Plays: Lady Frederick, The Explorer, A Man of Honour. Maugham William Somerset
sorry.
[Sharply.] Where are you going, Charlie?
I never asked Lady Frederick if I could do anything.
Good heavens, there are surely plenty of servants in the hotel to get her anything she wants.
Don't you think a drive in the motor would do her good?
[Unable to control herself.] Oh, I have no patience with you. I never saw such a ridiculous infatuation in my life.
Steady, old girl, steady.
What on earth d'you mean, mother?
Presumably you're not going to deny that you're in love with that woman.
[Growing pale.] Would you mind speaking of her as Lady Frederick?
You try me very much, Charlie. Please answer my question.
I don't want to seem unkind to you, mother, but I think you have no right to ask about my private affairs.
If you're going to talk this matter over you're more likely to come to an understanding if you both keep your tempers.
There's nothing I wish to discuss.
Don't be absurd, Charlie. You're with Lady Frederick morning, noon and night. She can never stir a yard from the hotel but you go flying after. You pester her with your ridiculous attentions.
[Blandly.] One's relations have always such an engaging frankness. Like a bad looking-glass, they always represent you with a crooked nose and a cast in your eye.
[To Mereston.] I have certainly a right to know what you mean by all this and what is going to come of it.
I don't know what will come of it.
The question that excites our curiosity is this: are you going to ask Lady Frederick to marry you?
I refuse to answer that. It seems to me excessively impertinent.
Come, come, my boy, you're too young to play the heavy father. We're both your friends. Hadn't you better make a clean breast of it? After all, your mother and I are interested in nothing so much as your welfare.
[Imploring.] Charlie!
Of course I'd ask her to marry me if I thought for a moment that she'd accept. But I'm so terrified that she'll refuse, and then perhaps I shall never see her again.
The boy's stark, staring mad.
I don't know what I should do if she sent me about my business. I'd rather continue in this awful uncertainty than lose all hope for ever.
By George. You're pretty far gone, my son. The lover who's diffident is in a much worse way than the lover who protests.
[With a little laugh.] I must say it amuses me that Lady Frederick should have had both my brother and my son dangling at her skirts. Your respective passions are separated by quite a number of years.
Lady Frederick has already told me of that incident.
With the usual indiscretion of her sex.
It appears that she was very unhappy and you, with questionable taste, made love to her.
Do your best not to preach at me, dear boy. It reminds me of your lamented father.
And at last she promised to go away with you. You were to meet at Waterloo Station.
Such a draughty place for an assignation.
Your train was to start at nine, and you were going to take the boat over to the Channel Isles.
Lady Frederick has a very remarkable memory. I remember hoping the sea wouldn't be rough.
And just as the train was starting her eye fell on the clock. At that moment her child was coming down to breakfast and would ask for her. Before you could stop her she'd jumped out of the carriage. The train was moving, and you couldn't get out, so you were taken on to Weymouth – alone.
You must have felt a quite egregious ass, Paradine.
I did, but you need not rub it in.
Doesn't it occur to you, Charlie, that a woman who loves so easily can't be very worthy of your affection?
But, my dear mother, d'you think she cared for my uncle?
What the dickens d'you mean?
D'you suppose if she loved you she would have hesitated to come? D'you know her so little as that? She thought of her child only because she was quite indifferent to you.
[Crossly.] You know nothing about it, and you're an impertinent young jackanapes.
My dear Paradine, what can it matter if Lady Frederick was in love with you or not?
[Calming down.] Of course it doesn't matter a bit.
I have no doubt you mistook wounded vanity for a broken heart.
[Acidly.] My dear, you sometimes say things which explain to me why my brother-in-law so frequently abandoned his own fireside for the platform of Exeter Hall.
It may also interest you to learn that I am perfectly aware of Lady Frederick's financial difficulties. I know she has two bills falling due to-morrow.
She's a very clever woman.
I've implored her to let me lend her the money, and she absolutely refuses. You see, she's kept nothing from me at all.
My dear Charlie, it's a very old dodge to confess what doesn't matter in order to conceal what does.
What do you mean, mother?
Lady Frederick has told you nothing of the Bellingham affair?
Why should she?
It is surely expedient you should know that the woman you have some idea of marrying escaped the divorce court only by the skin of her teeth.
I don't believe that, mother.
Remember that you're talking to your respected parent, my boy.
I'm sorry that my mother should utter base and contemptible libels on – my greatest friend.
You may be quite sure that I say nothing which I can't prove.
I won't listen to anything against Lady Frederick.
But you must.
Are you quite indifferent to the great pain you cause me?
I can't allow