The Tyranny of Tears Part 17

Armitage.

That's it-romped home.

Parbury.

Come, Colonel, give me the message.

Armitage.

I have no message for you. I may tell you, you are not in very great favour. [Gunning smiles.] You're not well spoken of, Clement.

Parbury.

Oho! Perhaps my wife had a good word for my old friend, Gunning.

Armitage.

In regard to Mr. Gunning, I think the word "serpent" was employed. [Parbury laughs quietly; Gunning becomes serious.] All the same, I have a message for him.

Gunning.

Really.

Parbury.

[Rising.] In that case, I'll get out of the way. I shall be in my study if I'm wanted.

Armitage.

[Comes C.] Very well. But I must say, Clement, that I find you, very much to my surprise and regret, just a little-a little-er-give me a word.

Gunning.

Callous!

Armitage.

Thanks, yes-callous; and, dearly fond as I am of my daughter, I think I have a right to ask how long you intend leaving your wife on my hands.

Gunning.

Perfectly reasonable-perfectly-- Parbury.

Shut up, George! [He goes to Armitage.] My dear old friend-- Armitage.

[Interrupting.] Hear me out, please. My dear daughter is, of course, always more than welcome to my home, but I trust you will not misunderstand me when I say that I require notice. Since I regained my liberty-I mean, since the death of your wife's dear mother, I've drifted into my own-er-little ways. This affair has deranged my plans. Without being indiscreet, I may tell you that I've had to send telegrams.

Gunning.

Deuced hard lines!

Parbury.

Send her back to me, Colonel. Consult at once your happiness and mine by using your authority. Tell her that cook is in revolt, and that Evans is impertinent. Tell her that I only want my own way when I know I am absolutely right, as in this case. And above all, tell her that I prefer her society to that of a second-cla.s.s cynic who bellows for champagne at ten o'clock in the morning.

[Exit Parbury, L.

Gunning.

In regard to your son-in-law, Colonel, you have my respectful sympathy.

Armitage.

A good fellow, but inconsiderate. [He lowers his voice.] I may tell you in confidence, Gunning, that I had been looking forward to keeping a rather pleasant appointment to-night-- Gunning.

[Falling into the confidential manner.] Really!

Armitage.

Yes, rather pleasant-rather pleasant.

[He takes a miniature from his pocket and looks at it.

Gunning.

[Leaning towards him.] Might one venture to-- Armitage.

[Keeping the miniature away from him.] Oh, no, no, no, no-wouldn't be fair. Oh, no. Besides, you might know her hus-you might-er-- Gunning.

Yes, yes, of course; one can't be too discreet.

Armitage.

[Quickly.] Not, mind you, that there's anything the whole world mightn't know, only she-er-she's not happy at home, and a quiet evening at a theatre-you understand?

Gunning.

Quite, quite!

Armitage.

Now you, my dear fellow, can do me a friendly turn.

Gunning.

I should be delighted to, but-I don't see-- Armitage.

I'll explain. My daughter wishes to see you. She seems to think that you hold the key of the situation.

Gunning.

But I don't. I should very much object to.

Armitage.

Never mind-never mind! See her and do your utmost to make it up between her and Clement.

Gunning.

It's no business of mine.

Armitage.

To put it bluntly, I shall not be able to keep my appointment to-night if I still have my daughter on my hands.

Gunning.

That would be a pity.

Armitage.

In which case my friend will be vexed-very vexed. I should have mentioned that on her mother's side my friend is Spanish.

Gunning.

[Smiling. Shakes hands.] That decides me. Where is your daughter now?

Armitage.

She's there, my boy, quite close. We walked over the heath together. One moment. [He brings a chair forward.] Would you kindly lend me your arm? [With Gunning's a.s.sistance he mounts a chair, then he raises his hat on his stick.] That's the signal the coast is clear. Trust an old campaigner. There she is! I say, put that wine away! [Gunning puts the bottle under table up L.C., and places the gla.s.ses on table and covers them over with serviette.] It's all right! Thank you, thank you! [As Gunning helps him down.] Remember, my dear fellow, that I've trusted you implicitly. My happiness is in your hands. If we men didn't stand shoulder to shoulder in these little matters, society would-er-would-- Gunning.

Crumble to dust.

Armitage.

Exactly.

Enter Mrs. Parbury, R. Advancing cautiously, she bows very stiffly to Gunning, who takes his hat off.

Gunning.

Good-morning, Mrs. Parbury.

Mrs. Parbury.

[Coldly.] Good-morning.

Armitage.

Well, I'll leave you. There's nothing further I can do for you at present, dear?

Mrs. Parbury.

You might stay in the garden and give me a signal if Clement is coming. I have no intention of meeting him under the circ.u.mstances.

Armitage.

Very well, I'll give you an unmistakable signal. "I'll sing thee songs of Araby."

[Exit Armitage, L.

Mrs. Parbury.

[Grimly.] Well, Mr. Gunning, I hope you're satisfied with your work.

Gunning.

My work, Mrs. Parbury-come, come!

Mrs. Parbury.

Oh, I hope you won't dispute that. Clement and I were living together in perfect harmony, in perfect happiness, until you turned up yesterday.

Gunning.

Like a bad penny, eh?

Mrs. Parbury.

I was going to say like the snake in the garden.

Gunning.

Better still. Our conversation doesn't open propitiously. Don't you think it would conduce to the comfort of us both if we didn't pursue it any further?

Mrs. Parbury.

Isn't that a little cowardly?

Gunning.

I acknowledge cowardice in regard to other people's affairs.

Mrs. Parbury.

Yesterday you were a hero.

Gunning.