The Complete Works. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW
so much for a long time,” he said, in conclusion. “He is usually such a steady sort of fellow.”
“I see nothing very amusing in the antics of a drunken workman,” said the Countess. “How you could have left Marian in his care even for a moment I am at a loss to conceive.”
“He was not drunk, indeed,” said Marian.
“Certainly not,” said Jasper, rather indignantly. “I was walking with him for some time before we met the girls. You are very pale, Marian. Have you also a headache?”
“I have been playing tennis all day; and I am quite tired out.”
Soon afterward, when Marian was in bed, and Miss McQuinch, according to a nightly custom of theirs, was seated on the coverlet with her knees doubled up to her chin inside her bedgown, they discussed the adventure very earnestly.
“Dont understand him at all, I confess,” said Elinor, when Marian had related what had passed in the plantation. “Wasnt it rather rash to make a confidant of him in such a delicate matter?”
“That is what makes me feel so utterly ashamed. He might have known that I only wanted to do good. I thought he was so entirely above false delicacy.”
“I dont mean that. How do you know that the story is true? You only have it from Mrs. Leith Fairfax’s letter; and she is perhaps the greatest liar in the world.”
“Oh, Nelly, you ought not to talk so strongly about people. She would never venture to tell me a made-up tale about Marmaduke.”
“In my opinion, she would tell anybody anything for the sake of using her tongue or pen.”
“It is so hard to know what to do. There was nobody whom I could trust, was there? Jasper has always been against Marmaduke; and Constance, of course, was out of the question. There was Auntie, but I did not like to tell her.”
“Because she is an evil-minded old Jezebel, whom no nice woman would talk to on such a subject,” said Elinor, giving the bed a kick with her heel.
“Hush, Nelly. I am always in terror lest you should say something like that before other people, out of sheer habit.”
“Never fear. Well, you have done the best you could. No use regretting what cannot be recalled. You cannot have the security of conventionality along with the selfrespect of sincerity. By the bye, do you remember that Jasper and his fond mamma and George had a family council after dinner? You may be sure that George has told them everything.”
“What! Then my wretched attempt to have Marmaduke warned was useless. Oh, Nelly, this is too bad. Do you really think so? When I told him before dinner what Mrs. Leith Fairfax wrote, he only said he feared it was true, and refused to give me the address.”
“And so threw you back on Conolly. I am glad the responsibility rests with George. He knew very well that it was true; for he had only just been telling Jasper. Jasper told me as much in the plantation. Master Georgy has no right to be your brother. He is worse than a dissenter. Dissenters try to be gentlemen; but George has no misgivings about himself on that score; so he gives his undivided energy to his efforts to be parsonic. He is an arrant hypocrite.”
“I dont think he is a hypocrite. I think he sincerely believes that his duty to the Church requires him to behave as he does.”
“Then he is a donkey, which is worse.”
“I wish he were more natural in his manner.”
“He is natural enough. It is always the same with parsons: ‘it is their nature to.’ Goodnight. Men are all the same, my dear, all the same.”
“How do you mean?”
“Never mind. Goodnight.”
CHAPTER V
A little removed from a pretty road in West Kensington, and communicating with it by a shrubbery and an iron gate, there stood at this time a detached villa called Laurel Grove. On the opposite side were pairs of recently built houses, many of them still unlet. These, without depriving the neighbourhood of its suburban quietude, forbade any feeling of rustic seclusion, and so made it agreeable to Susanna Conolly, who lived at Laurel Grove with Marmaduke Lind.
One morning in September they were at breakfast together. Beside each was a pile of letters. Marmaduke deferred opening his until his hunger was satisfied; but Susanna, after pouring out tea for him, seized the uppermost envelope, thrust her little finger under the flap, and burst it open.
“Hm,” she said. “First rehearsal next Monday. Here he is at me again to make the engagement renewable after Christmas. What an old fool he must be not to guess why I dont want to be engaged next spring! Just look at the Times, Bob, and see if the piece is advertized yet.”
“I should think so, by Jupiter,” said Marmaduke, patiently interrupting his meal to open the newspaper.
“Here is a separate advertisement for everybody. ‘The latest Parisian
success. La petite Maison du Roi. Music by M. de Jongleur. Mr.
Faulkner has the honor to announce that an adaptation by Mr. Cribbs of
M. de Jongleur’s opera bouffe La petite Maison du Roi, entitled King
Lewis on the lewis’ — what the deuce does that mean?”
“On the loose, of course.”
“But it is spelt l-e-w —— oh! its a pun. What an infernal piece of idiocy! Then it goes on as usual, except that each name in the cast has a separate line of large print. Here you are: ‘Lalage Virtue as Madame Dubarry’ — —”
“Is that at the top?”
“Yes.”
“Before Rose Stella?”
“Yes. Why! — I didnt notice it before — you are down fifteen times!
Every alternate space has your name over again. ‘Lalage Virtue as Madame
Dubarry. Fred Smith as Louis XV. Lalage Virtue as the Dubarry. Felix
Sumner as the Due de Richelieu. Lalage Virtue as la belle Jeanneton.’
By the way, that is all rot. Cardinal Richelieu died four or five
hundred years before Madame Dubarry was born.”
“Let me see the paper. I see they have given Rose Stella the last line with a big AND before it. No matter. She is down only once; and I am down fifteen times.”
“I wonder what all these letters of mine are about! This is a bill, of course. The West Kensington Wine Company. Whew! We are getting through the champagne at the rate of about thirty pounds a month, not counting what we pay for when we dine in town.”
“Well, what matter! Champagne does nobody any harm; and I get awfully low without it.”
“All right, my dear. So long as you please yourself, and dont injure your health, I dont care. Here’s a letter of yours put among mine by mistake. It has been forwarded from your old diggings at Lambeth.”
“It’s from Ned,” said Susanna, turning pale. “He must be coming home, or he would not write. Yes, he is. What shall I do?”
“What does he say?” said Marmaduke, taking the letter from her. “‘Back at 6 on Wednesday evening. Have high tea. N.C.’ Short and sweet! Well, he will not turn up til tomorrow, at all events, even if he knows the address, which of course he doesnt.”
“He knows nothing. His note shews that. What will he do when he finds me gone? He may get the address at the post-office, where I told them to send on my letters. The landlady has most likely found out for her own information. There is no mistake about it,” said Susanna, rising and walking to