Ah me! That I so easily am moved.

Dunn. Well, it took eight men to carry you in here.

Nio. (crosses L.) I’ll dry these tears, the cause of my hard lot.

Dunn. The hardest lot ever put up; when you consider you’ve gone all these years without so much as having your nose chipped off! Why, you’ve been buried for centuries. (Niobe looks at him in wonder) And if they hadn’t started exploring the ruins of some of those old Temples, you’d be there still. I’m aware it’s a delicate subject with a lady, but I should estimate you must be close on three thousand years old.

Nio. (looking at him indignantly) How?

Dunn. (backing away from Niobe) Oh, you don’t look it!

Nio. (L.) Three thousand years! Oh, Zeus, and now the ban, the curse of mighty Phœbus is removed.

Dunn. (C.) Yes! And Phœbus is gone, too.

Niobe goes up L. behind and round table to C.

Nio. And all is new! Is this the Hesitaterion? The Throni are strange, the Katoptron colossal.

Dunn. Yes, you’ve got to do things big now-a-days.

Nio. (approaching Dunn C.) You truly say, the ages have rolled by; my husband, children, dead! In all the world, I have no one but you. (taking his hand)

Dunn. (snatching hand away—crosses to L. of her) No one but me! You’ve no claim on me;—that is—I have no claim on you!

Nio. (quickly) Ah yes! I am no ingrate; take all my love; you gave new life to me, and I am yours.

Falls upon his neck, embracing him.

Dunn. White Elephants, what am I going to do with her? (Niobe turns him round to R. of her)

Nio. (holding him at arm’s length) You are not much to look at; (Dunn turns away) but your heart——

Dunn. (R. C.) Now don’t count upon that. And don’t indulge in expectations that can never be realized.

Nio. Your mien is soft—(hand on his head) Have you a noble name?

Dunn. Peter Amos——

Nio. (gushingly) Petramos! Petramos! And I will love Petramos, as I have loved Amphion; and there will be no happier twain in Greece!

She has taken his hands, and now swings them about childishly.

Dunn. Yes—you’re mapping it all out, but it can’t be; for a variety of reasons: In the first place, we’re not in Greece. (crosses L.)

Nio. (in wonderment, getting C.) Not in Greece?

Dunn. (returning to her) No! We’re in London, the Capital of a little Island called Great Britain, hundreds of miles from Thebes.

Nio. You speak our tongue. And are you not a Greek?

Dunn. (L. C.) Not much! And we’re not speaking Greek, but English—though how you picked it up is a mystery to me.

Nio. We understand each other, that’s enough. What else there is to know, I’ll learn from you, now that I’m settled here.

Nestling up to and resting against him.

Dunn. (alarmed) But you’re not settled here! And it’s out of the question! (he speaks very angrily and Niobe starts to sob) No, no! You’re a very charming lady and personally I shouldn’t object to your stopping for a week or so, but I have a wife!

Nio. But you are Lord and could put her away.

Dunn. Oh could I! And she has an elder sister. Perhaps you could tell me what I’m going to do with her?

Nio. It is not hard! Why, sell her for a slave! (pose)

Dunn. (goes L.) I should like to, but I don’t think anybody would buy Helen unless a great big life insurance policy went along with her; besides Slavery is abolished, and if you weren’t so ignorant you’d know that; and know how wrong it is to fill one with delusive hopes like these.

Dunn goes towards window.

Nio. Ah, be not angered with me, Petramos. If you reject me, life restored is wrecked, and I shall die.

Niobe kneels and sobs.

Dunn (returns again L. C.) Well, after three thousand years, you can’t complain if you have to. You’ve had a pretty good innings. She’s at it again. I can’t stand hearing a woman cry like this, and she is pretty, considering what a back number she is. Don’t cry, stop it, don’t cry, please—there’s a dear. (patting her head)

Nio. (clinging to him—rises) And you do love me, Petramos?

Dunn. Oh, well in a way! (Niobe suddenly crying) Don’t! don’t cry! Yes! Yes!

Niobe instantly cheerful, standing erect.

Nio. And we will sacrifice to Dusky Dis; and pray him to take your wife to Hades. (pose)

Dunn. But I don’t want my wife to go to—who’s Dusky Dis? Some Nigger Minstrel?

Nio. The stern proud God of Tartarus!

Dunn. (disgusted) Oh, he’s played out long ago; there’s no such party—you mustn’t suppose the world has been standing still while you’ve been in a state of Petrifaction; we’ve been going ahead, and the gods have had to knock under.

Dunn sits R. of table.

Nio. (C.) No Gods? No Zeus? No Aphrodite?

Dunn. Not one! Except in Heathen mythology—why you’re a heathen.

Nio. I am!

Dunn. A Pagan idolater, and you’ll have to be converted.

Nio. I was converted.

Dunn. Eh?

Nio. Into stone!

Dunn. Not that! You’ll have to go to school, and learn the Piano, and the Alphabet.

Nio. Alphabet—Ah! (action with hands) Alpha, Beta, Gamma, Delta.

Dunn. (rises) Very likely! But that doesn’t get over the difficulty of what is going to be done with you; and look at it as we will you cannot remain here.

Nio. (R. C.; after slight pause) I have no friends! No home! Where can I go?

Dunn. Your case has not been altogether unprovided for; as there is a home for lost dogs, so also is there an asylum for ladies in distress.

Nio. Can I go out into a vicious world in direst ignorance of all its ways?

Dunn. Oh, I don’t suppose it’s any worse than it was in your time. (Niobe sobs) You’re quite right, you can’t, and it would be brutal to send you out, at this time of night too.

Niobe sits on front of pedestal.

Nio. The gods, alas, are angered with me still. (sobbing)

Dunn. She’s at it again! No wonder the gods got tired. Don’t! please don’t cry; and we’ll hit upon some plan; if I only knew what to say to my family. (stands dejectedly C.)

Nio. Say whence I came—and how—tell them the truth!

Dunn. Tell them what? What d’ye take me for? Some outrageous, ridiculous lie might pass muster, but the truth, a truth like this! you couldn’t ask them to believe it. George Washington would have found this too strong for his veracity.

Nio. (R. C.) Who is Washington?

Dunn. Oh, he was an American fighting man; you wouldn’t know him. You were before his time. (looks at watch, at window) Is that the time? (goes round table to window; Niobe meanwhile lies full length on stage, head to R. on stool) They’ll be home from the Theatre presently; what am I to do? (turning up from window, comes down centre)

Sees Niobe and covers her feet with drapery from piano and goes again anxiously to window; Mary enters L. C., going to fire; Dunn rushes her off R. C.

Dunn. I’ll ring if I require coals. I’ll ring, Mary, ring—(coming down C.) Madame! Niobe! You can’t be seen like that, you must do something with yourself—(Niobe half rises) You’d better go upstairs and put some of my wife’s clothes on!

Nio. (kneeling) I tore my Peplos in excess of grief!

Dunn. Yes! Yes! I see you did; go upstairs, and dress while I think out some plan.

Dunn R. as if in great worry, as Niobe rises, moving up C.

Nio. (turning back) I fear I don’t know how to dress myself.

Dunn. Oh, well, I can’t! You must try, try! up the stairs there—on the right—first door when you reach the top.

Nio. Petramos! All my will I’ll yield to thine,
Do thou but clear thy brow of fretfulness.
Thy anger, linked with fury of the gods
I could not bear! I could not bear!

Niobe exits weeping up stairs C. R., the footlights up through this scene, to assist the comedy, now low again.

Dunn. (staggered—sits end of couch—a pause) What an uncompleted idiot I am. My wife will recognize her clothes—(running to stairs, sees trunk which he secures and brings down stage) The Governess’s trunk! If my keys will only fit it, no, no! They never do—Yes—that’s lucky! (raising lid of trunk and closing it again) How clever you thought yourself, Peter Amos Dunn, when you suggested to yourself bringing that d——d Statue into the house. It isn’t there! It isn’t there! (closes screen—looks round—straightens room—picks up drapery, etc.; crosses to mirror, re-arranges himself, tie, smooths hair, goes down L. of table and pours himself a drink, hand shakes. He cannot get it to his mouth; sops his handkerchief and putting it to his brow, crosses and sits on trunk. Loud knock at door; Dunn jumping up; shoulders trunk and rushes upstairs)

Knocking; Mary crosses R. to L.; Innings then enters, Mary following L. C.

Inn. Not back yet, eh?

Mary. No Sir! (going down L. to lamp)

Inn. (looking at watch) Oh, well, they won’t be long, it’s close upon eleven. (sits on sofa R.)

Mary. I will turn up the lamp, Sir, I thought the Master was here.

Mary turns up lamp; lights full on.

Inn. They’d have stretched a point and taken me with them, but for that confounded Helen. Perhaps they’re walking, it’s a beautiful night.

Dunn enters C. and R. down stairs.

Dunn. (worried and anxious—down C.) Ah! that’s right, Mary, let’s have a light on the subject—(starts at seeing Innings) Back before them, eh Innings? But they can’t be long—it’s so hot, so late—what’s that—is not that a carriage?

Mary. No, Sir!

Dunn. (L .C.) I said not—I said not—don’t argue, Mary; don’t argue—(has got near table, takes up empty water jug and empty glass) Why have you no water here? How can I be expected to wash—drink—if you have no water (loud knock—Mary frightened of him rushes round front of table to R.)

Dunn backs to centre; he keeps water jug and glass until end of act.

Inn. (R.) There they are!

Dunn. I knew they’d return—(knock) They’ll have to come in, won’t they? (knock—to Mary) Go! Go! And open the door; don’t stand there like an idiot.

Mary exits C. and L.

Inn. You’re very fidgetty, Dunn, what’s wrong?

Dunn. Wrong! Do I look as if I was, why—why should there be anything wrong?

Savagely to Innings; Innings afraid, crosses to L. corner.

Inn. I never saw you like this before.

Dunn. I never was like this before.

Falls into chair R. of table L. C.

Hat. (entering C., comes down to back of Dunn) Peter! (Dunn starts up) It was too delightful for anything. I’m so sorry you didn’t come.

Dunn drops again in chair as Hattie goes R. taking off gloves, etc., etc.; Corney enters L. C.

Dunn. So am I—I’d have given a hundred pounds to have been with you.

Corn. (C., taking off gloves) Hundred pounds! Oh, come! What for?

Dunn. Wh—er——It’s a favourite play of mine.

Corn. (crossing to L.) Pygmalion and Galatea?

Dunn. Was that it?

Corn. Yes! Lovely girl, Galatea. Never saw anything like her as the Statue.

Dunn. (starting up) Statue! What’s the matter with the Statue? (rushing to screen, meets Carrie, who enters L. C., coming front screen) Eh! Ha! Ha! And did you enjoy it, Carrie?

Car. (R. C.) Very much, Peter! (Helen enters L. C., remains up C.)

Dunn. (wild and exhausted with worry) Ah! How interesting those old legends are; how beautiful the revive—animating—of the Statue! And if you were told of such a wonder now-a-days, you—you wouldn’t believe it perhaps.

Music till end of act. Comic Agitato.

Hel. (coming down C.) Now-a-days, nor any other time. No woman of ordinary intelligence could be deceived by such a story.

Dunn back to audience R. C., looking anxiously from one to the other.

Corn. (L. of table near Innings) And what’s your idea of Galatea?

Hel. (going towards chair R. of table) That she was some infamous creature whom Pygmalion had brought into his household; and that the Statue tale was made up to hoodwink his confiding wife. (sits)

Car. Ah!! Quite possible.

Carrie back of sofa.

Dunn. (falling on stool front of couch) No use! I knew the truth was no use.

Niobe enters R. C. in an eccentric but stylish tea robe.

Nio. (speaking as she advances C.) I have obeyed you, Petramos, and I am here—(all turn to her)

Dunn rises frightened, getting R. of Niobe.

Hel. Who is this?

Dunn. (R. C.—introducing) The new Governess, Miss Mifton!

Corn. Miss Mifton——

Inn. There! I told you so!

Looks at Innings and falls into chair L. of table, the others grouped, scrutinizing Niobe.

Nio. (with her accustomed action) Hail to you!

PICTURE. CURTAIN.

[ACT II.]
THE NEXT MORNING.

Scene.—Dunn’s drawing-room, the opposite end to Act I. Conservatory with steps at back C. Bay window R. Plain window or blank piece above. Blank piece or Alcove L. Door above to Library. Table R. C. with chairs. Couch L. Footstool L. C. Screen is not on; is supposed to be at audience side of room. Piano against flat. Paper on table.

Helen up C. and Carrie at window R. dressed for walking; discovered interviewing Mary, up L. C.

Hel. Can you not tell us Mary, at what hour she came?

Mary. I don’t know, ma’am—I didn’t hear her come and I didn’t let her in.

Hel. You hear Carrie, he let her in himself.

Car. (R. C.) I don’t see why we should attach any importance to that!

Mary. No Ma’am, for she might have got in by herself; she is the strangest person I ever met, Ma’am.

Hel. In what way?

Hattie enters L., goes to couch, playing with mechanical toy.

Mary. Why, the name she gives things. She asked me at breakfast to hand her the Mazas, and when I didn’t understand her, she called me Helot, and pointed to the muffins.

Hat. If you’re talking about Miss Mifton, she is a treat. She’s got a new name for sausages.

Car. If she will only be good to the children.

Hat. You needn’t worry about that. If you’d seen the way she wept over them, and kissed and fondled them. And called them Hippicus and Alophagos.

Hel. (sternly) Who are they?

Hat. Oh, I didn’t like to ask—some connections of her own, perhaps.

Hel. No doubt! They are sufficiently outlandish; the idea of a Governess, wandering about the house in an extravagant tea gown; impertinence I call it.

Mary. I suppose we’re to take our orders from you as usual, Mum?

Hel. Yes! Certainly!

Mary. Thank ye! I don’t want to have that person lording it over me.

Mary exits L. D. with an indignant toss of her head.

Car. (R.) She’s no doubt one of those highly emotional creatures, who grow hysterical at almost anything.

Hel. (coming slightly forward) Carrie, you’re so confiding; such affectation wouldn’t suit me.

Car. But you always were superior to ordinary woman’s weakness.

Hat. Weakness! Oh, there’s no flipperty flop about Helen.

Hel. (advances towards Hattie) Hattie! When you are more like me, you will have more cause for self-respect.

Hat. Oh! I’ve nothing against myself as I am.

Car. When we return you must examine her Helen, and find out if she is competent to teach the children.

Hel. I will, but take my word for it, the Woman is a fraud. She knows nothing that is desirable. In knowledge and learning she is little better than an idiot; I could see that in her face last night.

Hat. Helen’s a judge of idiots.

Hel. Hattie! You’re growing more impudent every day.

Hat. Well, if I keep on, I’ll grow out of it.

Car. I wonder when Peter saw her at Chester that he wasn’t impressed with her appearance.

Hel. (with malicious meaning) Perhaps he was!

Car. She might be the advanced guard of a gang of thieves, and Peter has some such thought, perhaps, as he has not gone to the office.

Hel. Your confiding nature does you credit, Carrie, but you are too ingenuous. He may be actuated by motives far less praiseworthy.

Car. What do you mean, Helen?

Hel. I would not say Carrie, for I make it a rule never to stir up ill feeling between man and wife. (going up C.)

Enter Innings.

Inn. (on steps) Good morning, Ladies! Corney gone out yet?

Car. He is still engaged with his breakfast. He is always late after a Theatre night.

Carrie exits C. and R.

Hel. (severely and pointedly) His indolence is a source of great inconvenience to us all.

Helen exits C. and R. Innings looking at Hattie on sofa—crosses to window, putting hat on chair R. of table in recess of window, produces box of chocolates which he places ready for business later; then, half frightened, gets extreme R. at window.

Inn. (R.) They’re gone!

Hat. (on sofa) Yes! I see they are! You didn’t intend that for information did you? It was only—only just a something to say—to—fill up a page kind of remark, wasn’t it?

Inn. (at window) That’s all—simply to call your attention to the fact that we are alone.

Hat. Oh, you needn’t have called; my attention was rivetted;—but I don’t feel in the least embarrassed; do you?

Inn. No!

Hat. Well—why aren’t you embarrassed? (rises, coming to C.)

Inn. Don’t see what there is about you to frighten a fellow.

Hat. I don’t believe you’re so bold as you pretend; judging from the respectful distance you keep.

Inn. Don’t you want me to be respectful?

Hat. Why of course, but you needn’t be distant.

Inn. (crosses slowly to her) If I thought by coming nearer, I should be getting dearer——

Hat. Wouldn’t you be getting costly? You’re pretty near now!

Inn. (R. C.—getting closer to Hattie; Hat. bus.) So are you, Hattie. You’re pretty near and pretty far, but the nearer I am the sweeter you are. Ha! Ha!

Hat. Oh! You don’t flatter yourself much to think that your proximity makes me sweeter.

Sarcastically; turning from him.

Inn. To me! I mean in my opinion! Oh, Hattie!

Hat. (quickly) What is it, Philip? (whisking round)

Inn. (turning away) I wonder how long Corney usually takes over his breakfast.

Hat. Oh, I can go and ask him, if that’s all you want to know.

Hattie going up L.

Inn. (pulling her back by her dress; she in mischief runs for chair, trying to sit upon his hat, which he saves) Oh, Hattie! oh my! oh I—I don’t want to know particularly.

Corney enters quietly from Library up L., sees them and goes out again.

It’s good enough to stay here and go on wondering—with you. Of course—I don’t want to wonder by myself. Oh, Hattie!

Hat. Oh, Mr. Innings. (gushingly)

Innings, kneeling beside Hattie, embraces her; Corney sings outside; Hattie and Innings hurriedly get away from each other; Hattie goes and sits on couch L.; Innings goes extreme R. to window recess.

Corn. (entering L. and down C.; sings) “When the heart in palpitating is impressed with fear,
You’re pleased to find a being where there’s no one near
And whisper foolish nothings no one else may hear,
That is love! That is love!”

Do you know, Phil, I’ve been haunted by that song ever since you started me at it; Hattie’s crazed on it too.

Hat. Oh, Corney! Why I’m only learning it.

Corn. Yes, but you’ve nearly mastered it I can see. (looks at Innings) I interrupted your practice, didn’t I?

Hat. (impertinently up in his face) I don’t understand.

Corn. (pushing her up C.) Oh, yes you do! See if you can find my cigar case in the Conservatory; I rather fancy I left it there last night.

Corney turns down stage L.; Innings gives Hattie box of chocolates quickly; as Corney turns on exclamation they separate.

Hat. Oh chocks! (to Innings) We can resume our conversation some other time, Mr. Innings.

Inn. I was going to ask you if we couldn’t, and will you please make a note of where we left off?

Hat. (sings) “And whisper foolish nothings no one else may hear. That is love! That is——” Ugh! (at Corney)

Innings stands up C. looking after Hattie, throwing kisses to her—echoes “That is love—That is——”

Corn. (after watching Innings, swings down stage near couch) Come here Phil! Never mind Hattie, she’ll keep. Anything fresh? Have you learnt anything new?

Inn. There’s nothing new to learn that I can see. Madeline Mifton’s here, and you’ve got to prepare for the worst. (lies on couch putting his legs up)

Corn. (C.) It is the most striking coincidence I ever heard of; that the sister of the girl I jilted should take the place of Governess, and come here, by the merest accident.

Inn. Do you suppose it was accident?

Corn. Oh, come Phil—you don’t think it was design?

Inn. I do! Didn’t I tell you last evening that she was coming to London to hunt you down!

Corn. Yes! But who could realize such persistency outside a Gaboriau Novel.

Inn. Have you seen her yet?

Corn. Not this morning—she’s in the nursery with the children. She’s very like her sister. There’s something weird about her, but the exact type of features. (crosses R. C.)

Inn. What do you intend to do? Have you made up your mind?

Corn. Yes! (crossing back to him) I’ve decided to get you to talk to her, Phil——

Inn. (sits up) Me?

Corn. You can give it her straight—show her clearly that I was cajoled into proposing to her sister, that it was really Ethel’s fault, and that she’s entirely to blame for the whole business, and there you are!

Inn. I couldn’t do it; it doesn’t seem nice to throw all the blame on to the girl.

Corn. It belongs to her, Phil—besides, my boy, you know that the least thing upsets me. I cannot stand worry; now you can; (Innings rises) you have one of those oxydised-zinc constitutions.

Inn. No, I haven’t! I’m just as susceptible to worry as you.

Corn. You mean to say you won’t do it?

Inn. No! I can’t!

Corn. You can’t?

Inn. (emphatically) No! Damn! there! I don’t see why I should. (crosses R. and round table)

Corn. Oh, well, then, Peter will have to do it. I’ll get Peter to talk to her. (goes L.)

Inn. (up R.) That’s the best way. He won’t mind.

Enter Dunn from Library L. D. with scent bottle, pale and careworn, crosses and sits on chair L. of table.

Corn. I’d rather you did it; because I shall have to disclose the whole escapade to Peter. And he hasn’t a particularly good opinion of me as it is.

Inn. I doubt if he could have a worse, so it can’t make much difference.

Corn. (seeing Dunn) Good morning, Peter—(Dunn scowls at him) Seen you before though, haven’t I? (to Innings) Peter looks jolly, doesn’t he? Innings, you’ll find Hattie in the Conservatory looking for my cigar case, which I have in my pocket.

Inn. All right! I’ll see if we can’t resume that conversation where you broke in on it; (sings) “And whisper foolish nothings, no one else may hear, That is love! That is——” (voice cracks)

Innings exits C. and R.

Corn. (after slight pause—looks at Dunn) Peter, old man! You don’t look well.

Dunn. I don’t feel well; I’ve been walking my room the whole of the night. I haven’t slept a wink.

Corn. Neither have I; but sleeplessness doesn’t break me up nearly so quickly as worry. I cannot stand worry; and that is why I want to speak with you about this new Governess.

Dunn. (startled) What! Why should there be any worry about the new Governess? (aside) Can he suspect——

Corn. It’s no use trying to disguise it, Peter, she is not what she seems.

Dunn. (amazed and frightened) Not what she——

Corn. She hasn’t come here to teach the children at all.

Dunn. (rising) Great goodness, how did he learn this! (aside)

Corn. It was hard to believe, but a good look at her face settled it; she’s the very image——

Dunn. Image! (aside) He knows all. (crosses L.)

Corn. I’m pretty shrewd Peter, and I suspect I’ve summed up the whole business.

Dunn. (aside) Oh! He’s not sure, then I won’t betray myself. I’ll brazen it out. (sits on couch)

Corn. (aside, down R. C.) If I could only induce him to get rid of her, without disclosing anything.

Dunn. (on sofa) I’ve told you before Corney, how wrong it is to jump to these conclusions; you may misjudge this woman and her purpose and object entirely, and, right or wrong, Corney, I’m blameless.

Corn. (aside) Ah! Peter knows she’s unpopular with the women and that the blame of engaging her will fall upon him. (fetching chair from table) That’s all very well with me, Peter! (puts chair near couch and sits astride it, facing audience.)

Dunn. (aside) With him! That means, at the worst I can buy him off!

Corn. But Helen and Carrie are prejudiced, and naturally perhaps. You can’t deny there is something uncanny about the woman.

Dunn. There is perhaps—a stony look about the eyes; but that will wear off.

Corn. It’s hard to believe that she is of the same clay as ourselves.

Dunn. Clay! She was never clay.

Corn. She might have been cast in a different mould.

Dunn. She’s not a casting at all—so——

Corn. Of course there’s no denying she’s beautiful. But I’ve a prejudice against these classic expressionless women; these cold blocks of marble.

Dunn. (as if paralyzed) Marble—you do know then——

Corn. (looks at Dunn quickly) I know what you ought to have known the moment you saw her, that she was not the sort of thing, that—that—it wouldn’t do to have her about the house.

Dunn. I did know it, Corney, and I have tried. I have tried to get her away, but I can’t.

Corn. Obdurate and unforgiving, eh? As I suspected; she has a heart of stone.

Dunn. Well, she had; of course that was changed with the other alterations.

Corn. (rises and puts chair back by table) What? She relents? She wavers in her purpose? Then let her go. The matter’s simple enough: pack her off!

Dunn. (rises) But I can’t! It’s all so brutal.

Corn. (with foot on stool) Oh, she’s told you the whole story, eh? but remember my version will put an entirely different light on it. And yet out of cold-blooded vindictiveness she comes here to ruin me with Bea and Sillocks.

Dunn. (putting foot on stool; looks puzzled at Corney—pause) Have you met her before? Have you got that former existence theory?

Corn. If you call a year ago a former existence! (Corney turns going R.)

Dunn. A year ago! (stumbles over stool)

Corn. Yes! When I broke off with her.

Dunn. Broke off! (aside) I didn’t notice she had anything missing.

Corn. Broke off my engagement with her sister.

Dunn. (perplexed) Whose sister?

Corn. Mifton’s sister, whom I met at Cambridge. (goes R.)

Dunn. (aside) He’s on the wrong tack; Heavens! What a pitfall I nearly fell into! Ha! Ha! Ha! Ha!

Dunn goes up C., laughing heartily.

Corn. (meeting Dunn up C.) Don’t laugh! Don’t laugh! I tell you——

Dunn. It’s too bad Corney, to let you indulge in all this unnecessary worry, but your fears are quite groundless. The new Governess, Madeline Mifton, never heard of you till last evening.

Corn. I know better, Peter! She came here in her sister’s interest, to hunt me down.

Dunn. Nothing of the kind.

Corn. I tell you I learnt, on the best of authority, that Madeline Mifton would certainly come here for the purpose of going for me. (crosses L.)

Dunn. (dropping into chair R. E.) Great goodness! I’m forgetting she will be here. The new Governess, and what will happen then? What will happen then?

Mary. (enters from Library L. U. E.) The Locksmith is in the Library Sir, to know what is to be done.

Dunn. (looking at audience as if for screen) Oh, the lock and staple for the screen; I’ll explain it to him, myself. Tell the Governess I wish to speak to her.

Mary exits C. and R. up steps.

Corn. (going up C.) No! Never mind, Peter—I’ll tackle her myself.

Dunn. (stopping him C.) What for? when I tell you there’s no occasion.

Corn. Well, I’m not so sure of that; and I’ll satisfy myself. There’s some mystery connected with her. And I’ll find out why and how she came; and all about her. (crosses R.)

Dunn. No! No! Don’t you meddle or you’ll ruin everything! (aside) He must not see Niobe till I have warned her. I’ll run and see that locksmith and hurry back. You remain quiet and I’ll find out if you have any cause for fear. Don’t interfere, or you’ll spoil everything. Leave her to me. She’s a peculiar woman, but I think I understand her. She’s a woman of the world undoubtedly, but a little after date. Leave her to me. Leave her to me!

Exit Dunn to Library L. D.

Corn. He seems so particularly anxious I should leave it to him, I don’t think it good enough; I would always rather that somebody else should manage any little unpleasantness for me, but I like to feel sure that they’re not working some little purpose of their own.

Enter Niobe C. and L. as if looking for some one; comes R.

Ah! Here she is—good morning, Miss Mifton!

Nio. (on steps, waving her hands) Hail to you! (comes down) Where is he whom they call master? The lord of this house?

Corn. (aside) Umph! A poetic blank verse kind of character—(aloud) Oh, Peter!

Nio. (fondly) Ah! Petramos!

Goes down L. in front of couch.

Corn. Yes, if you put it that way; he’ll be here in a moment, Miss Mifton. Make yourself at home; take a chair, be seated.

He goes to L. of table; his back to her as if to offer chair.

Nio. Nay, I am easier thus.

Flops on floor with head supported on footstool; Corney turns and sees her on floor; staggered! he puts up eye glass.

Corn. (aside) She’s a decidedly eccentric creature—I hardly know how to begin with her; (aloud—stooping down) I hope you find no trouble with the children.

Nio. To love is not a trouble, and they are so like Petramos.

Corn. (slight pause, he turns away slightly) She seems partial enough to Peter—(aloud—stooping down to her) Ahem! How—how did you come to hear of this place? Was it by accident—quite by chance you came here?

Nio. (looks round) By chance? Ah, yes!

Corn. Ah yes! You had no—(bends down—hurts back—gets chair from table, sits R., and stoops) You had no purpose beyond the ostensible—one—of occupying—the situation—you had—accepted. (speech disjointed and jerky)

Nio. Your speech is meaningless; to me but the empty rattle of a falling can.

Posing face in hands, elbows on stool.

Corn. (after regarding her suspiciously, turns to R.) She’s frank to a degree—(aloud—stooping) Ahem! You did not expect—you had no thought of finding me here?

Spoken in a conciliatory tone, trying to be agreeable.

Nio. (after regarding Corney disdainfully—perplexed) I’d rather Petramos should tell me what to say.

Corn. (rises and goes step to R.; aside) Can she have confided the affair to Peter, and is this just simplicity, or only cunning?

Nio. If you like best conversing with yourself, I shall not miss your chatter.

Corn. (quickly recovering himself) I beg your pardon! She isn’t such a fool; (sits again, crosses legs) Excuse me. You find a great change, I suppose?

Nio. Ah yes! All things are changed, even men are not as they were. Why do you hide your legs in those loose sleeves?

Corn. (looks at his trousers, tries to hide his legs—aside) She must have lived among the savages, she’s a Highlander perhaps! I thought you belonged to Cambridge.

Nio. I was born in Athens, but I left it when I married.

Corn. (R. C.) You are married then?

Nio. (beginning to cry) I was! Oh—Amphion! (cries on footstool)

Corn. Oh! I beg your pardon—your husband is dead? (stooping to speak to her)

Nio. More years than I can count. (sobbing)

Corn. Ah! You don’t look your age. She’s trying the idiotic dodge again. (stooping) Ahem! When did you—(gets twinge again with bending, puts away chair and fetches low occasional chair from back of stage, sits close to her and stoops) When did you see your sister last?

Nio. (sits up) At the Feast of Demeter, on the Temple steps.

Corn. Temple steps! Taking the Battersea boat perhaps! How did you leave her?

Nio. In sorrow. She had been early plighted to a young hoplite of Ithaca, named Aulakes.

Corn. Hoplite! A dancing master I suppose. It’s the first I’ve heard of this; she may betray more of Ethel’s secrets! (aloud) And what—(trying to get lower, and sees stool, Niobe sitting up, has left room for him, he steps over stool and sits) What became of the young fellow?

Nio. He fought throughout the war and fell in the last battle.

Corn. (aside—surprised) Ethel can’t be the Spring chicken I believed her. (aloud) You were younger than your sister?

Nio. Ah yes!

Corn. Ah yes—I can see a resemblance, but a difference; she might be called handsome—you’re pretty.

Nio. Why not? Mother was as fair as Helen.

Corn. Our Helen! Oh! I don’t think much of her as a beauty.

Enter Dunn hurriedly—he sees them, when he reaches C., falls into low chair.

Nio. (rises on one knee as she sees Peter) Ah! Here is Petramos! And I no longer wish to talk with you.

Niobe rises and goes L.; Peter affects indifference.

Corn. (rises) That’s straight, anyway, but what she can see in Peter beats me.

Dunn. (to Corney) You didn’t say anything to her?

Corn. No, no! I’ve left it to you! (goes up, putting back chair)

Nio. (coming towards Dunn C.) He has perplexed and frightened me with questions.

Dunn. (C., turning to Corney R.) Now I thought——

Corn. (replacing other chair) No, no! Merely ordinary courtesies.

Nio. (very affectionately) I have no fear of him now you are here.

Putting her arms round Dunn’s neck as he turns; Corney, coming forward, sees them and affects to be greatly shocked, hiding face with newspaper.

Dunn. (perplexed and affecting light indifference, trying to get away from her) Of course not, there is nothing to be afraid of. (to Corney) She’s so timid, you see Corney, she—she—seems to think everyone is against her.

Niobe looks up, their faces close together.

Corn. (down C.) She doesn’t seem to mind you, Peter!

Dunn. No, she’s quite taken to me, and if there is anything, Corney, I’ll find out for you. She’ll tell me!

As Dunn turns from Niobe going towards Corney, she keeps him back with her arms still round his neck. He breaks away and she goes L.—Dunn R.

Corn. Well, I’ll leave her to you—(goes up L. C.) I confess I don’t know what to make of her; she doesn’t seem the kind of person to undertake such a mission; a resuscitated mummy couldn’t appear more ignorant of the world’s ways. (aloud) Peter! Peter! Hail to you!

Corney exits centre to R.

Nio. (following him up, looks off L., then turns to Dunn) Have you resolved truth shall be told, and all disclosed, Petramos?

Dunn. Truth! no! I took a feeler at that; it isn’t to be thought of.

Nio. (going R. C. towards Dunn) As my lord says—it would be well, then, to hire some slave to murder him that’s gone! (mysteriously pointing off L.)

Dunn. Murder Corney! What for?

Nio. He will betray.

Dunn. He can’t—he doesn’t know!

Nio. But he suspects!

Dunn. Suspects the truth! Ridiculous! There may be, well there are—suspicions—but they’ll never take that form; and the only difficulty is to keep up something that’s possible of belief till we can provide for you, or hear from your friends. (R. of table)

Nio. (on steps C.) Alas! have I in all the world a friend?

Dunn. (L. H.) I suppose not! We might go round electrifying all the Art museums; on the off chance; there may be friends of yours in Greece, if you could only go back to Greece, and burrow for them. (sits R.)

Nio. (coming back of table) Zeus! How desolate I am—(to Dunn) Your only thought is to be rid of me. (weeps on table)

Dunn. (R. of table) She’s at it again! No, I don’t wish to be rid of you; if I could only see some way to manage it—I should be glad for you to remain.

Nio. (raising her head) Could I not stay then, as your wife?

Dunn. Umph! If I wasn’t already suited. I’ve told you I have a wife?

Nio. But one! The law of Thebes allows two wives.

Dunn. But the law of England doesn’t; and I should consider it a dangerous experiment if it did; besides there are other interests in the concern. My wife would be sure to object; and her sister would howl with indignation. (crosses L., up stage in fear of interruption.)

Nio. The sour face! (R. C.) We could invoke the gods to strike her dumb.

Dunn. The gods don’t amount to a row of pins, or I should have put ’em on to Helen long ago! (Dunn sits on footstool C.) You’re the Governess, that’s what they’ve been told and that’s what we have to keep up; till we can make other arrangements.

Nio. Say clearly then, what is a Governess?

Dunn. Oh! a Governess; a Governess, is one who governs, according to the orders of those who govern her; you must try to keep up an appearance of meekness and servility.

Nio. For what?

Dunn. Because you won’t be allowed to govern unless you do.

Nio. (with dignity) I am a Queen.

Dunn. Yes, but you got lost in the shuffle!

Nio. And my duties?

Dunn. To trot out the children, and pretend to teach, but above all cringe to Helen—say “yes Ma’am”—always—“Yes Ma’am.”

Nio. (proudly) “Yes Ma’am,” only that, “yes Ma’am?”

Dunn. (rising) Yes—but not in that way, mind the tone, humbly; “Yes Ma’am.” (in a nasal tone and with a bob curtsey)

Nio. (after wonderingly regarding Dunn, imitates Dunn’s manner) “Yes Ma’am!”

Dunn. That’s better, and don’t call me Petramos, but, Master, “the Master,” and above all, don’t forget to be obsequious to Helen. Agree with the old cat in all things, that’s very important. (Dunn goes up L., watching)

Nio. I shall remember—(goes to window R., looks out and appears delighted) Ah see! See! The crowd! The populace are out! Why do they hurry so? There is no dignity in all this haste.

Dunn. (sitting on couch L.) They’re not out for dignity, there’s no money in it; we haven’t time for dignity now-a-days.

Nio. (goes back to window) Look! See! What are those strange chariots?

Dunn. Chariots? (crossing to look out) Oh! cabs! Growlers! Growlers! They are called Growlers!

Nio. (following Dunn to C.) Growlers! Growlers!! Oh, could they not be changed?

Dunn. I’ll see what can be done in the matter—(Niobe goes back to window) Go up to the nursery now, the children will be getting anxious about you.

Nio. (at window R.) Look! Look Ixion; the man upon the wheel.

Dunn. Where! Oh, a boy on a bicycle! Do go!

Postman’s knock is heard thrice.

Nio. (coming out again) Why does he do that, is the man a Herald?

Dunn. No, a letter carrier—the postman! Postman!

Nio. Postman! (pleased) Ah! The Postman! (amused at the sound, repeats “Postman” as she goes to window)

Dunn. If she’s so struck on the postman, what will it be when she sees a policeman!

Nio. Oh, how they sway! Could not someone teach them how to walk? The Maidens waddle, like web-footed cranes.

Imitating a modern walk to L. corner.

Dunn. Yes! You’ve got it, that’s it (Niobe hurrying back to window, Dunn stops her) Look at ’em another time—go to the nursery now, and if the ladies, my wife or her sister, send for you, do be careful. (putting her up L. C.)

Nio. (returns) I will bring the children and show how much they love me.

Dunn. (R. C.) No, no! They’re not allowed in here.

Nio. (L. C.) Why, are they not yours?

Dunn. Yes, but I never attempt to prejudice them in my favour, I’ll explain to you another time, when I’m not so busy; I have to telegraph the real governess, to stop away, or we are ruined.

Nio. I don’t know Telegraph—what is it, Petramos?

Dunn. Why—oh—it’s a machine—er—on which you tick, tick, tick, tick at one end, and the same tick ticks are heard at the other end, and the tick ticks tell whatever you are thinking, to the party you’re tick, tick, ticking to.

Nio. Oh Petramos! you treat me like a child. Am I so foolish that you mock my ignorance?

Weeps and falls on Dunn’s shoulder, embracing him; Carrie and Helen enter at back C.

Dunn. She’s at it again. Don’t cry—there’s no money in it. I wasn’t fooling you. Cheer up! there’s a darling. (stroking her hair) Poor little woman! (Carrie down R.; Dunn sees her, pretends not to see her) My dear young lady, you shall be treated with every kindness, my wife is gentleness itself. I’m sure if my wife were here—oh, you are there, Caroline.

Car. (R., indignantly) Yes, I am here!

Dunn. Come to this poor girl, she’s homesick.

Hel. (coming down L.) And needs consolation, I observe.

At the sound of Helen’s voice Niobe recoils, back centre.

Miss Mifton, will you leave us?

Nio. Not at your bidding! If he, the Master, bids me go, I go—not else. I wait his orders.

Hel. (crossing R. C. to Carrie) You’ll find mine are the orders that are observed in this household, and you must obey them if you wish to stay with us.

Nio. You can’t suppose I wish to stay with you. (Dunn has gone up and is now L.—to Dunn) You Pet—the Master—is the ruler here.

Car. (in great tribulation; to Helen) She called him pet.

Dunn. (crossing back of Niobe R. C.) Yes! yes! but I never interfere in domestic matters. Mrs. Dunn’s sister manages everything. (aside as he goes back L.) Don’t forget what I told you; be obsequious.

Nio. Ah, that’s well remembered. (to Helen) I had forgotten; I am to be obsequious to you; Yes Ma’am—and cringe to you—“Yes Ma’am!” It was the master’s wish—agree with the old cat in all things, yes Ma’am!

Niobe backing up stage with speech, turns and exits C. and R.

Car. (goes up C., looks after Niobe—then down C.—to Dunn, who in desperation is strumming on the piano) So Peter! you are prompting her to deceit.

Dunn. (L.) Deceit, my dear! What! Where’s the deceit? (Carrie indignant, crosses R.)

Hel. (coming C.) It’s true there was little show of confusion, in spite of the indelicacy of the situation.

Dunn. What indelicacy? The poor girl required soothing, and no wonder; you’d make a china dog homesick.

Hel. It did not take you long to acquire an interest in this person.

Dunn. What d’ye mean by acquiring an interest? She’s not a joint stock company!

Car. (R.) Oh, Peter, and we thought it was illness kept you at home.

Dunn. (crossing to Carrie) Carrie! My dear!

Hel. But it’s obvious now why you stayed away from the office.

Car. And she is no prettier than I.

Hel. Some men are captivated by impudence.

Dunn. (between them) It’s a wonder you’ve remained single, so long.

Hel. I have too constant a reminder before me of the mistake of married life, ever to venture.

Dunn. Oh! The venture would be—on the other side: you run no risk!

Car. You must admit, Peter, that this woman, the new governess——

Dunn impatient, with an exclamation, crosses R. to window.

Hel. Carrie, don’t make foolish remarks you may be sorry for; to say too much is to put him on his guard. Come—(puts Carrie over) to your room—not a word—you’re excited. I’ll keep an eye on this Miss Mifton.

Exits, following Carrie L. D.

Dunn. (taking stage R. to L.; kicking stool away) Where will it end? What am I to do? (sitting on couch) Send off that infernal Telegram to the real governess. She must be detained where she is for the present, and bought off; I shall have to go to Leamington, see her, and bribe her to take some other engagement, and I don’t know how I am to do it!

Enter Innings C. R.

Inn. (coming down) If I can find Corney——

Dunn. (aside) Ah! Innings! Here’s the very man! (Dunn shakes Inning’s hand bringing him down on his R.) Innings, how are you—glad to see you! I don’t know that I ever met a man that I took to more readily than I did to you.

Inn. (R. C.) Ha! Ha! Well! What favour do you want me to do for you?

Dunn. Favour! Oh! I wanted you to travel.

Inn. Travel?

Dunn. Yes! It isn’t far! You have lots of time on your hands.

Inn. (R. C.) I don’t travel on my hands! I couldn’t go to-day. To-morrow early, if you like?

Dunn. (L. C.) It would be better to-day, but to-morrow will do.

Inn. Have I nothing to do but travel? Isn’t there an object?

Dunn. Oh yes! I can trust you I know. I want you to go to Leamington for me, to see a Miss Mifton, who is coming here as governess.

Inn. Coming! I thought she was here!

Dunn. Eh! Oh no! This is another one, she’s not the same—that is a different one to the other. There are lots of them at this time of year; the woods are full of ’em.

Inn. Of what?

Dunn. Miftons! (going across R.) I’m getting so muddled, I have to send a telegram—I’ll explain as we go. Give me your arm. (going up C. arm in arm) I’m bilious—I mean I’m weak this morning. I—oh this deception—there’s no money in it.

Enter Beatrice C. from R., as Dunn and Innings are going up.

Inn. Good morning, Miss Sillocks!

Dunn. Good morning, Bea. Have you stepped in to see Hattie? (calls) Hattie! Hattie! (turning round with Innings on his arm) You’ll find her in the Telegraph office—back in a jiffey! Where are you Innings? (turning) Oh, there you are. Come along!

Dunn exits with Innings C. and R.

Bea. (down R.) Something has excited him.

Hattie enters L. D.

Hat. Good morning, Bea!

Bea. (kissing her) Good morning, dear. How are the babies?

Hat. Flourishing! You look quite serious this morning! What’s the matter, Bea?

Bea. (R. C.) I have had a shock.

Hat. (C.) Galvanic?

Bea. No, no! Well, an unpleasantness—a letter.

Hat. It wasn’t from Corney then?

Bea. No! From a Miss Mifton!

Hat. Madeline Mifton? Why it’s our new governess!

Bea. (goes C.) But she writes from Chester. See! there’s the postmark.

Hat. (looking) Why, it’s three weeks old; been all over the country, misdirected! What’s in it?

Bea. She has seen something of my intended marriage with Corney in some of the Society papers, and asks for his address.

Hat. That is suspicious, isn’t it? But I dare say Corney can explain. (aside) He’s good at explaining—(aloud) I wouldn’t let it worry me.

Bea. I will not, if Corney assures me I’ve no reason to mistrust.

Hat. Oh, he’ll do that! Did you find out if it’s true that Peter had a sister?

Bea. Oh yes! Papa says Mr. Dunn’s sister is a most charming person.

Hat. Fancy that! and I never even heard of her; that’s Helen’s doings—(Helen speaks off) Mum! She’s here.

Hattie and Beatrice go L. to couch, as Helen and Carrie enter L. D.

Hel. (C.) Good morning, Miss Sillocks! How is your Papa?

Hat. Do tell, Bea. Helen has great interest in your papa, he’s a widower;—and Helen is “nuts” on widowers.

Hel. Hattie! Tell the new Governess we wish to see her.

Hat. (L.) Don’t get excited Bea. She is pretty, but I don’t believe she’s Corney’s kind.

Hattie exits up steps C. and R.

Car. (crossing R.) We have engaged a Miss Mifton to superintend the children’s education; but Helen has doubts as to her competency.

Hel. It will not take five minutes to satisfy ourselves; I’ll put a few questions to her, and if she cannot answer them satisfactorily a fortnight’s wages, in lieu of notice, will have to satisfy her. (sitting R. C., front of table; Carrie sits R. of Helen)

Enter Hattie C. from R., Niobe following; Hattie goes down L. to Bea.; Niobe C., top of steps.

Bea. What a lovely woman! Oh, Hattie! I believe Corney has been in love with her.

Hat. Oh, nonsense!

Nio. (on steps) Hail to you!

Hattie and Bea. on couch; all surprised; Niobe advances.

Car. Sit down, Miss Mifton!

Nio. Thank you! I am not tired, and stand to take mine ease.

Hel. I wish to ask you a few questions, Miss Mifton, to see if you are capable of the training and instruction of the young. You write and cypher, of course? I need not ask?

Nio. (standing C.) I would not then. Why speak of what is needless!

Hel. (after business of looking at Niobe) What is your definition of Geography?

Nio. It matters not since I am authorized—to bow my will to yours; what you would have it—say—and that it is.

Helen turns and looks at Carrie.

Hat. (laughing) Just the thing for you Helen; you can have it all your own way, (an educational Phonograph). You breathe in what is to be learned, and she’ll breathe it out again.

Hel. (R. C.—to Carrie) This sounds like prevarication. (to Niobe) You would not have me describe the divisions of the land and sea; tell you the names of the Continents.

Nio. Oh, yes, I would; that is, if you know them.

Hel. Know them——

Helen rising—Carrie calms and soothes Helen, who again sits.

Hat. Ha! Ha! She doesn’t! She doesn’t!

Car. Hattie! Do not interrupt the examination.

Hel. (re-seated) It’s not a question of what I know, Miss Mifton, I’ll undertake to say, you don’t know what a Continent is? (pause) You don’t!

Nio. (C.) I don’t! I was to agree with you in all things.

Hel. If I asked you to name the Capital of Norway or the location of the Red Sea, what would you say?

Nio. (at a loss—pauses—then in imitation of Dunn’s voice, curtseying) Yes Ma’am!

Hel. Do you call that an answer? (rises angrily—Carrie soothes her)

Nio. Yes Ma’am! (Helen sits again)

Bea. She looks intelligent; this must be all pretence.

Car. She has better knowledge, perhaps, of home affairs.

Hel. (seated) What was the cause of the last War?

Nio. (C., confidently) A quarrel which broke out, upon the rights of which I would not speak, for it was ended nearly when I was born.

Hel. (turns slightly from Niobe) We don’t want to know your age.

Hat. How many years did it last?

Nio. Ten!

Hat. Oh, she is a treat!

Hel. Be quiet, Hattie! Can you play the Piano?

Nio. I cannot tell you that, for I have never tried.

Hel. That’s meant for impudence, I suppose.

Nio. (confused—curtseying) Yes Ma’am!

Hel. (rising) You must be an idiot, or it is possible, you believe me one?

Nio. (curtseying) Yes Ma’am!

Hattie laughing; Helen frowns, falls into seat; Carrie rises; enter Dunn C., endeavours to get off L., meets Corney from L. D.; Dunn comes down L. of Niobe; Corney down L. to Bea. and Hattie; Beatrice afterwards shows Corney letter, Corney protesting in pantomime.

Car. Peter! Peter! this girl appears to be ignorant on every subject!

Dunn. (L. C.) Why, of course, if you’ve been asking her things she doesn’t know!

Hel. (seated) She won’t do, Peter. Her mind is a complete blank.

Dunn. (crossing to Helen) Yes! On trivial modern accomplishments, perhaps, but—have you asked her anything about Ancient history?

Hel. No!

Dunn. Have you spoken Greek to her?

Hel. No!

Dunn. I thought not! Even you don’t know everything. (as Dunn turns to Niobe, she tries to embrace him; he avoids her, and crosses quickly to Corney) Corney, ask her something about Ancient history; the more Ancient the better.

Corn. (L.) I’ve forgotten all I ever knew.

Dunn. That doesn’t matter, she’ll answer you all right!

Corn. Where was Homer born?

Nio. In Scios!

Dunn. There you see! First go!

Corn. (L. H.) What were the—er—names of the nine Muses?

Nio. (C.) Clio, Calliope, Euterpe, Erato, Melpomene, Polyhymnia, Terpsichore, Thalia, Urania.

Dunn. (crossing to Helen) Cyclopædias! What more do you want?

Hel. (facing audience) What good will it do the children to know the names of the Muses?

Dunn. (R. C.) Oh, I beg your pardon! We don’t pay enough attention to Ancient history now-a-days. (Dunn crosses again to Corney, L.) Corney, speak Greek to her.

Hattie and Beatrice have gone up C.

Corn. Can’t! “Hoi polloi” is the only expression I remember.

Dunn. Well, go on, give her that!

Corn. Hoi polloi!

Dunn. Hoi polly! Give her time—now—give her time——

Hel. She is no use whatever! She can’t even play the Piano.

Hat. (L. C.) How do you know! She has never tried.

Hattie exits laughing, with Beatrice C. and R.

Dunn. (comes down L. C.) Well, if she can’t, the Piano is not so very desirable for young children; and she may be great on the Triangle or the Jew’s harp.

Corn. And no doubt Miss Mifton will soon learn if you insist on it. (aside) I must keep the right side of her.

Hel. (rises) Absurd! She has not the intelligence of an insect.

Nio. (C.) It is not a necessity, for I am beautiful. It is such as you who need intelligence.

Corn. Phew! That’s a facer!

Hel. (rises fiercely) Minx! How dare you!

Nio. (clinging to Dunn as she recoils from Helen, to L. of Dunn) Petramos! I ask protection from this Medusa!

Dunn. Of course! Yes! Helen, you’re too severe.

Nio. (L. C., rising) Helen! Ah! Like her of Troy, at whom the finger of scandal pointed. (pose, as if denouncing Helen)

Hel. It is false! The story is untrue!

Car. Be calm, Helen!

Dunn turns up C., back to audience, shaking with laughter.

Hel. (R. C.) How dare you hint at scandal against me; but such innuendos will not deter me. Peter! This woman leaves this house, or I do!

Nio. (L. C.) Then there is little doubt which of us two will go. He’d sooner fifty fold, that I should stay.

Dunn. (turning round C.) I must endorse that truism, if it ruins me. I would! Damme! there! (turns again up stage)

Hel. Caroline, you hear!