In Honour Bound Part 6

SIR G. Nor she with you? (_pause_) Eh?

PHILIP. Once.

SIR G. Ah! Now I understand the case. May I inquire what you propose to do?

PHILIP. To see her and to tell her I am going to be married.

SIR G. What does that put an end to?

PHILIP. Everything.

SIR G. What, friends.h.i.+p?

PHILIP. Well----

SIR G. You said friends.h.i.+p.

PHILIP. Yes.

SIR G. Does marriage put an end to friends.h.i.+p? I hope not.

PHILIP. Of course it doesn't, but----

SIR G. That friends.h.i.+p must be put an end to. Philip, you are the son of an old comrade, and I believe that, if you start fair, you will make an admirable husband. But you _must_ start fair, or you won't. I don't ask you to bring to me a spotless character--a history without a speck or flaw; all I ask--and on that I insist--is that you shall begin your future life unhampered by the past.

PHILIP. What would you have me do?

SIR G. Make your fair friend distinctly understand that all--however little that all may have been--is over.

PHILIP. Will that satisfy you?

SIR G. Yes; but I must have proof she understands it.

PHILIP. What sort of proof?

SIR G. We lawyers have great faith in black and white. You laymen think it a c.u.mbrous form; but I have seen too many fortunes turn on a forgotten sheet of notepaper, not to appreciate its value.

PHILIP. What do you mean?

SIR G. That you must bring to me a letter from your friend----

PHILIP. A letter from her!

SIR G. A mere acknowledgment that all is over.

PHILIP. A letter!

SIR G. Signed, mind you, signed.

PHILIP. Signed! (_his cry wakes LADY CARLYON_)

SIR G. Nothing like a signature.

PHILIP. (_rising_) Wouldn't you like it stamped as well, Sir George?

(_LADY CARLYON moves slightly_)

SIR G. A penny postage stamp will be enough.

PHILIP. That is impossible.

SIR G. It must be got. (_lays down cigar. PHILIP sinks back into seat again--LADY CARLYON, who has gone through the first processes of waking, lifts her head; at the sound of SIR GEORGE'S voice she starts half up and holds herself in that position during the rest of the conversation, but always so as not to be visible to the others. SIR GEORGE rises and stands by PHILIP_) I feel so strongly that is the right course, because in my own life I have pursued the opposite; and I have paid--nay, I have not yet paid the penalty. I claim to be no better than my kind. When I was married, I too was entangled. I was a rising man--and it was necessary that I should obtain a seat in Parliament. Lady Carlyon's father had much influence in the county which I represent. My marriage was political. I had a charming wife, who did her best to love me, heaven knows; and _I_ might have loved _her_, if this entanglement from which I could not extricate myself had not been there. But there it was, and with a woman's quickness she discovered it. I know she did, although she never spoke; and with a generosity which I can never repay, she did not add to my embarra.s.sment. What was the sequel? Death cut the knot which I could not unravel. I am free. Now, many a time amongst these dead dry bones (_pointing to briefs_) I hunger for the love it is too late to win.

Still that accursed past stands like a wall betwixt my wife and me.

(_returns, C._) Profit by my experience. (_sits, C._ )

PHILIP. No doubt, the course you recommend would be the proper course to take, if it were possible; but in the circ.u.mstances it is quite impossible.

SIR G. Difficult, perhaps, but not impossible. Have no false delicacy in a case like this. This lady--I presume, whoever she may be, she _is_ a lady--who is fond of _you_, for that is evident, but of whose friends.h.i.+p you are weary, must be sacrificed. I pity her, but there is no help for it.

PHILIP. None! but a letter is out of the question.

SIR G. Why?

PHILIP. How could I ask her--oh, it is impossible!

SIR G. Then, you do feel for her?

PHILIP. I can't help pitying her.

SIR G. Perhaps still care for her--a little?

PHILIP. Sir George (_rises_), I give you my a.s.surance as a gentleman, nothing has pa.s.sed between us but kind words. I never loved her; and when I think of all the trouble she has brought on me--how she has banished me for months abroad--how nearly she has made me a false friend--I hate the very mention of her name!

LADY C. (_who has followed his words in an agony, unable to restrain herself_) Philip! (_remembering herself, drops back upon the lounge, and feigns to be asleep_)

PHILIP. (_turning, L., quickly_) What's that?

SIR G. (_rising and turning up the lamp, sees her upon the lounge_) My wife! (_going round at back of desk to lounge_) She is asleep.

(_moving her_) Bell! Isabel! (_she pretends to wake, then starts up suddenly_)

LADY C. Oh, how you startled me!

SIR G. Nay, how you startled us!

LADY C. How so?

SIR G. By calling out.

LADY C. Forgive me for disturbing you, but I was dreaming.