The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne
TALKER. Didn't I hear somebody say "cider"?
***
(It is eight days later when we see them again. The DAUGHTER is at the spinet, playing an accompaniment to the song which she and the SINGER are sharing for the moment.)
SHE. He does not know I love him, He does not care; The sky is blue above him, The road is there For those who dare-- Alas! why should he care?
HE. She does not know I love her, She does not know; The sky is blue above her, The soft winds blow Where violets grow-- Alas! how should she know?
TOGETHER. Yet those who sing About the Spring All say it should bring Two lovers together! Oh where, oh where Will you find a pair So matched as you and I, love? Come rain or shine, Come wet or fine, If you are mine What matter the weather? Oh take my hand And kiss me and Confess that you are my love.
HE. She does not know I love her-- Ah yes, she knows; The sky is blue above her, The buds disclose The first wild rose-- Ah yes, she knows, she knows!
SHE. He cares not that I love him-- Ah yes, he cares; The sky is blue above him, A thrush declares The world is theirs-- Ah yes, how much he cares!
TOGETHER. For those who sing, etc.
DAUGHTER (looking up at him). It is a pretty song.
SINGER. The words, I thought, were good. I liked the words.
DAUGHTER. Who thinks of the words of a song if the tune be pretty?
SINGER. But if the heart of the singer be in the words?
DAUGHTER (suddenly, as, she gets up). Tell me about Chloe.
SINGER (surprised). Chloe?
DAUGHTER. Or whatever her name was.
SINGER (hurt). I am not sure that I understand this conversation.
DAUGHTER. I mean the first one.
SINGER. I am not sure that I like this conversation.
DAUGHTER. She was the first, wasn't she--the one who made you renounce the world and take to the road?
SINGER (stiffly). Her name was not Chloe.
DAUGHTER (coaxingly). What was it?
SINGER (annoyed). Why rake up the dead ashes of the past? I was but a boy. It was five months ago. Besides, her name was Penelope.
DAUGHTER. You still remember it, though it was so long ago?
SINGER. I could have pretended to have forgotten, if it would have pleased you better.
DAUGHTER (coldly). I? Oh, I am not interested.
SINGER. Well, _I_ didn't start the subject. Perhaps, as neither of us is interested, I had better withdraw. Since we are to start this afternoon, I have much to see about. (Bowing) With your permission.
DAUGHTER (stopping him). Don't go. I am sorry. I have been unkind.
SINGER (smiling). Shall we practise that other song? Our voices agree, if our--our hearts do not.
DAUGHTER (distressed). Oh, don't say that. We must be friends.
SINGER. Only friends?
DAUGHTER (gently). Tell me about her.
SINGER. There is not much to tell, dear. I thought she loved me. Perhaps that was why I thought I loved her. When I told her, she pretended to be surprised. I don't think she was surprised. She was very pretty. (He pauses.)
DAUGHTER. And hard?
SINGER. It is not for me to say anything against her. It is through her that I came here.
DAUGHTER. When you came here the other day, had you forgotten her?
SINGER (singing). "Oh, let the wench, the wench be whom she will, so long as I can walk on Morland Hill." Didn't I say so on that first day?
DAUGHTER. Of course, I know very little of the world, but I do wonder sometimes if people who sing about the joys of wandering are really enjoying it all the time.
SINGER (looking round at the window). Is Johannes about?
DAUGHTER (surprised). No.
SINGER. Then I will be frank with you. Just lately _I_ have been wondering too.
DAUGHTER. Oh!
SINGER (rapidly). I have a house; you would like my house. I have a park; you would like the park. Horses to ride and jewels to wear. I go to London sometimes and see the King; you would like London.
DAUGHTER (tragically). I have never been to London.
SINGER (letting himself go suddenly). Sweetheart, all that I have-- (In an ordinary whisper) Be careful, Fiddler just went past the window. (Keeping his arm round her, he breaks into the last line or two of his song. She joins in, as if they were rehearsing.)
[Enter the FIDDLER.]
SINGER (to DAUGHTER). Yes, I think we have it pretty well now. 'Tis a good song. (Turning round suddenly and seeing the FIDDLER). Ah, Fiddler, are you there? What do you think of it?
FIDDLER. Isn't it time to start?
SINGER. To start? Ah yes, we start this afternoon. Well, we have had a pleasant holiday and must get to work again.
DAUGHTER (eagerly). And I am coming with you.
FIDDLER. It is settled?
DAUGHTER. Oh yes, I think so.
FIDDLER. It is the best life. (TO DAUGHTER) Play something.
[As the DAUGHTER goes to the spinet, the SINGER goes out.]
(They play. When it is over, the DAUGHTER turns round and looks at the FIDDLER, and sighs.)
DAUGHTER. That is all you want? Just you and your fiddle and the open road?
FIDDLER. It is the best life.
[The TALKER appears at the window.]
TALKER. Aha! what did I hear? Did I hear our loquacious Fiddler perorating upon Life? "Life," quoth she, with much argument and circumstantial matter; "Life," she continued, making her points singly and one by one, thus keeping the business in its true perspective; "Life is--"(Lamely) Well, what is life?
FIDDLER. When do we start, Johannes?
[The DAUGHTER goes out.]
TALKER. Are you so eager to be gone?
FIDDLER. We have been here eight days.
TALKER. Eight days! And Troy was besieged for eleven years! Eight days! Why, I could talk for eight days without taking breath, and I am by nature a glum, silent man. Nay, nay, say not to me "Eight days." Eight days will not make a man grow old or a woman lose her beauty. (The MOTHER comes into the room.) Or a woman lose her beauty--Madame, I kiss your hands. Were I of less girth I would flit through the window and fall upon my knees at your feet. (The FIDDLER with a shrug goes out.) As it is, I shall enter by the door in the usual way. I have