tales of two people 49

tales of two people 49

Mr M. (_Indignantly._) Good-night be----! Why, our talk’s just got to

the most interesting point!

 

Miss G. Well, you ought to know--you’ve been doing most of it yourself.

 

Mr M. Oh, but don’t go! I--I’ll do it better--and perhaps quicker

too--if you’ll stay a bit.

 

Miss G. (_Sitting again, with a laugh._) I’ll give you just five minutes

to wind up the argument.

 

Mr M. The conclusion’s obvious in logic. I ought to offer you my hand in

marriage, and you ought to accept.

 

Miss G. (_Laughing._) Logic is logic, of course, Mr Marchesson--but

we’ve never even been introduced! I don’t think you need feel absolutely

compelled to go through the ceremony you suggest. We’ll be illogical,

and say good-night.

 

Mr M. You admit the logic? You see the force of it?

 

Miss G. Women don’t act by logic, though.

 

Mr M. It’s always at least a good excuse.

 

Miss G. If you want one, yes. (_She is about to rise again._)

 

Mr M. I do want one.

 

(_She shakes her head, laughing._)

 

I’m serious.

 

Miss G. You don’t really want me to think that? The very first time we

meet? The lady in there (_pointing to the conservatory on the right_)

must have frightened you terribly indeed!

 

Mr M. Until the logic of the thing struck me--which happened only

to-night--I thought it no good to try to know you.

 

Miss G. I don’t suppose you ever thought about it at all.

 

Mr M. I had nothing to give you--and you had nothing to give me! So it

seemed in the days of illogicality. Now it’s all different. So I insist

on--the ceremony.

 

Miss G. (_Laughing, but a little agitated._) Go on, then. But your logic

doesn’t bind me, you know.

 

(_He comes and sits on the couch by her._)

 

Yes, that’s quite right--but don’t put too much feeling into it.

It--it’s only logic! No, I--I don’t think I want you to go on. I--I

don’t think it’s a good joke.

 

Mr M. It’s not a joke. I’ve never been introduced to you, you say. I’ve

never spoken to you before to-night, I know. But you’re not a stranger

to me. There have been very few days in the last three months when I

haven’t managed to see you----

 

Miss G. (_Low._) Managed to see me--_managed_?

 

Mr M. Yes--though I must say you go to some places which but for your

presence would be very dull. I stuck at none of them, Miss Grainger. I

swallowed every one! Did you ever notice me?

 

Miss G. Of course not.

 

(_He looks at her._)

 

Of course I’ve _seen_ you, but I never _noticed_ you.

 

(_He continues to look at her._)

 

Not specially, at anyrate.

 

Mr M. I suppose I must have been there a hundred times. How often did

you notice me?

 

Miss G. How absurd! I’m sure I don’t remember. Very seldom.

 

Mr M. Don’t you remember even the first time?

 

Miss G. Oh yes, that was at the---- No, certainly I don’t.

 

Mr M. Yes, it _was_ at the Phillips’s!

 

(_She smiles against her will. He also smiles._)

 

I’m glad you remember.

 

Miss G. You stared so--as _you_ may perhaps remember.

 

Mr M. Have I stared every time?

 

Miss G. Very often, anyhow.

 

Mr M. You noticed that?

 

Miss G. Every time I noticed you, I noticed that.

 

Mr M. And you noticed that very often! Therefore you noticed me----

 

Miss G. Please, no more logic!

 

Mr M. And yet you try to treat me as a stranger!

 

Miss G. It is rather a matter of _trying_ with you, isn’t it? You’re not

very susceptible to the treatment.

 

Mr M. And pretend to be surprised at my wanting to marry you! If the

logic of it still leaves you doubtful----

 

Miss G. Doubtful! I never said I was doubtful!

 

Mr M. Look at the romantic side! How romantic it would be to throw

yourself away on riches! Did you never think about that? Not when

I--stared?

 

Miss G. I didn’t exactly mean that you exactly stared. You--you--you----

Oh, you really might help me out! What did you do?

 

Mr M. I’d so much rather hear you say it.

 

Miss G. Well, right from the beginning there was something in your

look--I mean the way you looked at me--I can’t describe it, but it got

more and more like that.

 

Mr M. Yes, I believe I meant it to.

 

Miss G. Never forward or--or impertinent. Just nice, Mr Marchesson.

 

Mr M. I say, was that a good chap you refused in there (_indicating the

conservatory to the left_) a thousand years ago?

 

Miss G. Very--so handsome! I liked him awfully. And the girl you

refused----

 

Mr M. To ask----

 

Miss G. In there? (_Indicating the conservatory to the right._)

 

Mr M. Really, you know--impartially speaking--a ripper! Why did we?

 

Miss G. What?

 

Mr M. I said, “Why did we?”

 

Miss G. Was it--a thousand years ago? Yes?

 

Mr M. Which certainly makes it absurd to call us strangers.

 

Miss G. I wasn’t thinking any more about that. Oh, you do----?

 

Mr M. I do--mean it.

 

Miss G. (_Rising._) I think that--after all--it wouldn’t be so bad

in--in----

 

Mr M. The conservatory?

 

(_They look at one another and laugh._)

 

Miss G. It’s terribly absurd even to think about it.

 

Mr M. It’s absolutely logical! And, by the way, it’s time I put my

question.

 

Miss G. Haven’t you?

 

Mr M. Then it’s time you gave your answer.

 

Miss G. (_Putting her hands in his._) Haven’t I?

 

Mr M. There’ll be a great deal of talk about this to-morrow! (_He offers

her his arm, and they go towards the conservatory on the left._) Oh,

your conservatory? No!

 

Miss G. Yours would be just as bad.

 

Mr M. Then stay here.

 

Miss G. Take me to my carriage. And--and come and see if I’m not

perfectly logical to-morrow.

 

(_He releases her arm and kisses her hand. She adds in a low voice:_)

And--somehow--it _is_ absurd--so wonderfully happy to-night! Will you

come with me?

 

Mr M. Will I live? Come! Quick--through your conservatory! (_He puts his

arm round her waist._) Come!

 

(_They disappear into the conservatory on the left._)

 

CURTAIN

 

 

 

 

LA MORT À LA MODE[2]

 

MONSIEUR LE DUC--MADAME LA MARQUISE

 

 

(_The tumbril is the last of a row of several, some of which have

left, some of which stand at, the gates of the Conciergerie. The

others are full, in this the_ DUC _is alone. At the beginning of

the conversation the tumbril stands still, later it is moving

slowly, escorted through a turbulent crowd by National Guards to

its destination in the Place Louis Quinze (Place de la Revolution.)

The time is noon of a fine day during the Reign of Terror._)

 

Duc. Alone! My luck holds to the last. They’re close as fish in a tub in

the others--and by strange chance every man next to his worst enemy--or

at least his best friend’s husband! These rascals have no consideration.

Ah, somebody coming here! I’ve to have company after all. A woman