The Tyranny of Tears Part 15

It's a thing I haven't done for years-taken wine in the morning.

Gunning.

Five years.

Parbury.

Exactly.

Gunning.

In what I may venture to describe as the pre-domestic period it was rather a way of yours.

Parbury.

You mean ours.

Gunning.

Ours, if you prefer it. Where's the salt?

Parbury.

There it is, right before your eyes. Why don't you look?

Gunning.

Pa.s.s the mustard, please. What a good chap you were in those days.

Parbury.

Yes. Strange, you were always-- Gunning.

Always what?

Parbury.

Toast?

Gunning.

Thanks, I've got some. Always what?

Parbury.

It's quite pleasant out here, isn't it?

Gunning.

Delightful. You were saying I was always-- Parbury.

Oh, it doesn't matter.

Gunning.

Of course, being about me it wouldn't matter.

Parbury.

I'm afraid of offending you.

Gunning.

You couldn't do that.

Parbury.

Well, I was going to say you were always rather sour-natured.

Gunning.

Really!

[He takes up a daily paper and glances through it, continuing to do so while Parbury speaks.

Parbury.

And that has, I fancy, quite unconsciously to you, I am sure, a disturbing influence on others of happier nature.

[Taking an egg.

Gunning.

[Drawlingly.] Yes.

[He continues to read.

Parbury.

Take yesterday, for instance. Of course, you didn't intend it. I wouldn't suggest that for a moment. But, d.a.m.n it, look at the result?

Gunning.

[In the same manner as before.] Yes.

[He reads.

Parbury.

[Taking the top off his boiled egg.] Simply deplorable. I've broken loose from my moorings. I'm at the mercy of every breeze. I feel that I've lost moral stability. Confound it, why doesn't that champagne come?

Enter Evans, L., with champagne. Pours out two gla.s.ses and hands them to Gunning and Parbury.

Parbury.

I'm not quite certain that for a man like me-[Gunning groans and returns to his newspaper]-a man, if I may say so, of generous instincts and large sympathies-a groove isn't a good thing, even if it be a little narrow. Of course, for a man of your nature, it's a different matter.

Gunning.

[Suddenly puts down the paper, draws his chair closer to the table, and takes an egg with apparent cheerfulness.] What were you saying, old man?

Parbury.

Nothing.

Gunning.

[Affecting heartiness.] Let's talk about you.

Parbury.

[Fingering the rose in his b.u.t.tonhole.] Dear, dear, how cross you are to-day!

Evans.

Excuse me, sir, may I speak to you?

Parbury.

Yes-what is it?

Evans.

It's about cook, sir.

Parbury.

What's the matter with her?

Evans.

Well, sir, so to speak, she wants to know where she stands.

Parbury.

[Looks at Evans, then at Gunning.] How can I help her?

Evans.

I mean, sir, or rather she means, now mistress has gone away-- Parbury.

I presume my wife has a right to go away for a few days without cook's permission.

Evans.

Yes, sir, certainly. But excuse me, sir; there's been gossip. Emma, the 'ousemaid, accidentally overheard something between Mrs. Parbury and her maid. Servants is as nervous as race-horses, sir, and cook's nerves is particularly sensible. So to speak, dismoralisation's set up in the kitchen.

Parbury.

Well, you had better go and set it down again, Evans, and don't bother me any more.

Evans.

Yes, sir, certainly. Excuse me, sir, I was to ask you who cook is to take her orders from.

Parbury.

In my wife's absence, from me, of course.

Evans.

Not from Miss Woodward, sir?

Parbury.

[Staring slightly.] Why, has Miss Woodward given any orders?

Evans.

No, sir, but cook thought-- Parbury.

That will do, Evans.

Evans.

Yes, sir.

[Exit Evans, L.

[There is a pause. Parbury and Gunning exchange looks.

Gunning.

Devilish awkward.

Parbury.

What bores servants are!