Three Plays by Granville-Barker Part 81

THE SECOND ACT

TREBELL'S house in Queen Anne Street, London. Eleven o'clock on an October morning.

TREBELL'S _working room is remarkable chiefly for the love of sunlight it evidences in its owner. The walls are white; the window which faces you is bare of all but the necessary curtains. Indeed, lack of draperies testifies also to his horror of dust. There faces you besides a double door; when it is opened another door is seen. When that is opened you discover a writing table, and beyond can discern a book-case filled with heavy volumes--law reports perhaps. The little room beyond is, so to speak, an under-study. Between the two rooms a window, again barely curtained, throws light down the staircase. But in the big room, while the books are many the choice of them is catholic; and the book-cases are low, running along the wall. There is an armchair before the bright fire, which is on your right. There is a sofa. And in the middle of the room is an enormous double writing table piled tidily with much appropriate impedimenta, blue books and pamphlets and with an especial heap of unopened letters and parcels. At the table sits_ TREBELL _himself, in good health and spirits, but eyeing askance the work to which he has evidently just returned. His sister looks in on him. She is dressed to go out and has a housekeeping air._

FRANCES. Are you busy, Henry?

TREBELL. More or less. Come in.

FRANCES. You'll dine at home?

TREBELL. Anyone coming?

FRANCES. Julia Farrant and Lucy have run up to town, I think. I thought of going round and asking them to come in . . but perhaps your young man will be going there. Amy O'Connell said something vague about our going to Charles Street . . but she may be out of town by now.

TREBELL. Well . . I'll be in anyhow.

FRANCES. [_Going to the window as she b.u.t.tons her gloves._] Were you on deck early this morning? It must have been lovely.

TREBELL. No, I turned in before we got out of le Havre. I left Kent on deck and found him there at six.

FRANCES. I don't think autumn means to come at all this year . . it'll be winter one morning. September has been like a hive of bees, busy and drowsy. By the way, Cousin Mary has another baby . . a girl.

TREBELL. [_Indifferent to the information._] That's the fourth.

FRANCES. Fifth. They asked me down for the christening . . but I really couldn't.

TREBELL. September's the month for Tuscany. The car chose to break down one morning just as we were starting North again: so we climbed one of the little hills and sat for a couple of hours, while I composed a fifteenth century electioneering speech to the citizens of Siena.

FRANCES. [_With a half smile._] Have you a vein of romance for holiday time?

TREBELL. [_Dispersing the suggestion._] Not at all romantic . . nothing but figures and fiscal questions. That was the hardest commercial civilisation there has been, though you only think of its art and its murders now.

FRANCES. The papers on both sides have been very full of you . . saying you hold the moral balance . . or denying it.

TREBELL. An interviewer caught me at Basle. I offered to discuss the state of the Swiss navy.

FRANCES. Was that before Lord Horsham wrote to you?

TREBELL. Yes, his letter came to Innsbruck. He "expressed" it somehow.

Why . . it isn't known that he will definitely ask me to join?

FRANCES. The Whitehall had a leader before the Elections were well over to say that he must . . but, of course, that was Mr. Farrant.

TREBELL. [_Knowingly._] Mrs. Farrant. I saw it in Paris . . it just caught me up.

FRANCES. The Times is very shy over the whole question . . has a letter from a fresh bishop every day . . doesn't talk of you very kindly yet.

TREBELL. Tampering with the Establishment, even Cantelupe's way, will be a pill to the real old Tory right to the bitter end.

WALTER KENT _comes in, very fresh and happy-looking. A young man started in life_, TREBELL _hails him_.

TREBELL. Hullo . . you've not been long getting shaved.

KENT. How do you do, Miss Trebell? Lucy turned me out.

FRANCES. My congratulations. I've not seen you since I heard the news.

KENT. [_Glad and unembarra.s.sed._] Thank you. I do deserve them, don't I?

Mrs. Farrant didn't come down . . she left us to breakfast together. But I've a message for you . . her love and she is in town. I went and saw Lord Charles, sir. He will come to you and be here at half past eleven.

TREBELL. Look at these.

_He smacks on the back, so to speak, the pile of parcels and letters._

KENT. Oh, lord! . . I'd better start on them.

FRANCES. [_Continuing in her smooth oldmaidish manner._] Thank you for getting engaged just before you went off with Henry . . it has given me my only news of him, through Lucy and your postcards.

TREBELL. Oh, what about Wedgecroft?

KENT. I think it was he spun up just as I'd been let in.

TREBELL. Oh, well . . [_And he rings at the telephone which is on his table._]

KENT. [_Confiding in MISS TREBELL._] We're a common sense couple, aren't we? I offered to ask to stay behind but she . . .

SIMPSON, _the maid, comes in_.

SIMPSON. Dr. Wedgecroft, sir.

WEDGECROFT _is on her heels. If you have an eye for essentials you may tell at once that he is a doctor, but if you only notice externals you will take him for anything else. He is over forty and in perfect health of body and spirit. His enthusiasms are his vitality and he has too many of them ever to lose one. He squeezes_ MISS TREBELL'S _hand with an air of fearless affection which is another of his characteristics and not the least loveable_.

WEDGECROFT. How are you?

FRANCES. I'm very well, thanks.

WEDGECROFT. [_To_ TREBELL, _as they shake hands_.] You're looking fit.

TREBELL. [_With tremendous emphasis._] I am!

WEDGECROFT. You've got the motor eye though.

TREBELL. Full of dust?

WEDGECROFT. Look at Kent's. [_He takes_ WALTER'S _arm_.] It's a slight but serious contraction of the pupil . . which I charge fifty guineas to cure.