The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith Part 17

AGNES. Oh! oh! oh! I believe, to be a woman is to be mad.

LUCAS. No, to be a woman trying not to be a woman--that is to be mad.

[She draws a long, deep breath, then, sitting away from him, resumes her shawl mechanically.]

AGNES. Now, you promised me to run out to the Capello Nero to get a little food.

LUCAS. Oh, I'd rather--

AGNES. [Rising.] Dearest, you need it.

LUCAS. [Rising.] Well--Fortune shall fetch my hat and coat.

AGNES. Fortune! Are you going to take all my work from me? [She is walking towards the door; the sound of his voice stops her.]

LUCAS. Agnes! [She returns.] A thousand thoughts have rushed through my brain this last hour or two. I've been thinking--my wife--

AGNES. Yes?

LUCAS. My wife--she will soon get tired of her present position. If, by-and-bye, there should be a divorce, there would be nothing to prevent our marrying.

AGNES. Our--marrying!

LUCAS. [Sitting, not looking at her, as if discussing the matter with himself.] It might be to my advantage to settle again in London some day. After all, scandals quickly lose their keen edge. What would you say?

AGNES. Marriage--

LUCAS. Ah, remember, we're rational beings for the future. However, we needn't talk about it now.

AGNES. No.

LUCAS. Still, I a.s.sume you wouldn't oppose it. You would marry me if I wished it?

AGNES. [in a low voice.] Yes.

LUCAS. That's a sensible girl! By Jove, I am hungry! [He lights a cigarette as she walks slowly to the door, then throws himself idly back on the settee.]

AGNES. [To herself, in a whisper.] My old life--my old life coming all over again! [She goes out. He lies watching the wreaths of tobacco smoke. After a moment or two FORTUNE enters, closing the door carefully behind him.]

LUCAS. Eh?

FORTUNE. [After a glance round, dropping his voice.] Ze Duke of St.

Olphert 'e say 'e vould like to speak a meenit alone. [LUCAS rises, with a muttered exclamation of annoyance.]

LUCAS. Priez Monsieur le Duc d'entrer.

[FORTUNE goes to the door and opens it. The DUKE OF ST. OLPHERTS enters; he is in evening dress. FORTUNE retires.]

ST. OLPHERTS. Quite alone?

LUCAS. For the moment.

ST. OLPHERTS. My excuse to Mrs. Ebbsmith for not dining at the Grunwald --it was a perfectly legitimate one, dear Lucas. I really was expecting visitors.

LUCAS. [Wonderingly.] Yes?

ST. OLPHERTS. [With a little cough and a drawn face.] Oh, I am not so well tonight. d.a.m.n these people for troubling me! d.a.m.n 'em for keeping me hopping about! d.a.m.n 'em for every shoot I feel in my leg. Visitors from England--they've arrived.

LUCAS. But what--?

ST. OLPHERTS. I shall die of gout some day, Lucas. Er--your wife is here.

LUCAS. Sybil!

ST. OLPHERTS. She's come through with your brother. Sandford's a worse prig than ever--and I'm in shockin' pain.

LUCAS. This--this is your doing?

ST. OLPHERTS. Yes. d.a.m.n you, don't keep me standing!

[AGNES enters with LUCAS'S hat and coat. She stops abruptly on seeing ST. OLPHERTS.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [By the settee--playfully, through his pain] Ah, my dear Mrs. Ebbsmith, how can you have the heart to deceive an invalid, a poor wretch who begs you--[sitting on the settee] to allow him to sit down for a moment? [AGNES deposits the hat and coat.]

AGNES. Deceive--?

ST. OLPHERTS. My friends arrive, I dine sc.r.a.ppily with them, and hurry to the Grunwald thinking to catch you over your Zabajone. Dear lady, you haven't been near the Grunwald.

AGNES. Your women faint sometimes, don't they?

ST. OLPHERTS. My--? [In pain.] Oh, what do you mean?

AGNES. The women in your cla.s.s of life?

ST. OLPHERTS. Faint? Oh yes, when there's occasion for it.

AGNES. I'm hopelessly low-born; I fainted involuntarily.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Moving closer to her.] Oh, my dear, pray forgive me.

You've recovered? [She nods.] Indisposition agrees with you, evidently.

Your colouring tonight is charming. [Coughing.] You are--delightful-- to--look at.

[GERTRUDE enters, carrying a tray on which are a bowl of soup, a small decanter of wine, and accessories. She looks at ST. OLPHERTS unconcernedly, then turns away and places the tray on a table.]

ST. OLPHERTS. [Quietly to AGNES.] Not a servant?

AGNES, Oh, no.

ST. OLPHERTS. [Rising promptly.] Good G.o.d! I beg your pardon. A friend?