The G. Bernard Shaw Collection: Plays, Novels, Personal Letters, Articles, Lectures & Essays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
tramping and singing began.
“Thats the new procession,” continued the doorkeeper. “Sixteen hextras took on for it. It’s Miss Virtue’s chance for lunch, sir: you wont have long to wait now.”
Here there was a rapid pattering of feet down the staircase. Marmaduke started, and stood biting his lips as Mademoiselle Lalage, busy, hungry, and in haste, hurried towards the door.
“Come! Come on,” she said impatiently to him, as she went out. “Go and get a cab, will you. I must have something to eat; and I have to get back sharp. Do be qu —— there goes a hansom. Hi!” She whistled shrilly, and waved her umbrella. The cab came, and was directed by Marmaduke to a restaurant in Regent Street.
“I am absolutely starving,” she said as they drove off. “I have been in since eleven this morning; and of course they only called the band for half-past. They are such damned fools: they drive me mad.”
“Why dont you walk out of the theatre, and make them arrange it properly for next day?”
“Oh yes! And throw the whole day after the half, and lose my rehearsal.
It is bad enough to lose my temper. I swore, I can tell you.”
“I have no doubt you did.”
“This horse thinks he’s at a funeral. What o’clock is it?”
“It’s only eight minutes past four. There is plenty of time.”
When they alighted, Lalage hurried into the restaurant; scrutinized the tables; and selected the best lighted one. The waiter, a decorous elderly man, approached with some severity of manner, and handed a bill of fare to Marmaduke. She snatched it from him, and addressed the waiter sharply.
“Bring me some thin soup; and get me a steak to follow. Let it be a thick juicy one. If its purple and raw I wont have it; and if its done to a cinder, I wont have it: it must be red. And get me some spring cabbage and potatoes, and a pint of dry champagne — the decentest you have. And be quick.”
“And what for you, sir?” said the waiter, turning to Marmaduke.
“Never mind him,” interrupted Susanna. “Go and attend to me.”
The waiter bowed and retired.
“Old stickin-the-mud!” muttered Miss Lalage. “Is it half-past four yet?”
“No. It’s only quarter past. There’s lots of time.”
Mademoiselle Lalage ate until the soup, a good deal of bread, the steak, the vegetables, and the pint of champagne — less a glassful taken by her companion — had disappeared. Marmaduke watched her meanwhile, and consumed two ices.
“Have an ice to finish up with?” he said.
“No. I cant work on sweets,” she replied. “But I am beginning to feel alive again and comfortable. Whats the time?”
“Confound the time!” said Marmaduke. “It’s twenty minutes to five.”
“Well, I’ll drive back to the theatre. I neednt start for quarter of an hour yet.”
“Thank heaven!” said Marmaduke. “I was afraid I should not be able to get a word with you.”
“That reminds me of a crow I have to pluck with you, Mr. Marmaduke Lind.
What did you mean by telling me your name was Sharp?”
“It’s the name of a cousin of mine,” said Marmaduke, attempting to dismiss the subject with a laugh.
“It may be your cousin’s name; but it’s not yours. By the bye, is that the cousin youre engaged to?”
“What cousin? I’m not engaged to anybody.”
“That’s a lie, like your denial of your name. Come, come, Master Marmaduke: you cant humbug me. Youre too young. Hallo! What do you want?”
It was the waiter, removing some plates, and placing a bill on the table. Marmaduke put his hand into his pocket.
“Just wait a minute, please,” said Susanna. The waiter retired.
“Now then,” she resumed, placing her elbows on the table, “let us have no more nonsense. What is your little game? Are you going to pay that bill or am I?”
“I am, of course.”
“There is no of course in it — not yet, anyhow. What are you hanging about the theatre after me for? Tell me that. Dont stop to think.”
Marmaduke looked foolish, and then sulky. Finally he brightened, and said, “Look here. Youre angry with me for bringing your brother last night. But upon my soul I had no idea—”
“That’s not what I mean at all. You are dodging a plain question. When you came to the theatre, I thought you were a nice fellow; and I made friends with you. Now I find you have been telling me lies about yourself, and trying to play fast and loose. You must either give that up or give me up. I wont have you pass that stage door again if you only want to amuse yourself like other lounging cads about town.”
“What do you mean by playing fast and loose, and being a cad about town?” said Marmaduke angrily.
“I hope youre not going to make a row here in public.”
“No; but I have you where you cant make a row; and I intend to have it out with you once and for all. If you quarrel now, so help me Heaven I’ll never speak to you again!”
“It is you who are quarrelling.”
“Very well,” said Susanna, opening her purse as though the matter were decided. “Waiter.”
“I am going to pay.”
“So you can — for what you had yourself. I dont take dinners from strange men, nor pay for their ices.”
Marmaduke did not reply. He took out his purse determinedly; glanced angrily at her; and muttered, “I never thought you were that sort of woman.”
“What sort of woman?” demanded Susanna, in a tone that made the other occupants of the room turn and stare.
“Never mind,” said Marmaduke. She was about to retort, when she saw him looking into his purse with an expression of dismay. The waiter came. Susanna, instead of attempting to be beforehand in proffering the money, changed her mind, and waited. Marmaduke searched his pockets. Finding nothing, he muttered an imprecation, and, fingering his watch chain, glanced doubtfully at the waiter, who looked stolidly at the tablecloth.
“There,” said Susanna, putting down a sovereign.
Marmaduke looked on helplessly whilst the waiter changed the coin and thanked Susanna for her gratuity. Then he said, “You must let me settle with you for this tonight. Ive left nearly all my cash in the pocket of another waistcoat.”
“You will not have the chance of settling with me, either tonight or any other night. I am done with you.” And she rose and left the restaurant. Marmaduke sat doggedly for quarter of a minute. Then he went out, and ran along Regent Street, anxiously looking from face to face in search of her. At last he saw her walking at a great pace a little distance ahead of him. He made a dash and overtook her.
“Look here, Lalage,” he said, keeping up with her as she walked: “this is all rot. I didnt mean to offend you. I dont know what you mean, or what you want me to do. Dont be so unreasonable.”
No answer.
“I can stand a good deal from you; but it’s too much to be kept at your heels as if I were a beggar or a troublesome dog. Lalage.” She took no notice of him; and he stopped, trying to compose his features, which were distorted by rage. She walked on, turning into Glasshouse Street. When she had gone twenty yards, she heard him striding behind her.
“If you wont stop and talk to me,” he said, “I’ll make you. If anybody interferes with me I’ll smash