Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 43

ALICE. [_after her._] She's getting old.

_Now_ ALICE _does sit down; as if she'd be glad of her tete-a-tete_.

ALICE. I was glad not to spend August abroad for once. We drove into Cheltenham to a dance . . carpet. I golfed a lot.

EDWARD. How long were you with them?

ALICE. Not a fortnight. It doesn't seem three months since I was here, does it?

EDWARD. I'm down so very little.

ALICE. I'm here a disgraceful deal.

EDWARD. You know they're always pleased.

ALICE. Well, being a homeless person! But what a cart-load to descend all at once . . yesterday and to-day. The Major and Emily . . Emily's not at all well. Hugh and Mrs. Hugh. And me. Are you staying?

EDWARD. No. I must get a word with my father . .

ALICE. A business life is not healthy for you, Edward. You look more like half-baked pie-crust than usual.

EDWARD. [_a little enviously._] You're very well.

ALICE. I'm always well and nearly always happy.

MAJOR BOOTH _returns. He has the right sort of cigar in his mouth and is considerably mollified._

ALICE. You found them?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Of course, they were there. Thank you very much, Alice. Now I want a knife.

ALICE. I must present you with a cigar-cutter, Booth.

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. I hate 'em. [_he eyes the dessert disparagingly._]

Nothing but silver ones.

EDWARD _hands him a carefully opened pocket knife_.

Thank you, Edward. And I must take one of the candles. Something's gone wrong with the library ventilator and you never can see a thing in that room.

ALICE. Is Mrs. Hugh there?

MAJOR BOOTH VOYSEY. Writing letters. Things are neglected, Edward, unless one is constantly on the look out. The Pater only cares for his garden. I must speak seriously to Honor.

_He has returned the knife, still open, and now having lit his cigar at the candle he carries this off._

ALICE. Honor has the patience of a . . of an old maid.

EDWARD. Her mission in life isn't a pleasant one. [_He gives her a nut, about the fifteenth._] Here; 'scuse fingers.

ALICE. Thank you. [_looking at him, with her head on one side and her face more humorous than ever._] Edward, why have you given up proposing to me?

_He starts, flushes; then won't be outdone in humour._

EDWARD. One can't go on proposing for ever.

ALICE. [_reasonably._] Why not? Have you seen anyone you like better?

EDWARD. No.

ALICE. Well . . I miss it.

EDWARD. What satisfaction did you find in refusing me?

ALICE. [_as she weighs the matter._] I find satisfaction in feeling that I'm wanted.

EDWARD. Without any intention of giving yourself . . throwing yourself away.

ALICE. [_teasing his sudden earnestness._] Ah, now you come from mere vanity to serious questions.

EDWARD. Mine were always serious questions to you.

ALICE. That's a fault I find in you, Edward; all questions are serious to you. I call you a perfect little pocket-guide to life . . all questions and answers; what to eat, drink and avoid, what to believe and what to say . . all in the same type, the same importance attached to each.

EDWARD. [_sententiously._] Well . . everything matters.

ALICE. [_making a face._] D'you plan out every detail of your life . .

every step you take . . every mouthful?

EDWARD. That would be waste of thought. One must lay down principles.

ALICE. I prefer my plan, I always do what I know I want to do. Crack me another nut.

EDWARD. Haven't you had enough?

ALICE. I =know= I want one more.

_He cracks another, with a sigh which sounds ridiculous in that connection._

EDWARD. Well, if you've never had to decide anything very serious . .

ALICE. [_With great gravity._] Everything's serious.

EDWARD. Everything isn't vital.

ALICE. [_skilfully manoeuvring the subject._] I've answered vital questions. I knew that I didn't want to marry you . . each time.

EDWARD. Oh, then you didn't just make a rule of saying no.