The Silver Shield Part 11

NED. That's right. You can keep Lucy company while I go and dress. I shan't be very long. (_Exit, L._)

LUCY. See where we've hung your wedding present. (_indicating the picture, R._)

TOM. Yes--I was looking at my knights--thinking how like Sir Humphrey is to them. Do you know, he's never seen me since the day I left his house? I've tried to get at him a dozen times, but he won't give me a chance of explaining myself. He sees one side of the s.h.i.+eld and won't look at the other.

LUCY. I know he was very much annoyed with you.

TOM. _You_ must have thought my conduct very strange.

LUCY. I did. (_sits, R._)

TOM. I owe you an explanation as well as Sir Humphrey. You remember my telling you my married life was a failure?

LUCY. Though you adored your wife.

TOM. You mustn't think she didn't care for me, at first, but she was lively, high-spirited, demonstrative. (_fetches chair from back and sits beside LUCY_) And you know what sort of a fellow I am. Heavy as one of Dozey's sermons. Women like pretty speeches, compliments. I can't make pretty speeches, and I can't pay compliments; but there are lots of men about who can. I wasn't jealous, for a man can't very well be jealous of a lap dog--and still less of half-a-dozen lap dogs at a time; but I lost my opinion of her (_rises_) and at last---- (_leans on back of chair_)

LUCY. You told her so.

TOM. I didn't say very much; and what I said she didn't seem to heed.

When I had spoken I went out. Coming back presently I found a letter lying on her desk telling me she preferred another man, and asking me to leave her. I took her at her word. (_crosses to C._)

LUCY. You left her without seeing her again?

TOM. She asked me _not_ to see her, and where was the use? I had just spoken to her, and this was the result. I came to England, and the next I heard of her was the announcement of her death. (_crosses to sofa_)

LUCY. Abroad?

TOM. In Melbourne. At first the sight of the old name brought back old memories, and I forgave her. I got out the few remnants the past leaves to men--the few pale letters and the faded photograph that grows a little dimmer every day--when my eyes fell on that last note I found upon her desk. I huddled up the sc.r.a.ps and went my way. I took up art as a profession--changed my name in deference to my family, who look on art as a mild form of felony--and time went on. I pulled the old things out again, and found that I could look at them unmoved. I even thought of marrying again, when, as I stood talking to you that last day at Sir Humphrey's, there flashed on me a figure and a face so like my wife's, it was like seeing _her._ And with the sight of her came back the love. (_crosses to C._)

LUCY. (_rises_) It wasn't dead, then?

TOM. Does love ever die? Dark mists of prejudice may wrap it round, and it may set in clouds, but every now and then the clouds are rolled away and there s.h.i.+nes out on us once more the image of the woman we have loved.

LUCY. (_crosses to TOM_) Was Mrs. Blake so like her?

TOM. So like I dare not meet her. I could only go. I wasn't in the mood for explanations, and when I was, Sir Humphrey wasn't in the mood to listen to them.

LUCY. And you've seen neither of them since?

TOM. Yes. I saw Mrs. Blake upon the stage some weeks ago, and in her I recognised, beyond all doubt, my wife.

LUCY. Your wife--Mrs. Blake! (_crosses to TOM_) Oh, Mr. Potter, tell Ned! do tell Ned! you'll do me such a service.

TOM. How? I don't understand.

LUCY. Don't ask me to explain, but tell him! If you will, you'll make me happier than I've been for months. (_turns_)

TOM. You are unhappy?

LUCY. I didn't mean to say a word about it, but what you've told me startled the truth out. I've been unhappy for weeks and weeks. I know Ned's in difficulties, and his estrangement from Sir Humphrey weighs upon his mind. I am the cause of it, and it's only natural his feelings should have changed; but that makes it no easier to bear. I am a drag upon him, a dishonour! I'm sure he loved me when he married me, but he's so different now. Oh, Mr. Potter, it may be as you say, love never dies; but love may be so tried, and torn, and strained, that all the happiness goes out of it. (_sits on chair, C._)

TOM. (_crosses to LUCY_) Surely, yours hasn't been so tried?

LUCY. Not mine--but Ned's. I always seem to be in his way now. He's so much occupied--so taken up with other things--he never has a word or look for me. He's out so much; and when he's at home he's always writing or else thinking--I am n.o.body--and Mrs. Blake--your wife--is everybody; only he doesn't know she is your wife! If he did, it might make a difference. (_rises_)

TOM. This may be your fancy. I can quite understand, you're sensitive, and perhaps misconstrue very simple things. You see, Ned's an author; (_LUCY sits_) and authors make uninteresting husbands. (_crosses to L._) I won't say they always neglect their wives, but their wives always think so. (_crosses to LUCY_) Then again, Mrs. Blake--as my wife calls herself----

LUCY. Alma, Ned calls her!

TOM. Well--she's on the stage and might be of great use to him. It's only natural he should make friends with her.

LUCY. But he thinks she's a widow. If he knew she had a husband--and above all, (_rises_) that you were her husband--I should feel more comfortable.

TOM. Tell him yourself, then. You have my permission. Have the thing out and make an end of it; but for heaven's sake, don't brood!

LUCY. How can I speak to him?

TOM. Speak anyhow--the worse, the better! There are two sides to everything. Why, like those foolish knights, commit yourself to one?

At least, have a look at both before you make your choice.

_Re-enter NED, L._

NED. Quarter past six. The Dozeys not come yet?

LUCY. I don't expect them before seven.

NED. What a blessing!

TOM. You dine at seven? Then, I've no time to lose. I have a dress coat somewhere. I must look it up.

NED. Can you get back in time?

TOM. I'll take the short cut through the garden.

NED. Don't be long, (_Exit TOM through window and off, R.; sits down at table; picks up sheet of paper_) there's a good fellow.

LUCY. Ned! Ned! (_pause_) Can't I speak to you a minute?

NED. Can't you speak to me? (_crosses to LUCY, R._) What a question!

Am I the Grand Turk--not to be approached?

LUCY. But I mean seriously.

NED. What have _you_ to be serious about? Doesn't your new dress fit?

LUCY. It isn't about dress. It's about----

_Enter SERVANT, R._