60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
it, indeed! Really, papa, this is too much. If Mrs. Cuthbertson wouldn’t have you, it may have been very noble of you to make a virtue of giving her up, just as you made a virtue of being a teetotaller when Percy cut off your wine. But he shan’t be virtuous over me. I have refused him; and if he doesn’t like it he can — he can —
CHARTERIS. I can lump it. Precisely. Craven: you can depend on me. I’ll lump it. (He moves off nonchalantly, and leans against the bookcase with his hands in his pockets.)
CRAVEN (hurt). Julia: you don’t treat me respectfully. I don’t wish to complain; but that was not a becoming speech.
JULIA (bursting into tears and throwing herself into the large chair). Is there anyone in the world who has any feeling for me — who does not think me utterly vile? (Craven and Paramore hurry to her in the greatest consternation.)
CRAVEN (remorsefully). My pet: I didn’t for a moment mean —
JULIA. Must I stand to be bargained for by two men — passed from one to the other like a slave in the market, and not say a word in my own defence?
CRAVEN. But, my love —
JULIA. Oh, go away, all of you. Leave me. I — oh — (She gives way to a passion of tears.)
PARAMORE (reproachfully to Craven). You’ve wounded her cruelly, Colonel Craven — cruelly.
CRAVEN. But I didn’t mean to: I said nothing. Charteris: was I harsh?
CHARTERIS. You forget the revolt of the daughters, Craven. And you certainly wouldn’t have gone on like that to any grown up woman who was not your daughter.
CRAVEN. Do you mean to say that I am expected to treat my daughter the same as I would any other girl?
PARAMORE. I should say certainly, Colonel Craven.
CRAVEN. Well, dash me if I will. There!
PARAMORE. If you take that tone, I have nothing more to say. (He crosses the room with offended dignity and posts himself with his back to the bookcase beside Charteris.)
JULIA (with a sob). Daddy.
CRAVEN (turning solicitously to her). Yes, my love.
JULIA (looking up at him tearfully and kissing his hand). Don’t mind them. You didn’t mean it, Daddy, did you?
CRAVEN. No, no, my precious. Come: don’t cry.
PARAMORE (to Charteris, looking at Julia with delight). How beautiful she is!
CHARTERIS (throwing up his hands). Oh, Lord help you, Paramore! (He leaves the bookcase and sits at the end of the couch farthest from the fire. Meanwhile Sylvia arrives.)
SYLVIA (contemplating Julia). Crying again! Well, you are a womanly one!
CRAVEN. Don’t worry your sister, Sylvia. You know she can’t bear it.
SYLVIA. I speak for her good, Dad. All the world can’t be expected to know that she’s the family baby.
JULIA. You will get your ears boxed presently, Silly.
CRAVEN. Now, now, now, my dear children, really now! Come, Julia: put up your handkerchief before Mrs. Tranfield sees you. She’s coming along with Jo.
JULIA (rising). That woman again!
SYLVIA. Another row! Go it, Julia!
CRAVEN. Hold your tongue, Sylvia. (He turns commandingly to Julia.) Now look here, Julia.
CHARTERIS. Hallo! A revolt of the fathers!
CRAVEN. Silence, Charteris. (To Julia, unanswerably.) The test of a man or woman’s breeding is how they behave in a quarrel. Anybody can behave well when things are going smoothly. Now you said to-day, at that iniquitous club, that you were not a womanly woman. Very well: I don’t mind. But if you are not going to behave like a lady when Mrs. Tranfield comes into this room, you’ve got to behave like a gentleman; or fond as I am of you, I’ll cut you dead exactly as I would if you were my son.
PARAMORE (remonstrating). Colonel Craven —
CRAVEN (cutting him short). Don’t be a fool, Paramore.
JULIA (tearfully excusing herself). I’m sure, Daddy —
CRAVEN. Stop snivelling. I’m not speaking as your Daddy now: I’m speaking as your commanding officer.
SYLVIA. Good old Victoria Cross! (Craven turns sharply on her; and she darts away behind Charteris, and presently seats herself on the couch, so that she and Charteris are shoulder to shoulder, facing opposite ways. Cuthbertson arrives with Grace, who remains near the door whilst her father joins the others.)
CRAVEN. Ah, Jo, here you are. Now, Paramore, tell ’em the news.
PARAMORE. Mrs. Tranfield — Cuthbertson — allow me to introduce you to my future wife.
CUTHBERTSON (coming forward to shake hands with Paramore). My heartiest congratulations! (Paramore goes to shake hands with Grace.) Miss Craven: you will accept Grace’s congratulations as well as mine, I hope.
CRAVEN. She will, Jo. (In a tone of command.) Now, Julia. (Julia slowly rises.)
CUTHBERTSON. Now, Grace. (He conducts her to Julia’s right; then posts himself on the hearthrug, with his back to the fire, watching them. The Colonel keeps guard on the other side.)
GRACE (speaking in a low voice to Julia alone). So you have shewn him that you can do without him! Now I take back everything I said. Will you shake hands with me? (Julia gives her hand painfully, with her face averted.) They think this a happy ending, Julia — these men — our lords and masters! (The two stand silent, hand in hand.)
SYLVIA (leaning back across the couch, aside to Charteris). Has she really chucked you? (He nods assent. She looks at him dubiously, and adds) I expect you chucked her.
CUTHBERTSON. And now, Paramore, mind you don’t stand any chaff from Charteris about this. He’s in the same predicament himself. He’s engaged to Grace.
JULIA (dropping Grace’s hand, and speaking with breathless anguish, but not violently). Again!
CHARTERIS (rising hastily). Don’t be alarmed. It’s all off.
SYLVIA (rising indignantly). What! You’ve chucked Grace too! What a shame! (She goes to the other side of the room, fuming.)
CHARTERIS (following her and putting his hand soothingly on her shoulder). She won’t have me, old chap — that is (turning to the others) unless Mrs. Tranfield has changed her mind again.
GRACE. No: we shall remain very good friends, I hope; but nothing would induce me to marry you. (She goes to chair above the fireplace and sits down with perfect composure.)
JULIA. Ah! (She sits down with a great sigh of relief.)
SYLVIA (consoling Charteris). Poor old Leonard!
CHARTERIS. Yes: this is the doom of the philanderer. I shall have to go on philandering now all my life. No domesticity, no fireside, no little ones, nothing at all in Cuthbertson’s line! Nobody will marry me — unless you, Sylvia — eh?
SYLVIA. Not if I know it, Charteris.
CHARTERIS (to them all). You see!
CRAVEN (coming between Charteris and Sylvia). Now you really shouldn’t make a jest of these things: upon my life and soul you shouldn’t, Charteris.
CUTHBERTSON (on the hearthrug). The only use he can find for sacred things is to make a jest of them. That’s the New Order. Thank Heaven, we belong to the Old Order, Dan!
CHARTERIS. Cuthbertson: don’t be symbolic.
CUTHBERTSON (outraged). Symbolic! That is an accusation of Ibsenism. What do you mean?
CHARTERIS. Symbolic of the Old Order. Don’t persuade yourself that you represent the Old Order. There never was any Old Order.
CRAVEN. There I flatly