60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
(She nods sympathetically.) I’m afraid I’m sometimes a little irritable; but I know what’s right and reasonable all the time, even when I don’t act on it. Can you believe that?
GLORIA. Believe it! Why, that’s myself — myself all over. I know what’s right and dignified and strong and noble, just as well as she does; but oh, the things I do! the things I do! the things I let other people do!!
CRAMPTON (a little grudgingly in spite of himself). As well as she does? You mean your mother?
GLORIA (quickly). Yes, mother. (She turns to him on her knees and seizes his hands.) Now listen. No treason to her: no word, no thought against her. She is our superior — yours and mine — high heavens above us. Is that agreed?
CRAMPTON. Yes, yes. Just as you please, my dear.
GLORIA (not satisfied, letting go his hands and drawing back from him). You don’t like her?
CRAMPTON. My child: you haven’t been married to her. I have. (She raises herself slowly to her feet, looking at him with growing coldness.) She did me a great wrong in marrying me without really caring for me. But after that, the wrong was all on my side, I dare say. (He offers her his hand again.)
GLORIA (taking it firmly and warningly). Take care. That’s a dangerous subject. My feelings — my miserable, cowardly, womanly feelings — may be on your side; but my conscience is on hers.
CRAMPTON. I’m very well content with that division, my dear. Thank you. (Valentine arrives. Gloria immediately becomes deliberately haughty.)
VALENTINE. Excuse me; but it’s impossible to find a servant to announce one: even the never failing William seems to be at the ball. I should have gone myself; only I haven’t five shillings to buy a ticket. How are you getting on, Crampton? Better, eh?
CRAMPTON. I am myself again, Mr. Valentine, no thanks to you.
VALENTINE. Look at this ungrateful parent of yours, Miss Clandon! I saved him from an excruciating pang; and he reviles me!
GLORIA (coldly). I am sorry my mother is not here to receive you, Mr. Valentine. It is not quite nine o’clock; and the gentleman of whom Mr. McComas spoke, the lawyer, is not yet come.
VALENTINE. Oh, yes, he is. I’ve met him and talked to him. (With gay malice.) You’ll like him, Miss Clandon: he’s the very incarnation of intellect. You can hear his mind working.
GLORIA (ignoring the jibe). Where is he?
VALENTINE. Bought a false nose and gone into the fancy ball.
CRAMPTON (crustily, looking at his watch). It seems that everybody has gone to this fancy ball instead of keeping to our appointment here.
VALENTINE. Oh, he’ll come all right enough: that was half an hour ago. I didn’t like to borrow five shillings from him and go in with him; so I joined the mob and looked through the railings until Miss Clandon disappeared into the hotel through the window.
GLORIA. So it has come to this, that you follow me about in public to stare at me.
VALENTINE. Yes: somebody ought to chain me up.
Gloria turns her back on him and goes to the fireplace. He takes the snub very philosophically, and goes to the opposite side of the room. The waiter appears at the window, ushering in Mrs. Clandon and McComas.
MRS. CLANDON (hurrying in). I am so sorry to have kept you waiting.
A grotesquely majestic stranger, in a domino and false nose, with goggles, appears at the window.
WAITER (to the stranger). Beg pardon, sir; but this is a private apartment, sir. If you will allow me, sir, I will shew you to the American bar and supper rooms, sir. This way, sir.
He goes into the gardens, leading the way under the impression that the stranger is following him. The majestic one, however, comes straight into the room to the end of the table, where, with impressive deliberation, he takes off the false nose and then the domino, rolling up the nose into the domino and throwing the bundle on the table like a champion throwing down his glove. He is now seen to be a stout, tall man between forty and fifty, clean shaven, with a midnight oil pallor emphasized by stiff black hair, cropped short and oiled, and eyebrows like early Victorian horsehair upholstery. Physically and spiritually, a coarsened man: in cunning and logic, a ruthlessly sharpened one. His bearing as he enters is sufficiently imposing and disquieting; but when he speaks, his powerful, menacing voice, impressively articulated speech, strong inexorable manner, and a terrifying power of intensely critical listening raise the impression produced by him to absolute tremendousness.
THE STRANGER. My name is Bohun. (General awe.) Have I the honor of addressing Mrs. Clandon? (Mrs. Clandon bows. Bohun bows.) Miss Clandon? (Gloria bows. Bohun bows.) Mr. Clandon?
CRAMPTON (insisting on his rightful name as angrily as he dares). My name is Crampton, sir.
BOHUN. Oh, indeed. (Passing him over without further notice and turning to Valentine.) Are you Mr. Clandon?
VALENTINE (making it a point of honor not to be impressed by him). Do I look like it? My name is Valentine. I did the drugging.
BOHUN. Ah, quite so. Then Mr. Clandon has not yet arrived?
WAITER (entering anxiously through the window). Beg pardon, ma’am; but can you tell me what became of that — (He recognizes Bohun, and loses all his self-possession. Bohun waits rigidly for him to pull himself together. After a pathetic exhibition of confusion, he recovers himself sufficiently to address Bohun weakly but coherently.) Beg pardon, sir, I’m sure, sir. Was — was it you, sir?
BOHUN (ruthlessly). It was I.
WAITER (brokenly). Yes, sir. (Unable to restrain his tears.) You in a false nose, Walter! (He sinks faintly into a chair at the table.) I beg pardon, ma’am, I’m sure. A little giddiness —
BOHUN (commandingly). You will excuse him, Mrs. Clandon, when I inform you that he is my father.
WAITER (heartbroken). Oh, no, no, Walter. A waiter for your father on the top of a false nose! What will they think of you?
MRS. CLANDON (going to the waiter’s chair in her kindest manner). I am delighted to hear it, Mr. Bohun. Your father has been an excellent friend to us since we came here. (Bohun bows gravely.)
WAITER (shaking his head). Oh, no, ma’am. It’s very kind of you — very ladylike and affable indeed, ma’am; but I should feel at a great disadvantage off my own proper footing. Never mind my being the gentleman’s father, ma’am: it is only the accident of birth after all, ma’am. (He gets up feebly.) You’ll all excuse me, I’m sure, having interrupted your business. (He begins to make his way along the table, supporting himself from chair to chair, with his eye on the door.)
BOHUN. One moment. (The waiter stops, with a sinking heart.) My father was a witness of what passed to-day, was he not, Mrs. Clandon?
MRS. CLANDON. Yes, most of it, I think.
BOHUN. In that case we shall want him.
WAITER (pleading). I hope it may not be necessary, sir. Busy evening for me, sir, with that ball: very busy evening indeed, sir.
BOHUN (inexorably). We shall want you.
MRS. CLANDON (politely). Sit down, won’t you?
WAITER (earnestly). Oh, if you please, ma’am, I really must draw the line at sitting down. I couldn’t let myself be seen doing such a thing, ma’am: thank you, I am sure, all the same. (He looks round from face to face wretchedly, with an expression that would melt a heart of stone.)
GLORIA. Don’t let us waste time. William only wants to go on taking care of us. I should like a cup of coffee.
WAITER (brightening perceptibly). Coffee, miss? (He gives a little gasp of hope.) Certainly, miss. Thank you, miss: very timely, miss, very thoughtful and considerate indeed. (To Mrs. Clandon, timidly but expectantly.) Anything for you, ma’am?
MRS. CLANDON Er — oh, yes: it’s so hot, I think