Part 2

GREAT. Oh, don't ask me; that kind of woman doesn't interest me, I'm afraid. Only I am able to point out to the people who lose their heads and seem inclined to treat the phenomenon seriously that there's absolutely nothing new in it. There have been women for the last forty years who haven't had anything more pressing to do than petition Parliament.

MISS L. (_reflectively_). And that's as far as they've got.

LORD J. (_turning on his heel_). It's as far as they'll ever get.

(_Meets the group up_ R. _coming down._)

MISS L. (_chaffing_ GREATOREX). Let me see, wasn't a deputation sent to you not long ago? (_Sits_ C.)

GREAT. H'm! (_Irritably._) Yes, yes.

MISS L. (_as though she has just recalled the circumstances_). Oh, yes, I remember. I thought at the time, in my modest way, it was nothing short of heroic of them to go asking audience of their arch opponent.

GREAT. (_stoutly_). It didn't come off.

MISS L. (_innocently_). Oh! I thought they insisted on bearding the lion in his den.

GREAT. Of course I wasn't going to be bothered with a lot of----

MISS L. You don't mean you refused to go out and face them!

GREAT. (_with a comic look of terror_). I wouldn't have done it for worlds. But a friend of mine went and had a look at 'em.

MISS L. (_smiling_). Well, did he get back alive?

GREAT. Yes, but he advised me not to go. "You're quite right," he said. "Don't you think of bothering," he said. "I've looked over the lot," he said, "and there isn't a week-ender among 'em."

JEAN (_gaily precipitates herself into the conversation_). You remember Mrs. Freddy's friend who came to tea here in the winter? (_To_ GREATOREX.) He was a member of Parliament too--quite a little young one--he said women would never be respected till they had the vote!

(GREATOREX _snorts, the other men smile and all the women except_ MRS. HERIOT.)

MRS. H. (_sniffing_). I remember telling him that he was too young to know what he was talking about.

LORD J. Yes, I'm afraid you all sat on the poor gentleman.

LADY JOHN (_entering_). Oh, _there_ you are!

(_Greets_ MISS LEVERING.)

JEAN. It was such fun. He was flat as a pancake when we'd done with him. Aunt Ellen told him with her most distinguished air she didn't want to be "respected."

MRS. F. (_with a little laugh of remonstrance_). My _dear_ Lady John!

FARN. Quite right! Awful idea to think you're _respected_!

MISS L. (_smiling_). Simply revolting.

LADY JOHN (_at writing-table_). Now, you frivolous people, go away. We've only got a few minutes to talk over the terms of the late Mr. Soper's munificence before the carriage comes for Miss Levering----

MRS. F. (_to_ FARNBOROUGH). Did you know she'd got that old horror to give Lady John £8,000 for her charity before he died?

MRS. F. Who got him to?

LADY JOHN. Miss Levering. He wouldn't do it for me, but she brought him round.

FREDDY. Yes. Bah-ee Jove! I expect so.

MRS. F. (_turning enthusiastically to her husband_). Isn't she wonderful?

LORD J. (_aside_). Nice creature. All she needs is----

(MR. _and_ MRS. FREDDY _and_ FARNBOROUGH _stroll off to the garden._ LADY JOHN _on far side of the writing-table._ MRS. HERIOT _at the top._ JEAN _and_ LORD JOHN, L.)

GREAT. (_on divan_ C., _aside to_ MISS LEVERING). Too "wonderful" to waste your time on the wrong people.

MISS L. I shall waste less of my time after this.

GREAT. I'm relieved to hear it. I can't see you wheedling money for shelters and rot of that sort out of retired grocers.

MISS L. You see, you call it rot. We couldn't have got £8,000 out of _you_.

GREAT. (_very low_). I'm not sure.

(MISS LEVERING _looks at him._)

GREAT. If I gave you that much--for your little projects--what would you give me?

MISS L. (_speaking quietly_). Soper didn't ask that.

GREAT. (_horrified_). Soper! I should think not!

LORD J. (_turning to_ MISS LEVERING). Soper? You two still talking Soper? How flattered the old beggar'd be!

LORD J. (_lower_). Did you hear what Mrs. Heriot said about him? "So kind; so munificent--so _vulgar_, poor soul, we couldn't know him in London--_but we shall meet him in heaven_."

(GREATOREX _and_ LORD JOHN _go off laughing._)

LADY JOHN (_to Miss Levering_). Sit over there, my dear. (_Indicating chair in front of writing-table._) You needn't stay, Jean. This won't interest you.

MISS L. (_in the tone of one agreeing_). It's only an effort to meet the greatest evil in the world?

JEAN (_pausing as she's following the others_). What do you call the greatest evil in the world? (_Looks pass between_ MRS. HERIOT _and_ LADY JOHN.)

MISS L. (_without emphasis_). The helplessness of women.

(JEAN _stands still._)

LADY JOHN (_rising and putting her arm about the girl's shoulder_). Jean, darling, I know you can think of nothing but (_aside_) _him_--so just go and----

JEAN (_brightly_). Indeed, indeed, I can think of everything better than I ever did before. He has lit up everything for me--made everything vivider, more--more significant.

MISS L. (_turning round_). Who has?

JEAN. Oh, yes, I don't care about other things less but a thousand times more.

LADY JOHN. You _are_ in love.

MISS L. Oh, that's it! (_Smiling at_ JEAN.) I congratulate you.

LADY JOHN (_returning to the outspread plan_). Well--_this_, you see, obviates the difficulty you raised.

MISS L. Yes, quite.

MRS. H. But it's going to cost a great deal more.

MISS L. It's worth it.

MRS. H. We'll have nothing left for the organ at St. Pilgrim's.

LADY JOHN. My dear Lydia, we're putting the organ aside.

MRS. H. (_with asperity_). We can't afford to "put aside" the elevating effect of music.

LADY JOHN. What we must make for, first, is the cheap and humanely conducted lodging-house.

MRS. H. There are several of those already, but poor St. Pilgrim's----

MISS L. There are none for the poorest women.

LADY JOHN. No, even the excellent Soper was for multiplying Rowton Houses. You can never get men to realise--you can't always get women----

MISS L. It's the work least able to wait.

MRS. H. I don't agree with you, and I happen to have spent a great deal of my life in works of charity.

MISS L. Ah, then you'll be interested in the girl I saw dying in a Tramp Ward a little while ago. _Glad_ her cough was worse--only she mustn't die before her father. Two reasons. Nobody but her to keep the old man out of the workhouse--and "father is so proud." If she died first, he would starve; worst of all he might hear what had happened up in London to his girl.

MRS. H. She didn't say, I suppose, how she happened to fall so low.

MISS L. Yes, she had been in service. She lost the train back one Sunday night and was too terrified of her employer to dare ring him up after hours. The wrong person found her crying on the platform.

MRS. H. She should have gone to one of the Friendly Societies.

MISS L. At eleven at night?

MRS. H. And there are the Rescue Leagues. I myself have been connected with one for twenty years----

MISS L. (_reflectively_). "Twenty years!" Always arriving "after the train's gone"--after the girl and the Wrong Person have got to the journey's end.

(MRS. HERIOT's _eyes flash._)

JEAN. Where is she now?

LADY JOHN. Never mind.

MISS L. Two nights ago she was waiting at a street corner in the rain.

MRS. H. Near a public-house, I suppose.

MISS L. Yes, a sort of "public-house." She was plainly dying--she was told she shouldn't be out in the rain. "I mustn't go in yet," she said. "_This_ is what he gave me," and she began to cry. In her hand were two pennies silvered over to look like half-crowns.

MRS. H. I don't believe that story. It's just the sort of thing some sensation-monger trumps up--now, who tells you such----

MISS L. Several credible people. I didn't believe them till----

JEAN. Till----?

MISS L. Till last week I saw for myself.

LADY JOHN. _Saw?_ Where?

MISS L. In a low lodging-house not a hundred yards from the church you want a new organ for.

MRS. H. How did _you_ happen to be there?

MISS L. I was on a pilgrimage.

JEAN. A pilgrimage?

MISS L. Into the Underworld.

LADY JOHN. _You_ went?

JEAN. How _could_ you?

MISS L. I put on an old gown and a tawdry hat---- (_Turns to_ LADY JOHN.) You'll never know how many things are hidden from a woman in good clothes. The bold, free look of a man at a woman he believes to be destitute--you must _feel_ that look on you before you can understand--a good half of history.

MRS. H. (_rises_). Jean!----

JEAN. But where did you go--dressed like that?

MISS L. Down among the homeless women--on a wet night looking for shelter.

LADY JOHN (_hastily_). No wonder you've been ill.

JEAN (_under breath_). And it's like that?

MISS L. No.

JEAN. No?

MISS L. It's so much worse I dare not tell about it--even if you weren't here I couldn't.

MRS. H. (_to_ JEAN). You needn't suppose, darling, that those wretched creatures feel it as we would.

MISS L. The girls who need shelter and work aren't all serving-maids.

MRS. H. (_with an involuntary flash_). We know that all the women who--_make mistakes_ aren't.

MISS L. (_steadily_). That is why every woman ought to take an interest in this--every girl too.

JEAN Yes--oh, yes! (_simultaneously_) LADY JOHN No. This is a matter for us older----

MRS. H. (_with an air of sly challenge_). Or for a person who has some special knowledge. (_Significantly._) _We_ can't pretend to have access to such sources of information as Miss Levering.

MISS L. (_meeting_ MRS. HERIOT'S _eye steadily_). Yes, for I can give you access. As you seem to think, I have some first-hand knowledge about homeless girls.

LADY JOHN (_cheerfully turning it aside_). Well, my dear, it will all come in convenient. (_Tapping the plan._)

MISS L. It once happened to me to take offence at an ugly thing that was going on under my father's roof. Oh, _years_ ago! I was an impulsive girl. I turned my back on my father's house----

LADY JOHN (_for_ JEAN'S _benefit_). That was ill-advised.

MRS. H. Of course, if a girl does _that_----

MISS L. That was what all my relations said (_with a glance at_ JEAN), and I couldn't explain.

JEAN. Not to your mother?

MISS L. She was dead. I went to London to a small hotel and tried to find employment. I wandered about all day and every day from agency to agency. I was supposed to be educated. I'd been brought up partly in Paris; I could play several instruments, and sing little songs in four different tongues. (_Slight pause._)

JEAN. Did nobody want you to teach French or sing the little songs?

MISS L. The heads of schools thought me too young. There were people ready to listen to my singing, but the terms--they were too hard. Soon my money was gone. I began to pawn my trinkets. _They_ went.

JEAN. And still no work?

MISS L. No; but by that time I had some real education--an unpaid hotel bill, and not a shilling in the world. (_Slight pause._) Some girls think it hardship to have to earn their living. The horror is not to be allowed to----

JEAN. (_bending forward_). What happened?

LADY JOHN (_rises_). My dear (_to_ MISS LEVERING), have your things been sent down? Are you quite ready?

MISS L. Yes, all but my hat.

JEAN. Well?

MISS L. Well, by chance I met a friend of my family.

JEAN. That was lucky.

MISS L. I thought so. He was nearly ten years older than I. He said he wanted to help me. (_Pause._)

JEAN. And didn't he?

(LADY JOHN _lays her hand on_ MISS LEVERING'S _shoulder._)

MISS L. Perhaps after all he did. (_With sudden change of tone._) Why do I waste time over myself? I belonged to the little class of armed women. My body wasn't born weak, and my spirit wasn't broken by the _habit_ of slavery. But, as Mrs. Heriot was kind enough to hint, I do know something about the possible fate of homeless girls. I found there were pleasant parks, museums, free libraries in our great rich London--and not one single place where destitute women can be sure of work that isn't killing or food that isn't worse than prison fare. That's why women ought not to sleep o' nights till this Shelter stands spreading out wide arms.

JEAN. No, no----

MRS. H. (_gathering up her gloves, fan, prayer-book, &c._). Even when it's built--you'll see! Many of those creatures will prefer the life they lead. They _like_ it.

MISS L. A woman told me--one of the sort that knows--told me many of them "like it" so much that they are indifferent to the risk of being sent to prison. "_It gives them a rest_," she said.

LADY JOHN. A rest!

(MISS LEVERING _glances at the clock as she rises to go upstairs._)

(LADY JOHN _and_ MRS. HERIOT _bend their heads over the plan, covertly talking._)

JEAN (_intercepting_ MISS LEVERING). I want to begin to understand something of--I'm horribly ignorant.

MISS L. (_Looks at her searchingly_). I'm a rather busy person----

JEAN. (_interrupting_). I have a quite special reason for wanting _not_ to be ignorant. (_Impulsively_). I'll go to town to-morrow, if you'll come and lunch with me.

MISS L. Thank you--I (_catches_ MRS. HERIOT'S _eye_)--I must go and put my hat on.

[_Exit upstairs._

MRS. H. (_aside_). How little she minds all these horrors!

LADY JOHN. They turn me cold. Ugh! (_Rising, harassed._) I wonder if she's signed the visitors' book!

MRS. H. For all her Shelter schemes, she's a hard woman.

JEAN. Miss Levering is?

MRS. H. Oh, of course _you_ won't think so. She has angled very adroitly for your sympathy.

JEAN. She doesn't look hard.

LADY JOHN (_glancing at_ JEAN _and taking alarm_). I'm not sure but what she does. Her mouth--always like this ... as if she were holding back something by main force!

MRS. H. (_half under her breath_). Well, so she is.

[_Exit_ LADY JOHN _into the lobby to look at the visitors' book._

JEAN. Why haven't I seen her before?

MRS. H. Oh, she's lived abroad. (_Debating with herself._) You don't know about her, I suppose?

JEAN. I don't know how Aunt Ellen came to know her.

MRS. H. That was my doing. But I didn't bargain for her being introduced to you.

JEAN. She seems to go everywhere. And why shouldn't she?

MRS. H. (_quickly_). You mustn't ask her to Eaton Square.

JEAN. I have.

MRS. H. Then you'll have to get out of it.

JEAN (_with a stubborn look_). I must have a reason. And a very good reason.

MRS. H. Well, it's not a thing I should have preferred to tell you, but I know how difficult you are to guide ... so I suppose you'll have to know. (_Lowering her voice._) It was ten or twelve years ago. I found her horribly ill in a lonely Welsh farmhouse. We had taken the Manor for that August. The farmer's wife was frightened, and begged me to go and see what I thought. I soon saw how it was--I thought she was dying.

JEAN. _Dying!_ What was the----

MRS. H. I got no more out of her than the farmer's wife did. She had had no letters. There had been no one to see her except a man down from London, a shady-looking doctor--nameless, of course. And then this result. The farmer and his wife, highly respectable people, were incensed. They were for turning the girl out.

JEAN. _Oh!_ but----

MRS. H. Yes. Pitiless some of these people are! I insisted they should treat the girl humanely, and we became friends ... that is, "sort of." In spite of all I did for her----

JEAN. What did you do?

MRS. H. I--I've told you, and I lent her money. No small sum either.

JEAN. Has she never paid it back?

MRS. H. Oh, yes, after a time. But I _always_ kept her secret--as much as I knew of it.

JEAN. But you've been telling me!

MRS. H. That was my duty--and I _never_ had her full confidence.

JEAN. Wasn't it natural she----

MRS. H. Well, all things considered, she might have wanted to tell me who was responsible.

JEAN. Oh! Aunt Lydia!

MRS. H. All she ever said was that she was ashamed--(_losing her temper and her fine feeling for the innocence of her auditor_)--ashamed that she "hadn't had the courage to resist"--not the original temptation but the pressure brought to bear on her "not to go through with it," as she said.

JEAN (_wrinkling her brows_). You are being so delicate--I'm not sure I understand.

MRS. H. (_irritably_). The only thing you need understand is that she's not a desirable companion for a young girl.

(_Pause._)

JEAN. When did you see her after--after----

MRS. H. (_with a slight grimace_). I met her last winter at the Bishop's. (_Hurriedly._) She's a connection of his wife's. They'd got her to help with some of their work. Then she took hold of ours. Your aunt and uncle are quite foolish about her, and I'm debarred from taking any steps, at least till the Shelter is out of hand.

JEAN. I do rather wonder she can bring herself to talk about--the unfortunate women of the world.

MRS. H. The effrontery of it!

JEAN. Or ... the courage! (_Puts her hand up to her throat as if the sentence had caught there._)

MRS. H. Even presumes to set _me_ right! Of course I don't _mind_ in the least, poor soul ... but I feel I owe it to your dead mother to tell you about her, especially as you're old enough now to know something about life----

JEAN (_slowly_).--and since a girl needn't be very old to suffer for her ignorance. (_Moves a little away._) I _felt_ she was rather wonderful.

MRS. H. _Wonderful!_

JEAN (_pausing_). ... To have lived through _that_ when she was ... how old?

MRS. H. (_rising_). Oh, nineteen or thereabouts.

JEAN. Five years younger than I. To be abandoned and to come out of it like this!

MRS. H. (_laying her hand on the girl's shoulder_). It was too bad to have to tell you such a sordid story to-day of all days.

JEAN. It is a very terrible story, but this wasn't a bad time. I feel very sorry to-day for women who aren't happy.

(_Motor horn heard faintly._)

(_Jumping up._) That's Geoffrey!

MRS. H. Mr. Stonor! What makes you think...?

JEAN. Yes, yes. I'm sure, I'm sure----

(_Checks herself as she is flying off. Turns and sees_ LORD JOHN _entering from the garden._)

(_Motor horn louder._)

LORD J. Who do you think is motoring up the drive?

JEAN (_catching hold of him_). Oh, dear! how am I ever going to be able to behave like a girl who isn't engaged to the only man in the world worth marrying?

MRS. H. You were expecting Mr. Stonor all the time!

JEAN. He promised he'd come to luncheon if it was humanly possible; but I was afraid to tell you for fear he'd be prevented.

LORD J. (_laughing as he crosses to the lobby_). You felt we couldn't have borne the disappointment.

JEAN. I felt I couldn't.

(_The lobby door opens._ LADY JOHN _appears radiant, followed by a tall figure in a dust-coat, &c., no goggles. He has straight, firm features, a little blunt; fair skin, high-coloured; fine, straight hair, very fair; grey eyes, set somewhat prominently and heavy when not interested; lips full, but firmly moulded._ GEOFFREY STONOR _is heavier than a man of forty should be, but otherwise in the pink of physical condition. The_ FOOTMAN _stands waiting to help him off with his motor coat._)

LADY JOHN. Here's an agreeable surprise!

(JEAN _has gone forward only a step, and stands smiling at the approaching figure._)

LORD J. How do you do? (_As he comes between them and briskly shakes hands with_ STONOR.)

(FARNBOROUGH _appears at the French window_.)

FARN. Yes, by Jove! (_Turning to the others clustered round the window._) What gigantic luck!

(_Those outside crane and glance, and then elaborately turn their backs and pretend to be talking among themselves, but betray as far as manners permit the enormous sensation the arrival has created._)

STONOR. How do you do?

(_Shakes hands with_ MRS. HERIOT, _who has rushed up to him with both hers outstretched. He crosses to_ JEAN, _who meets him half way; they shake hands, smiling into each other's eyes._)

JEAN. Such a long time since we met!

LORD J. (_to_ STONOR). You're growing very enterprising. I could hardly believe my ears when I heard you'd motored all the way from town to see a supporter on Sunday.

STONOR. I don't know how we covered the ground in the old days. (_To_ LADY JOHN.) It's no use to stand for your borough any more. The American, you know, he "runs" for Congress. By and by we shall all be flying after the thing we want.

(_Smiles at_ JEAN.)

JEAN. Sh! (_Smiles and then glances over her shoulder and speaks low._) All sorts of irrelevant people here.

FARN. (_unable to resist the temptation, comes forward_). How do you do, Mr. Stonor?

STONOR. Oh--how d'you do.

FARN. Some of them were arguing in the smoking-room last night whether it didn't hurt a man's chances going about in a motor.

LORD J. Yes, we've been hearing a lot of stories about the unpopularity of motor-cars--among the class that hasn't got 'em, of course. What do you say?

LADY JOHN. I'm sure you gain more votes by being able to reach so many more of your constituency than we used----

STONOR. Well, I don't know--I've sometimes wondered whether the charm of our presence wasn't counterbalanced by the way we tear about smothering our fellow-beings in dust and running down their pigs and chickens, not to speak of their children.

LORD J. (_anxiously_). What on the whole are the prospects?

(FARNBOROUGH _cranes forward_.)

STONOR (_gravely_). We shall have to work harder than we realised.

FARN. Ah!

(_Retires towards group._)

JEAN (_in a half-aside as she slips her arm in her uncle's and smiles at_ GEOFFREY). He says he believes I'll be able to make a real difference to his chances. Isn't it angelic of him?

STONOR (_in a jocular tone_). Angelic? Macchiavelian. I pin all my hopes on your being able to counteract the pernicious influence of my opponent's glib wife.

JEAN. You want me to have a _real_ share in it all, don't you, Geoffrey?

STONOR (_smiling into her eyes_). Of course I do.

(FARNBOROUGH _drops down again on pretence of talking to_ MRS. HERIOT.)

LORD J. I don't gather you're altogether sanguine. Any complication?

(JEAN _and_ LADY JOHN _stand close together_ (C.), _the girl radiant, following_ STONOR _with her eyes and whispering to the sympathetic elder woman._)

STONOR. Well (_taking Sunday paper out of pocket_), there's this agitation about the Woman Question. Oddly enough, it seems likely to affect the issue.

LORD J. Why should it? Can't you do what the other four hundred have done?

STONOR (_laughs_). Easily. But, you see, the mere fact that four hundred and twenty members have been worried into promising support--and then once in the House have let the matter severely alone----

LORD J. (_to_ STONOR). Let it alone! Bless my soul, I should think so indeed.

STONOR. Of course. Only it's a device that's somewhat worn.

(_Enter_ MISS LEVERING, _with hat on; gloves and veil in her hand._)