The Collected Dramas of George Bernard Shaw (Illustrated Edition). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
(proudly). Keep your own Gloria — the Gloria of your imagination. (Her emotion begins to break through her pride.) The real Gloria — the Gloria who was shocked, offended, horrified — oh, yes, quite truly — who was driven almost mad with shame by the feeling that all her power over herself had been broken down at her first real encounter with — with — (The color rushes over her face again. She covers it with her left hand, and puts her right on his left arm to support herself.)
VALENTINE. Take care. I’m losing my senses again. (Summoning all her courage, she takes away her hand from her face and puts it on his right shoulder, turning him towards her and looking him straight in the eyes. He begins to protest agitatedly.) Gloria: be sensible: it’s no use: I haven’t a penny in the world.
GLORIA. Can’t you earn one? Other people do.
VALENTINE (half delighted, half frightened). I never could — you’d be unhappy — My dearest love: I should be the merest fortune-hunting adventurer if — (Her grip on his arms tightens; and she kisses him.) Oh, Lord! (Breathless.) Oh, I — (He gasps.) I don’t know anything about women: twelve years’ experience is not enough. (In a gust of jealousy she throws him away from her; and he reels her back into the chair like a leaf before the wind, as Dolly dances in, waltzing with the waiter, followed by Mrs. Clandon and Finch, also waltzing, and Phil pirouetting by himself.)
DOLLY (sinking on the chair at the writing-table). Oh, I’m out of breath. How beautifully you waltz, William!
MRS. CLANDON (sinking on the saddlebag seat on the hearth). Oh, how could you make me do such a silly thing, Finch! I haven’t danced since the soiree at South Place twenty years ago.
GLORIA (peremptorily at Valentine). Get up. (Valentine gets up abjectly.) Now let us have no false delicacy. Tell my mother that we have agreed to marry one another. (A silence of stupefaction ensues. Valentine, dumb with panic, looks at them with an obvious impulse to run away.)
DOLLY (breaking the silence). Number Six!
PHILIP. Sh!
DOLLY (tumultuously). Oh, my feelings! I want to kiss somebody; and we bar it in the family. Where’s Finch?
McCOMAS (starting violently). No, positively — (Crampton appears in the window.)
DOLLY (running to Crampton). Oh, you’re just in time. (She kisses him.) Now (leading him forward) bless them.
GLORIA. No. I will have no such thing, even in jest. When I need a blessing, I shall ask my mother’s.
CRAMPTON (to Gloria, with deep disappointment). Am I to understand that you have engaged yourself to this young gentleman?
GLORIA (resolutely). Yes. Do you intend to be our friend or —
DOLLY (interposing). — or our father?
CRAMPTON. I should like to be both, my child. But surely — ! Mr. Valentine: I appeal to your sense of honor.
VALENTINE. You’re quite right. It’s perfect madness. If we go out to dance together I shall have to borrow five shillings from her for a ticket. Gloria: don’t be rash: you’re throwing yourself away. I’d much better clear straight out of this, and never see any of you again. I shan’t commit suicide: I shan’t even be unhappy. It’ll be a relief to me: I — I’m frightened, I’m positively frightened; and that’s the plain truth.
GLORIA (determinedly). You shall not go.
VALENTINE (quailing). No, dearest: of course not. But — oh, will somebody only talk sense for a moment and bring us all to reason! I can’t. Where’s Bohun? Bohun’s the man. Phil: go and summon Bohun —
PHILIP. From the vastly deep. I go. (He makes his bat quiver in the air and darts away through the window.)
WAITER (harmoniously to Valentine). If you will excuse my putting in a word, sir, do not let a matter of five shillings stand between you and your happiness, sir. We shall be only too pleased to put the ticket down to you: and you can settle at your convenience. Very glad to meet you in any way, very happy and pleased indeed, sir.
PHILIP (reappearing). He comes. (He waves his bat over the window. Bohun comes in, taking off his false nose and throwing it on the table in passing as he comes between Gloria and Valentine.)
VALENTINE. The point is, Mr. Bohun —
McCOMAS (interrupting from the hearthrug). Excuse me, sir: the point must be put to him by a solicitor. The question is one of an engagement between these two young people. The lady has some property, and (looking at Crampton) will probably have a good deal more.
CRAMPTON. Possibly. I hope so.
VALENTINE. And the gentleman hasn’t a rap.
BOHUN (nailing Valentine to the point instantly). Then insist on a settlement. That shocks your delicacy: most sensible precautions do. But you ask my advice; and I give it to you. Have a settlement.
GLORIA (proudly). He shall have a settlement.
VALENTINE. My good sir, I don’t want advice for myself. Give h e r some advice.
BOHUN. She won’t take it. When you’re married, she won’t take yours either — (turning suddenly on Gloria) oh, no, you won’t: you think you will; but you won’t. He’ll set to work and earn his living — (turning suddenly to Valentine) oh, yes, you will: you think you won’t; but you will. She’ll make you.
CRAMPTON (only half persuaded). Then, Mr. Bohun, you don’t think this match an unwise one?
BOHUN. Yes, I do: all matches are unwise. It’s unwise to be born; it’s unwise to be married; it’s unwise to live; and it’s unwise to die.
WAITER (insinuating himself between Crampton and Valentine). Then, if I may respectfully put in a word in, sir, so much the worse for wisdom! (To Valentine, benignly.) Cheer up, sir, cheer up: every man is frightened of marriage when it comes to the point; but it often turns out very comfortable, very enjoyable and happy indeed, sir — from time to time. I never was master in my own house, sir: my wife was like your young lady: she was of a commanding and masterful disposition, which my son has inherited. But if I had my life to live twice over, I’d do it again, I’d do it again, I assure you. You never can tell, sir: you never can tell.
PHILIP. Allow me to remark that if Gloria has made up her mind —
DOLLY. The matter’s settled and Valentine’s done for. And we’re missing all the dances.
VALENTINE (to Gloria, gallantly making the best of it). May I have a dance —
BOHUN (interposing in his grandest diapason). Excuse me: I claim that privilege as counsel’s fee. May I have the honor — thank you. (He dances away with Gloria and disappears among the lanterns, leaving Valentine gasping.)
VALENTINE (recovering his breath). Dolly: may I — (offering himself as her partner)?
DOLLY. Nonsense! (Eluding him and running round the table to the fireplace.) Finch — my Finch! (She pounces on McComas and makes him dance.)
McCOMAS (protesting). Pray restrain — really — (He is borne off dancing through the window.)
VALENTINE (making a last effort). Mrs. Clandon: may I —
PHILIP (forestalling him). Come, mother. (He seizes his mother and whirls her away.)
MRS. CLANDON (remonstrating). Phil, Phil — (She shares McComas’s fate.)
CRAMPTON (following them with senile glee). Ho! ho! He! he! he! (He goes into the garden chuckling at the fun.)
VALENTINE (collapsing on the ottoman and staring at the waiter). I might as well be a married man already. (The waiter contemplates the captured Duellist of Sex with affectionate commiseration, shaking his head slowly.)
CURTAIN.
The Devil’s Disciple (1897)