Part 3

SOREL: Not an ordinary question, Simon; they have to ask them to do something in the manner of the word, and then——

SIMON: Then, you see, you act whatever it is——

SOREL: The answer to the question, you see?

RICHARD (_apprehensively_): What sort of thing is one expected to do?

JUDITH: Quite usual things, like reciting “If,” or playing the piano——

RICHARD: I can’t play the piano.

SIMON: Never mind; you can fake it, as long as it conveys an idea of the word.

JACKIE: The word we’ve all thought of?

SOREL (_impatient_): Yes, the word we’ve chosen when whoever it is is out of the room.

JACKIE: I’m afraid I don’t quite understand yet.

SIMON: Never mind; I’ll explain. You see, someone goes out....

SOREL: I’ll go out the first time, just to show her.

JUDITH: It’s quite simple—all you have to do is just act in the manner of the word.

SOREL: Look here, everybody, I’m going out.

SIMON: All right; go on.

MYRA: The History game’s awfully good—when two people go out, and come back as Queen Elizabeth and Crippen or somebody.

SANDY (_despondently_): I’m no earthly good at this sort of thing.

SOREL: I’ll show you, Sandy. You see....

JUDITH: There’s always “How, When and Where?” We haven’t played that for ages.

SIMON: We will afterwards. We’ll do this one first.—Go on, Sorel.

SOREL: Don’t be too long. (_She goes out._)

SIMON: Now then.

JUDITH: “Bitterly.”

SIMON: No, we did that last week; she’ll know.

DAVID: “Intensely.”

JUDITH: Too difficult.

RICHARD: There was an amusing game I played once at the Harringtons’ house. Everyone was blindfolded except——

SIMON: This room’s not big enough for that. What about “winsomely”?

JACKIE: I wish I knew what we had to do.

JUDITH: You’ll see when we start playing.

MYRA: _If_ we start playing.

SIMON: Mother’s brilliant at this. Do you remember when we played it at the Mackenzies’?

JUDITH: Yes, and Blanche was so cross when I kissed Freddie’s ear in the manner of the word.

RICHARD: What was the word?

JUDITH: I can’t remember.

MYRA: Perhaps it’s as well.

DAVID: What about “drearily”?

JUDITH: Not definite enough.

SIMON: “Winsomely” is the best.

JUDITH: She’s sure to guess it straight off.

SIMON (_confidentially to JACKIE_): These games are much too brainy for me.

DAVID: Young Norman Robertson used to be marvellous—do you remember?

SIMON: Yes, wonderful sense of humour.

MYRA: He’s lost it all since his marriage.

JUDITH: I didn’t know you knew him.

MYRA: Well, considering he married my cousin——

RICHARD: We don’t seem to be getting on with the game.

JUDITH: We haven’t thought of a word yet.

MYRA: “Brightly.”

SIMON: Too obvious.

MYRA: Very well—don’t snap at me!

JUDITH: “Saucily.” I’ve got a lovely idea for “saucily.”

MYRA (_at SIMON_): I should think “rudely” would be the easiest.

SIMON: Don’t be sour, Myra.

JUDITH: The great thing is to get an obscure word.

SIMON: What a pity Irene isn’t here—she knows masses of obscure words.

MYRA: She’s probably picked them up from her obscure friends.

SIMON: It’s no use being catty about Irene; she’s a perfect darling.

MYRA: I wasn’t being catty at all.

SIMON: Yes, you were.

SOREL (_off_): Hurry up!

JUDITH: Quickly, now! We must think——

JACKIE (_helpfully_): “Appendicitis.”

JUDITH (_witheringly_): That’s not an adverb.

SIMON: You’re thinking of Charades.

SANDY: Charades are damned good fun.

SIMON: Yes, but we don’t happen to be doing them at the moment.

SANDY: Sorry.

JUDITH: “Saucily.”

SIMON: No, “winsomely’s” better.

JUDITH: All right. Call her in.

SIMON (_calling_): Sorel—come on; we’re ready.

[_Re-enter SOREL._

SANDY (_hoarsely to SIMON_): Which is it?—“saucily” or “winsomely”?

SIMON (_whispering_): “Winsomely.”

SOREL (_to JUDITH_): Go and take a flower out of that vase and give it to Richard.

JUDITH: Very well.

[_She trips lightly over to the vase, gurgling with coy laughter, selects a flower, then goes over to RICHARD; pursing her lips into a mock smile, she gives him the flower, with a little girlish gasp at her own daring, and wags her finger archly at him._

SIMON: Marvellous, Mother!

SOREL (_laughing_): Oh, lovely!... Now, Myra, get up and say good-bye to everyone in the manner of the word.

MYRA (_rises and starts with DAVID_): Good-bye. It really has been most delightful——

JUDITH: No, no, no!

MYRA: Why—what do you mean?

JUDITH: You haven’t got the right intonation a bit.

SIMON: Oh, Mother darling, do shut up!

MYRA (_acidly_): Remember what an advantage you have over we poor amateurs, Judith, having been a professional for so long.

JUDITH: I don’t like “so long” very much.

SOREL: Do you think we might go on now?

MYRA: Go to the next one; I’m not going to do any more.

SIMON: Oh, please do. You were simply splendid.

SOREL: It doesn’t matter. (_To RICHARD_) Light a cigarette in the manner of the word.

RICHARD: I’ve forgotten what it is.

JUDITH (_grimacing at him violently_): You remember....

RICHARD: Oh, yes.

[_He proceeds to light a cigarette with great abandon, winking his eye and chucking SOREL under the chin._

JUDITH: Oh, no, no, no!

MYRA: I can’t think _what_ that’s meant to be.

RICHARD (_offended_): I was doing my best.

JUDITH: It’s so _frightfully_ easy, and nobody can do it right.

SIMON: I believe you’ve muddled it up.

RICHARD: You’d better go on to the next one.

JUDITH: Which word were you doing? Whisper——

RICHARD (_whispering_): “Saucily.”

JUDITH: I knew it!—He was doing the wrong word. (_She whispers to him._)

RICHARD: Oh, I see. I’m so sorry.

JUDITH: Give him another chance.

SIMON: No, it’s Jackie’s turn now; it will come round to him again, I’m afraid.

SOREL (_to JACKIE_): Do a dance in the manner of the word.

JACKIE (_giggling_): I can’t.

JUDITH: Nonsense! Of course you can.

JACKIE: I can’t—honestly—I....

SIMON (_pulling her to her feet_): Go on; have a shot at it.

JACKIE: No, I’d much rather not. Count me out.

JUDITH: Really, the ridiculous fuss everyone makes——

JACKIE: I’m awfully stupid at anything like this.

SOREL: It’s only a game, after all.

DAVID: Come along—try.

JACKIE (_dragging back_): I couldn’t—please don’t ask me to. I simply couldn’t.

SIMON: Leave her alone if she doesn’t want to.

SOREL (_irritably_): What’s the use of playing at all, if people won’t do it properly?

JUDITH: It’s _so_ simple.

SANDY: It’s awfully difficult if you haven’t done it before.

SIMON: Go on to the next one.

SOREL (_firmly_): Unless everyone’s in it we won’t play at all.

SIMON: Now don’t lose your temper.

SOREL: Lose my temper! I like that! No one’s given me the slightest indication of what the word is—you all argue and squabble——

DAVID: Talk, talk, talk! Everybody talks too much.

JUDITH: It’s so surprising to me when people won’t play up. After all——

JACKIE (_with spirit_): It’s a hateful game, anyhow, and I don’t want to play it again ever.

SOREL: You haven’t played it at all yet.

SIMON: Don’t be rude, Sorel.

SOREL: Really, Simon, the way you go on is infuriating!

SIMON: It’s always the way; whenever Sorel goes out she gets quarrelsome.

SOREL: Quarrelsome!

SIMON: Don’t worry, Jackie; you needn’t do anything you don’t want to.

JUDITH: I think, for the future, we’d better confine our efforts to social conversation and not attempt anything in the least intelligent.

SIMON: How can you be so unkind, Mother?

JUDITH (_sharply_): Don’t speak to me like that.

JACKIE: It’s all my fault—I know I’m awfully silly, but it embarrasses me so terribly doing anything in front of people.

SOREL (_with acidity_): I should think the word was, “winsomely.”

SIMON: You must have been listening outside the door then.

SOREL: Not at all—Miss Coryton gave it away.

SIMON: Why “Miss Coryton” all of a sudden? You’ve been calling her Jackie all the evening. You’re far too grand, Sorel.

SOREL: And you’re absolutely maddening—I’ll never play another game with you as long as I live.

SIMON: That won’t break my heart.

JUDITH: Stop, stop, stop!

SIMON (_grabbing JACKIE’S hand_): Come out in the garden. I’m sick of this.

SOREL: Don’t let him take you on the river; he isn’t very good at it.

SIMON (_over his shoulder_): Ha, ha!—very funny. (_He drags JACKIE off._)

JUDITH: Sorel, you’re behaving disgracefully.

SOREL: Simon ought to go into the Army, or something.

DAVID: You both ought to be in Reformatories.

SOREL: This always happens whenever we play a game. We’re a beastly family, and I hate us.

JUDITH: Speak for yourself, dear.

SOREL: I can’t, without speaking for everyone else too—we’re all exactly the same, and I’m ashamed of us.—Come into the library, Sandy. (_She drags SANDY off._)

MYRA: Charming! It’s all perfectly charming.

DAVID: I think it would be better, Judith, if you exercised a little more influence over the children.

JUDITH: That’s right—blame it all on me.

DAVID: After all, dear, you started it, by snapping everybody up.

JUDITH: You ought never to have married me, David; it was a great mistake.

DAVID: The atmosphere of this house is becoming more unbearable every day, and all because Simon and Sorel are allowed to do exactly what they like.

JUDITH: You sit upstairs all day, writing your novels.

DAVID: Novels which earn us our daily bread.

JUDITH: “Daily bread” nonsense! We’ve got enough money to keep us in comfort until we die.

DAVID: That will be very soon, if we can’t get a little peace. (_To MYRA_) Come out into the garden——

JUDITH: I sincerely hope the night air will cool you.

DAVID: I don’t know what’s happened to you lately, Judith.

JUDITH: Nothing’s happened to me—nothing ever does. You’re far too smug to allow it.

DAVID: Smug! Thank you.

JUDITH: Yes, smug, smug, smug! And pompous!

DAVID: I hope you haven’t been drinking, dear.

JUDITH: Drinking! Huh! that’s very amusing!

DAVID: I think it’s rather tragic, at your time of life. (_He goes out with MYRA._)

JUDITH: David’s been a good husband to me, but he’s wearing a bit thin now.

RICHARD: Would you like me to go? To leave you alone for a little?

JUDITH: Why? Are you afraid I shall become violent?

RICHARD (_smiling_): No; I merely thought perhaps I was in the way.

JUDITH: I hope you’re not embarrassed—I couldn’t bear you to be embarrassed.

RICHARD: Not in the least.

JUDITH: Marriage is a hideous affair altogether, don’t you think?

RICHARD: I’m really hardly qualified to judge, you see.

JUDITH: Do stop being non-committal, just for once; it’s doubly annoying in the face of us all having lost control so lamentably.

RICHARD: I’m sorry.

JUDITH: There’s nothing to be sorry for, really, because, after all, it’s your particular “thing,” isn’t it?—observing everything and not giving yourself away an inch.

RICHARD: I suppose it is.

JUDITH: You’ll get used to us in time, you know, and then you’ll feel cosier. Why don’t you sit down? (_She sits on sofa._)

RICHARD: I’m enjoying myself very much.

JUDITH: It’s very sweet of you to say so, but I don’t see how you can be.

RICHARD (_laughing suddenly_): But I am!

JUDITH: There now! that was quite a genuine laugh. We’re getting on. Are you in love with Sorel?

RICHARD (_surprised and embarrassed_): In love with Sorel?

JUDITH (_repentantly_): Now I’ve killed it—I’ve murdered the little tender feeling of comfort that was stealing over you, by sheer tactlessness! Will you teach me to be tactful?

RICHARD: Did you really think I was in love with Sorel?

JUDITH: It’s so difficult to tell, isn’t it?—I mean, you might not know yourself. She’s very attractive.

RICHARD: Yes, she is—very.

JUDITH: Have you heard her sing?

RICHARD: No, not yet.

JUDITH: She sings beautifully. Are you susceptible to music?

RICHARD: I’m afraid I don’t know very much about it.

JUDITH: You probably are, then. I’ll sing you something.

RICHARD: Please do.

JUDITH (_rising_): It’s awfully sad for a woman of my temperament to have a grown-up daughter, you know. I have to put my pride in my pocket and develop in her all the charming little feminine tricks which will eventually cut me out altogether.

RICHARD: That wouldn’t be possible.

JUDITH: I do hope you meant that, because it was a sweet remark. (_She is at the piano, turning over music._)

RICHARD (_following her_): Of course I meant it.

JUDITH: Will you lean on the piano in an attentive attitude? It’s such a help.

RICHARD: You’re an extraordinary person.

JUDITH (_beginning to play_): In what way extraordinary?

RICHARD: When I first met Sorel, I guessed what you’d be like.

JUDITH: Did you, now? And am I?

RICHARD (_smiling_): Exactly.

JUDITH: Oh, well.... (_She plays and sings a little French song._)

[_There is a slight pause when it is finished._

RICHARD (_with feeling_): Thank you.

JUDITH (_rising from the piano_): It’s pretty, isn’t it?

RICHARD: Perfectly enchanting.

JUDITH: Shall we sit down again? (_She re-seats herself on sofa._)

RICHARD: Won’t you sing any more?

JUDITH: No, no more—I want you to talk to me and tell me all about yourself, and the things you’ve done.

RICHARD: I’ve done nothing.

JUDITH: What a shame! Why not?

RICHARD: I never realise how dead I am until I meet people like you. It’s depressing, you know.

JUDITH: What nonsense! You’re not a bit dead.

RICHARD: Do you always live here?

JUDITH: I’m going to, from now onwards. I intend to sink into a very beautiful old age. When the children marry, I shall wear a cap.

RICHARD (_smiling_): How absurd!

JUDITH: I don’t mean a funny cap.

RICHARD: You’re far too full of vitality to sink into anything.

JUDITH: It’s entirely spurious vitality. If you troubled to look below the surface, you’d find a very wistful and weary spirit. I’ve been battling with life for a long time.

RICHARD: Surely such successful battles as yours have been are not wearying?

JUDITH: Yes, they are—frightfully. I’ve reached an age now when I just want to sit back and let things go on around me—and they do.

RICHARD: I should like to know exactly what you’re thinking about—really.

JUDITH: I was thinking of calling you Richard. It’s such a nice uncompromising name.

RICHARD: I should be very flattered if you would.

JUDITH: I won’t suggest you calling me Judith until you feel really comfortable about me.

RICHARD: But I do—Judith.

JUDITH: I’m awfully glad. Will you give me a cigarette?

RICHARD (_producing case_): Certainly.

JUDITH (_taking one_): That’s a divine case.

RICHARD: It was given to me in Japan three years ago. All those little designs mean things.

JUDITH (_bending over it_): What sort of things?

RICHARD: Charms for happiness, and luck, and—love.

JUDITH: Which is the charm for love?

RICHARD: That one.

JUDITH: What a dear!

RICHARD (_kissing her gently_): Judith!

JUDITH (_jumping_): Richard!

RICHARD: I’m afraid I couldn’t help it.

JUDITH (_dramatically_): What are we to do? What are we to do?

RICHARD: I don’t know.

JUDITH: David must be told—everything!

RICHARD (_alarmed_): Everything?

JUDITH (_enjoying herself_): Yes, yes. There come moments in life when it is necessary to be honest—absolutely honest. I’ve trained myself always to shun the underhand methods other women so often employ—the truth must be faced fair and square——

RICHARD (_extremely alarmed_): The truth? I don’t quite understand.

JUDITH: Dear Richard, you want to spare me, I know—you’re so chivalrous; but it’s no use. After all, as I said before, David has been a good husband to me, according to his lights. This may, of course, break him up rather, but it can’t be helped; he must be told. I wonder—oh, I wonder how he’ll take it. They say suffering’s good for writers, it strengthens their psychology. Oh, my poor, poor David!—Never mind. You’d better go out into the garden and wait——

RICHARD (_flustered_): Wait? What for?

JUDITH: For me, Richard, for me. I will come to you later. Wait in the summer-house. I had begun to think that Romance was dead, that I should never know it again. Before, of course, I had my work and my life in the theatre, but now, nothing—nothing! Everything is empty and hollow, like a broken shell.

RICHARD: Look here, Judith, I apologise for what I did just now. I——

JUDITH (_ignoring all interruption_): But now you have come, and it’s all changed—it’s magic. I’m under a spell that I never thought to recapture again. Go along——(_She pushes him towards the garden._)

RICHARD (_protesting_): But, Judith——

JUDITH (_pushing him firmly_): Don’t—don’t make it any harder for me. I am quite resolved—it is my self-appointed Calvary, and it’s the only possible way!

[_She pushes him into the garden and waves to him bravely with her handkerchief; then she comes back into the room and powders her nose before the glass and puts her hair into place. Then, assuming an expression of restrained tragedy, she opens the library door, from which she recoils genuinely shocked._

[_After a moment or two SOREL and SANDY come out rather sheepishly._

SOREL: Look here, Mother, I——

JUDITH: Sorel, what am I to say to you?

SOREL: I don’t know, Mother.

JUDITH: Neither do I.

SANDY: It was my fault, Mrs. Bliss—Judith——

JUDITH: What a fool I’ve been! What a blind fool!

SOREL: Mother, are you _really_ upset?

JUDITH (_with feeling_): I’m stunned.

SOREL: But, darling——

JUDITH (_gently_): Don’t speak for a moment, Sorel; we must all be very quiet, and think——

SOREL: It was nothing, really. For Heaven’s sake——

JUDITH: Nothing! I open the library door casually, and what do I see? I ask you, what do I see?

SANDY: I’m most awfully sorry....

JUDITH: Ssshh! It has gone beyond superficial apologies.

SOREL: Mother, be natural for a minute.

JUDITH: I don’t know what you mean, Sorel. I’m trying to realise a very bitter truth as calmly as I can.

SOREL: There’s nothing so very bitter about it.

JUDITH: My poor child!

SOREL (_suddenly_): Very well, then! I love Sandy, and he loves me!

JUDITH: That would be the only possible excuse for your behaviour.

SOREL: Why shouldn’t we love each other if we want to?

JUDITH: Sandy was in love with me this afternoon.

SOREL: Not real love—you know it wasn’t.

JUDITH (_bitterly_): I know now.

SANDY: I say—look here—I’m most awfully sorry.

JUDITH: There’s nothing to be sorry for, really; it’s my fault for having been so—so ridiculous.

SOREL: Mother!

JUDITH (_sadly_): Yes, ridiculous. I’m getting old, old, and the sooner I face it the better.

SOREL (_hopelessly_): But, darling....

JUDITH (_splendidly_): Youth will be served. You’re so pretty, Sorel, far prettier than I ever was—I’m very glad you’re pretty.

SANDY: I feel a fearful cad.

JUDITH: Why should you? You’ve answered the only call that really counts—the call of Love, and Romance, and Spring. I forgive you, Sandy, completely. There.

SOREL: Well, that’s all right, then.

JUDITH: I resent your tone, Sorel; you seem to be taking things too much for granted. Perhaps you don’t realise that I am making a great sacrifice!

SOREL: Sorry, darling.

JUDITH: It’s far from easy, at my time of life, to——

SOREL (_playing up_): Mother—Mother, say you understand and forgive!

JUDITH: Understand! You forget, dear, I am a woman.

SOREL: I know you are, Mother. That’s what makes it all so poignant.

JUDITH (_magnanimously, to SANDY_): If you want Sorel, truly, I give her to you—unconditionally.

SANDY (_dazed_): Thanks—awfully, Mrs. Bliss.

JUDITH: You can still call me Judith, can’t you?—it’s not much to ask.

SANDY: Judith.

JUDITH (_bravely_): There, now. Away with melancholy. This is all tremendously exciting, and we must all be very happy.

SOREL: Don’t tell Father—yet.

JUDITH: We won’t tell anybody; it shall be our little secret.

SOREL: You are splendid, Mother.

JUDITH: Nonsense. I just believe in being honest with myself—it’s awfully good for one, you know, so cleansing. I’m going upstairs now to have a little aspirin——(_She goes upstairs, and turns._) Ah, Youth, Youth, what a strange, mad muddle you make of things! (_She goes off._)

[_SOREL heaves a slight sigh, and takes a cigarette._

SOREL: Well, that’s that.

SANDY: Yes.

SOREL: It’s all right. Don’t look so gloomy—I know you don’t love me really.

SANDY (_startled_): I say, Sorel——

SOREL: Don’t protest; you know you don’t—any more than I love you.

SANDY: But you told Judith——

SOREL (_nonchalantly_): I was only playing up—one always plays up to Mother in this house; it’s a sort of unwritten law.

SANDY: Didn’t she mean all she said?

SOREL: No, not really; we none of us ever mean anything.

SANDY: She seemed awfully upset.

SOREL: It must have been a slight shock for her to discover us clasped tightly in each other’s arms.

SANDY: I believe I do love you, Sorel.

SOREL: A month ago I should have let you go on believing that, but now I can’t—I’m bent on improving myself.

SANDY: I don’t understand.

SOREL: Never mind—it doesn’t matter. You just fell a victim to the atmosphere, that’s all. There we were alone in the library, with the windows wide open, and probably a nightingale somewhere about——

SANDY: I only heard a cuckoo.

SOREL: Even a cuckoo has charm, in moderation. You kissed me because you were awfully nice and I was awfully nice and we both liked kissing very much. It was inevitable. Then Mother found us and got dramatic—her sense of the theatre is always fatal. She knows we shan’t marry, the same as you and I do. You’re under absolutely no obligation to me at all.

SANDY: I wish I understood you a bit better.

SOREL: Never mind about understanding me. Let’s go back into the library.

SANDY: All right.

[_They go off._

[_After a moment’s pause, DAVID and MYRA enter from the garden._

DAVID: ... And, you see, he comes in and finds her there waiting for him.

MYRA: She hadn’t been away at all?

DAVID: No; and that’s psychologically right. I’m sure. No woman, under those circumstances, _would_.

MYRA: It’s brilliant of you to see that. I do think the whole thing sounds most excellent.

DAVID: I got badly stuck in the middle of the book, when the boy comes down from Oxford—but it worked out all right eventually.

MYRA (_sitting on sofa_): When shall I be able to read it?

DAVID: I’ll send you the proofs—you can help me correct them.

MYRA: How divine! I shall feel most important.

DAVID: Would you like a cigarette, or anything?

MYRA: No, thank you.

DAVID: I think I’ll have a drink.

MYRA: Very well; give me some plain soda-water, then.

DAVID (_going to side table_): There isn’t any ice—d’you mind?

MYRA: Not a bit.

DAVID (_bringing her drink_): Here you are.

MYRA: Thank you. (_She sips it._) I wonder where everybody is.

DAVID: Not here, thank God.

MYRA: It must be dreadfully worrying for you, having a houseful of people.

DAVID (_having poured himself out a whisky-and-soda, sits down by her side_): It depends on the people.

MYRA: I have a slight confession to make.

DAVID: Confession?

MYRA: Yes. Do you know why I came down here?

DAVID: Not in the least. I suppose one of us asked you, didn’t they?

MYRA: Oh, yes, they asked me, but——

DAVID: Well?

MYRA: I was invited once before—last September.

DAVID: I was in America then.

MYRA: Exactly.

DAVID: How do you mean “exactly”?

MYRA: I didn’t come. I’m a very determined woman, you know, and I made up my mind to meet you ages ago.

DAVID: That was charming of you. I’m not much to meet really.

MYRA: You see, I’d read “Broken Reeds.”

DAVID: Did you like it?

MYRA: Like it! I think it’s one of the finest novels I’ve ever read.

DAVID: There now!

MYRA: How do you manage to know so much about women?

DAVID: I’m afraid my knowledge of them is sadly superficial.

MYRA: Oh, no; you can’t call Evelyn’s character superficial—it’s amazing.

DAVID: Why are you being so nice to me? Have you got a plan about something?

MYRA (_laughing_): How suspicious you are!