The Profligate 12

The Profligate 12

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Quite interesting! [_Pedantically_] Michael Angelo.

 

WEAVER.

 

Michael Angelo.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

How superior to the cartoons in our English comic journals! Irene.

 

IRENE.

 

Yes, mamma?

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Come here, child. [_To WEAVER._] What is the subject?

 

WEAVER.

 

The Break of Day, ma’am. The black cloud underneath is departin’

Night--the nood figure reclinin’ on it is Early Morning.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Ugh! Never mind, Irene.

 

IRENE.

 

Mamma, do you remember a girl who was at school at Helmstead during my

last term--a little thing named Brudenell?

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

No--why?

 

IRENE.

 

I am certain that the boy asleep there is the brother who came down

every Saturday to visit her.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Dear me! [_To PRISCILLA._] My good girl. Is that young gentleman’s name

Brudenell?

 

PRISCILLA.

 

Yes, ma’am. It’s Mr. Wilfrid, Mrs. Renshaw’s brother.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Mrs. Renshaw! Miss Brudenell is married?

 

PRISCILLA.

 

A month ago, ma’am.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

At home, I hope?

 

PRISCILLA.

 

She’s with Mr. Renshaw in the garden, ma’am.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

[_Giving PRISCILLA a card._] Your mistress will be delighted to see

Mrs. Stonehay and her daughter. She is well and happy?

 

PRISCILLA.

 

As happy as the day is long, ma’am.

 

[_PRISCILLA disappears down the steps._]

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Irene, this will save us the expense of tea at Fiesole. [_To WEAVER._]

Oh, you will find a young lady outside--my companion; be good enough to

tell her to walk on to Fiesole--we will follow in the carriage.

 

IRENE.

 

Oh, no, mamma--not walk! The girl looks painfully delicate.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

My dear, I will _not_ overload poor dumb animals.

 

WEAVER.

 

Excuse me, ma’am, but it’s a terrible up-hill walk to Fiesole, and the

sun is very hot at this time of the afternoon.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Thank you. The young lady is in my service.

 

WEAVER.

 

Oh, I beg pardon, ma’am. [_WEAVER goes._]

 

IRENE.

 

Here she comes, mamma--little Leslie Brudenell. She is quite a woman.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

I forget her entirely. We won’t waste much time here; we’ll just

ascertain their position, take tea, and leave.

 

IRENE.

 

Oh, mamma, will you never admit that one may know people out of pure

liking and nothing further!

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

My dear, do remember my creed! Men and women are sent into the world to

help each other. Unfortunately I can help nobody, but it is none the

less the solemn duty of others to help me.

 

[_LESLIE, looking very bright and happy, runs up the steps, meets

IRENE and embraces her affectionately._]

 

LESLIE.

 

Dear Irene!

 

IRENE.

 

You remember me?

 

LESLIE.

 

Remember you! You were kind to me at Helmstead.

 

IRENE.

 

I think you saw my mother once.

 

[_LESLIE bows to MRS. STONEHAY, and is joined by DUNSTAN RENSHAW, who

has lost his dissipated look, and whose manner towards LESLIE is

gentle, watchful, and tender._]

 

LESLIE.

 

This is my husband. [_DUNSTAN bows._]

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Very happy.

 

LESLIE.

 

You will let me give you some tea?

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

It seems barbarous to intrude upon people so recently married.

 

DUNSTAN RENSHAW.

 

On the contrary, Mrs. Stonehay, you may be able to console my wife in

her first small grief.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

So soon?

 

LESLIE.

 

Dunstan is obliged to leave me for two or three days.

 

DUNSTAN RENSHAW.

 

I am just off to Rome to furnish some lodgings we have taken there, in

the Via Sistina. Poor Leslie was to have accompanied me, but Doctor

Coldstream forbids the risk of a Roman hotel.

 

MRS. STONEHAY.

 

Leaving this delightful villa!

 

DUNSTAN RENSHAW.

 

Yes, the Villa Colobiano is delightful. At any rate Michael Angelo must

have thought so at one time, when, in a moment of misapplied artistic

ecstacy, he made his mark upon our wall.

 

LESLIE.

 

Oh, yes, we’ve suffered dreadfully. Dunstan didn’t know when he took

the Villa that it is honourably mentioned in Baedeker.

 

DUNSTAN RENSHAW.

 

The irrepressible Tourists have made our life a martyrdom. With

guide-book, green spectacles, and sun-umbrella, they look for traces of

Michael Angelo in every corner of the house.

 

LESLIE.

 

If we’re dining they almost lift up the dish-covers.

 

DUNSTAN RENSHAW.

 

At first the servants hinted at a desire for seclusion on the part of a

newly married couple.

 

LESLIE.

 

That made matters worse; they wanted to see _us_ then.

 

DUNSTAN RENSHAW.

 

Just as if we had been tatooed by Michael Angelo.

 

LESLIE.

 

[_Taking IRENE’S hand._] But it is such a relief to see real friends. How did you discover us?