A Fool's Paradise Part 17

NOR. What do they take it for?

SIR P. My dear young gentleman, have you lived six and twenty years without discovering that the female complexion is usually an artificial product?

NOR. Well, I know a powder-puff when I see one, but a.r.s.enic! (_turns up a little C. with KATE_)

SIR P. Pooh! a common drug!

BEA. Miss Derwent, so sorry to trouble you--but the night dews are falling, and Mildred has gone out without a shawl.

KATE. I'll get one at once. (_exit, R., upper door_)

NOR. Yes--we'll get one at once. (_exit, R.U.D._)

(_Directly NORMANTOWER is off, PRICE and SERVANT re-enter, R.U.D., with coffee, which they offer to BEATRICE, who is sitting R. by piano._)

PHIL. I must say, I agree with Normantower. When you told me what you were giving me, it was rather a shock even to me, and it nearly frightened poor Beatrice out of her life.

BEA. Philip, don't speak of it. (_takes coffee_) Don't you remember what happened?

PHIL. You broke a gla.s.s.

BEA. And breaking gla.s.s is so unlucky.

(_SERVANTS cross and offer coffee to PHILIP, who takes a cup without milk and sugar, SIR PETER not noticing. They then pa.s.s behind to SIR PETER, who takes coffee. PRICE clears KATE'S cup from the table, then crosses, followed by SERVANT and exeunt R.U.D._)

PHIL. Mousey, you'll make Sir Peter laugh at you. (_NORMANTOWER talks to KATE_)

SIR P. Why should I?

PHIL. Surely _you_ don't believe in luck? (_takes coffee_)

SIR P. Everybody believes in luck, except fools, who attribute their successes to their merits. My experience teaches me differently. I know, one may study a case for a week, and master it only by accident--as I have mastered yours. (_exeunt SERVANTS_)

BEA. (_rises_) You've mastered Philip's? (_goes to C._)

SIR P. Yes. As I suspected. Liver.

BEA. Ah! Then, after all, it is only dyspepsia?

SIR P. (L.) _Only_ dyspepsia, madam! What's the word suffering from?--vice--crime--drink--poverty? What are they all? Indigestion.

PHIL. My wife means, nothing dangerous--one can hardly die of dyspepsia.

SIR P. Sir, one can die of anything. If you only knew the number of things one can die of, you'd wonder any of us are alive. (_PHILIP laughs and lifts his cup to drink_) What have you there? (_going up to back of table_)

PHIL. Only some coffee.

SIR P. Put it down, sir, instantly. (_hand on table_)

BEA. Mayn't he have coffee, doctor?

SIR P. (_crosses behind sofa to C._) Coffee! Most indigestible! Have I not given my orders? He is to taste nothing more to-day, except one dose of medicine before going to bed. (_BEATRICE goes to piano, puts her cup down and picks up her fan_)

PHIL. Another dose, to-night?

SIR P. One more; it's most important. (_rises_)

BEA. Is Mr. Merivale still here? (_at piano_)

PHIL. Oh no, he went some time ago.

BEA. (_quickly_) Then have you made the will?

PHIL. Not yet. (_SIR PETER watches BEATRICE closely_) Merivale insists on making his own inquiries before taking any other steps in the matter. If Sir Peter's information is confirmed, he will accept my instructions. I am to see him again at twelve o'clock to-morrow.

BEA. Twelve o'clock?

SIR P. Now you must rest. You've had a trying day (_hand on PHILIP's shoulder_) (_PHILIP rises and stands back to audience_)

BEA. (_BEATRICE advances to SIR PETER_) You needn't trouble, doctor.

_I_ will go with Philip.

SIR P. Thank you--it is no trouble. Come, my boy. (_PHILIP takes his R. arm, and they go up_)

PHIL. (_up L.C._) How can I repay you for all your attention?

SIR P. By obeying me to the letter. Diet's the great thing; and the less the better. Eat nothing--drink nothing.

PHIL. But one dose of medicine.

SIR P. Just one more. (_exit with PHILIP, L.U.D., music in orchestra_)

BEA. (_behind sofa, R. of it_) One more! My last chance--and I dare not take it. At twelve o'clock to-morrow, all I have worked for, all I have schemed for, all I have married for, slips through my fingers.

(_gets front of sofa_) And I can do nothing! No, it is too dangerous; and if I stop now, I am safe enough. But what is safety worth? Tied to my husband for his life, and at his death, a pauper! Whilst she--_she_ will be the Countess of Normantower! Unless--unless--(_sits on sofa smiling to herself_). He doesn't know that she is Philip's sister. It is arranged it shall be kept a secret. Then, why is Philip leaving her his fortune? If I could make him think there was another reason. He is in love, and love is always jealous. If I could only sow a doubt between them. Countess of Normantower! What I have thrown away!

(_music stops_)

_Re-enter NORMANTOWER, R.U.D._

NOR. (_goes to C._) It's all right. We've found the shawl.

BEA. Did it take two to find it?

NOR. It took two to look for it. Miss Derwent looked everywhere for the shawl, and I looked everywhere for Miss Derwent.

BEA. You are great friends.

NOR. Oh, yes; we get along splendidly. I like Miss Derwent! she is just my sort.