A Fool's Paradise Part 19

NOR. No--what's _he_ to do with it?

BEA. (_crosses to R.C._) Nothing, of course! No, nothing. Why should I tell you! (_hand on chair L. of piano_) Why should I publish my own humiliation? And yet, we are such old friends, how can I stand by, and see your whole life ruined? No! Lord Normantower, this marriage is impossible. (_goes towards LORD NORMANTOWER_)

NOR. (_rises_) I don't see that at all.

BEA. You are in love, and blind! Has it never struck you? Why is Miss Derwent here?

NOR. Isn't she Mildred's governess?

BEA. Mildred requires no governess.

NOR. Well, her companion--yours.

BEA. Mine! _My_ companion! Yes, you are right there. Yes, my companion--in my husband's heart. (_goes down to R.C._)

NOR. Surely, you cannot mean--(_follows a step_)

BEA. My rival! Yes! I mean, that Philip is her lover.

NOR. Mrs. Selwyn!

BEA. Now I have told you my secret, and I leave it to your honour to respect it.

NOR. You accuse Miss Derwent--you accuse your husband----

BEA. Yes, I accuse them both. You know what happened this morning; Miss Derwent was going away, and my husband insisted on her remaining; but you don't know what happened this afternoon. So mad is Philip's infatuation that he is even making a new will, bequeathing her every s.h.i.+lling he possesses, leaving me an outcast and a beggar.

_SIR PETER appears, L.D.--he observes them talking and goes into conservatory, L.C._

NOR. Surely you are mistaken. (_backing a step_)

BEA. I am _not_ mistaken! Sir Peter knows of this will. He will tell you what I say is the truth. But not a word about my secret? I leave that to your honour. (_crosses and goes up C. to L.C._)

NOR. (_aside_) I wish she wouldn't leave my honour legacies. (_turns up to opening, R.C._)

_SIR PETER comes out from conservatory, L.C., intercepting BEATRICE as she goes to door, L._

SIR P. Where are you going?

BEA. Only to sit with Philip. (_going L._)

SIR P. (_blocking the way_) He is lying down, and must on no account be disturbed.

BEA. Surely a wife----

SIR P. Is the most likely person to disturb her husband.

BEA. (_pus.h.i.+ng past, viciously_) Sir Peter, I _will_ see him! (_exit, L.D._)

SIR P. (_aside, looking after her_) But you can't. (_produces key, looks at it and replaces it in his pocket, then goes down L., and leans on mantel, on the opposite side of stage to LORD NORMAN- TOWER--both lost in thought_)

NOR. (_aside, leaning against column, R.C._) How can I ask Sir Peter?

How can I say, has Selwyn made a will, leaving his wife a beggar? I know what his answer would be. "Sir, what the devil has that to do with you?" And yet it has a lot to do with me. I regard Miss Derwent's reputation as my own, and I'm not going to have aspersions cast on it.

If I could clear things up, I might be able to convince Mrs. Selwyn of her mistake. But how can I broach the subject? It's a teazer. (_sits up, R.C., in alcove_)

SIR P. (_sits L., aside_) Now, what am I to do? Give her a chance, or nail her to the counter? If I gave her a chance, would she take it?

Not she! She would appeal to her husband--he would believe her implicitly and kick me out of the house--there would be an end of _me_--and there would be an end of _him._ I must convict her--there's no alternative. But how? If she plays any tricks to-night, I have her.

But if she doesn't? (_blows his nose_) She has _me!_ Well, the first thing to be done is, to make things safe for the night.

NOR. (_aside, rises and comes down a little_) I have it! Sir Peter knows I'm poor--I'll tell him I have thoughts of marrying, but I must marry money. I will inquire about Miss Derwent's circ.u.mstances--say, I've heard a rumour. Then I shall find out all about this will. Sir Peter will think I'm an awful cad, but what does it matter what Sir Peter thinks? Upon my word, statesmans.h.i.+p _is_ hereditary, after all.

I feel a regular Machiavelli! (_crosses to SIR PETER, aloud_) Sir Peter! May I have a word with you? (_R. of table_)

SIR P. (_watch_) How long are you likely to be?

NOR. Only a second.

SIR P. That means half-an-hour. I limit my consultations to ten minutes.

NOR. Ten minutes, then.

SIR P. Go on.

_Re-enter KATE, R.C. from R., un.o.bserved, stops short on seeing them._

NOR. (_sits on sofa_) It is about Miss Derwent.

SIR P. Oh, Miss Derwent! (_SIR PETER rises, takes snuff-box on mantel--and sits again L._)

KATE. (_aside, smiling_) He's talking about me. I should like to know what he thinks of me. It's a mean thing to do--but I'll do it--just for fun. (_retires into conservatory, and crosses, going off L.U.E._)

SIR P. Well, sir.

NOR. You know Miss Derwent very well, I think?

SIR P. Very well indeed--go on! (_leaning back_)

NOR. She's all right, isn't she?

SIR P. All right? (_starting forward_)

NOR. I mean, there isn't a screw loose anywhere?

SIR P. Screw loose?

NOR. You know, I have some thoughts of marrying.

SIR P. Her!

NOR. Well, yes, of marrying _her._