PRAED [within] Quite, thank you.

MRS WARREN [within] Leave the door open, dearie. [Vivie frowns; but
Frank checks her with a gesture, and steals to the cottage door, which
he softly sets wide open]. Oh Lor, what a draught! Youd better shut it,
dear.

[Vivie shuts it with a slam, and then, noting with disgust that her
mother's hat and shawl are lying about, takes them tidily to the window
seat, whilst Frank noiselessly shuts the cottage door.]

FRANK [exulting] Aha! Got rid of em. Well, Vivvums: what do you think of
my governor?

VIVIE [preoccupied and serious] I've hardly spoken to him. He doesn't
strike me as a particularly able person.

FRANK. Well, you know, the old man is not altogether such a fool as he
looks. You see, he was shoved into the Church, rather; and in trying to
live up to it he makes a much bigger ass of himself than he really is. I
don't dislike him as much as you might expect. He means well. How do you
think youll get on with him?

VIVIE [rather grimly] I don't think my future life will be much concerned
with him, or with any of that old circle of my mother's, except perhaps
Praed. [She sits down on the settle] What do you think of my mother?

FRANK. Really and truly?

VIVIE. Yes, really and truly.

FRANK. Well, she's ever so jolly. But she's rather a caution, isn't she?
And Crofts! Oh, my eye, Crofts! [He sits beside her].

VIVIE. What a lot, Frank!

FRANK. What a crew!

VIVIE [with intense contempt for them] If I thought that _I_ was like
that--that I was going to be a waster, shifting along from one meal to
another with no purpose, and no character, and no grit in me, I'd open
an artery and bleed to death without one moment's hesitation.

FRANK. Oh no, you wouldn't. Why should they take any grind when they can
afford not to? I wish I had their luck. No: what I object to is their
form. It isn't the thing: it's slovenly, ever so slovenly.

VIVIE. Do you think your form will be any better when youre as old as
Crofts, if you don't work?

FRANK. Of course I do. Ever so much better. Vivvums mustn't lecture: her
little boy's incorrigible. [He attempts to take her face caressingly in
his hands].

VIVIE [striking his hands down sharply] Off with you: Vivvums is not in
a humor for petting her little boy this evening. [She rises and comes
forward to the other side of the room].

FRANK [following her] How unkind!

VIVIE [stamping at him] Be serious. I'm serious.

FRANK. Good. Let us talk learnedly, Miss Warren: do you know that all
the most advanced thinkers are agreed that half the diseases of modern
civilization are due to starvation of the affections of the young. Now,
_I_--

VIVIE [cutting him short] You are very tiresome. [She opens the inner
door] Have you room for Frank there? He's complaining of starvation.

MRS WARREN [within] Of course there is [clatter of knives and glasses
as she moves the things on the table]. Here! theres room now beside me.
Come along, Mr Frank.

FRANK. Her little boy will be ever so even with his Vivvums for this.
[He passes into the kitchen].

MRS WARREN [within] Here, Vivie: come on you too, child. You must be
famished. [She enters, followed by Crofts, who holds the door open with
marked deference. She goes out without looking at him; and he shuts the
door after her]. Why George, you can't be done: you've eaten nothing. Is
there anything wrong with you?

CROFTS. Oh, all I wanted was a drink. [He thrusts his hands in his
pockets, and begins prowling about the room, restless and sulky].

MRS WARREN. Well, I like enough to eat. But a little of that cold
beef and cheese and lettuce goes a long way. [With a sigh of only half
repletion she sits down lazily on the settle].

CROFTS. What do you go encouraging that young pup for?

MRS WARREN [on the alert at once] Now see here, George: what are you
up to about that girl? I've been watching your way of looking at her.
Remember: I know you and what your looks mean.

CROFTS. Theres no harm in looking at her, is there?

MRS WARREN. I'd put you out and pack you back to London pretty soon if
I saw any of your nonsense. My girl's little finger is more to me than
your whole body and soul. [Crofts receives this with a sneering grin.
Mrs Warren, flushing a little at her failure to impose on him in the
character of a theatrically devoted mother, adds in a lower key] Make
your mind easy: the young pup has no more chance than you have.

CROFTS. Mayn't a man take an interest in a girl?

MRS WARREN. Not a man like you.

CROFTS. How old is she?

MRS WARREN. Never you mind how old she is.

CROFTS. Why do you make such a secret of it?

MRS WARREN. Because I choose.

CROFTS. Well, I'm not fifty yet; and my property is as good as it ever
was--

MRS [interrupting him] Yes; because youre as stingy as youre vicious.

CROFTS [continuing] And a baronet isn't to be picked up every day.

No other man in my position would put up with you for a mother-in-law.
Why shouldn't she marry me?

MRS WARREN. You!

CROFTS. We three could live together quite comfortably. I'd die before
her and leave her a bouncing widow with plenty of money. Why not? It's
been growing in my mind all the time I've been walking with that fool
inside there.

MRS WARREN [revolted] Yes; it's the sort of thing that _would_ grow in
your mind.

[He halts in his prowling; and the two look at one another, she
steadfastly, with a sort of awe behind her contemptuous disgust: he
stealthily, with a carnal gleam in his eye and a loose grin.]

CROFTS [suddenly becoming anxious and urgent as he sees no sign of
sympathy in her] Look here, Kitty: youre a sensible woman: you needn't
put on any moral airs. I'll ask no more questions; and you need answer
none. I'll settle the whole property on her; and if you want a checque
for yourself on the wedding day, you can name any figure you like--in
reason.

MRS WARREN. So it's come to that with you, George, like all the other
worn-out old creatures!

CROFTS [savagely] Damn you!

[Before she can retort the door of the kitchen is opened; and the
voices of the others are heard returning. Crofts, unable to recover his
presence of mind, hurries out of the cottage. The clergyman appears at
the kitchen door.]

REV. S. [looking round] Where is Sir George?

MRS WARREN. Gone out to have a pipe. [The clergyman takes his hat from
the table, and joins Mrs Warren at the fireside. Meanwhile, Vivie comes
in, followed by Frank, who collapses into the nearest chair with an air
of extreme exhaustion. Mrs Warren looks round at Vivie and says, with
her affectation of maternal patronage even more forced than usual] Well,
dearie: have you had a good supper?

VIVIE. You know what Mrs Alison's suppers are. [She turns to Frank and
pets him] Poor Frank! was all the beef gone? did it get nothing but
bread and cheese and ginger beer? [Seriously, as if she had done quite
enough trifling for one evening] Her butter is really awful. I must get
some down from the stores.

FRANK. Do, in Heaven's name!

[Vivie goes to the writing-table and makes a memorandum to order the
butter. Praed comes in from the kitchen, putting up his handkerchief,
which he has been using as a napkin.]

REV. S. Frank, my boy: it is time for us to be thinking of home.

Your mother does not know yet that we have visitors.

PRAED. I'm afraid we're giving trouble.

FRANK [rising] Not the least in the world: my mother will be delighted
to see you. She's a genuinely intellectual artistic woman; and she sees
nobody here from one year's end to another except the gov'nor; so you
can imagine how jolly dull it pans out for her. [To his father] Y o u
r e not intellectual or artistic: are you pater? So take Praed home at
once; and I'll stay here and entertain Mrs Warren. Youll pick up Crofts
in the garden. He'll be excellent company for the bull-pup.

PRAED [taking his hat from the dresser, and coming close to Frank] Come
with us, Frank. Mrs Warren has not seen Miss Vivie for a long time; and
we have prevented them from having a moment together yet.

FRANK [quite softened, and looking at Praed with romantic admiration]
Of course. I forgot. Ever so thanks for reminding me. Perfect gentleman,
Praddy. Always were. My ideal through life. [He rises to go, but
pauses a moment between the two older men, and puts his hand on Praed's
shoulder]. Ah, if you had only been my father instead of this unworthy
old man! [He puts his other hand on his father's shoulder].

REV. S. [blustering] Silence, sir, silence: you are profane.

MRS WARREN [laughing heartily] You should keep him in better order, Sam.
Good-night. Here: take George his hat and stick with my compliments.

REV. S. [taking them] Good-night. [They shake hands. As he passes Vivie
he shakes hands with her also and bids her good-night. Then, in booming
command, to Frank] Come along, sir, at once. [He goes out].

MRS WARREN. Byebye, Praddy.

PRAED. Byebye, Kitty.

[They shake hands affectionately and go out together, she accompanying
him to the garden gate.]

FRANK [to Vivie] Kissums?

VIVIE [fiercely] No. I hate you. [She takes a couple of books and some
paper from the writing-table, and sits down with them at the middle
table, at the end next the fireplace].

FRANK [grimacing] Sorry. [He goes for his cap and rifle. Mrs Warren
returns. He takes her hand] Good-night, dear Mrs Warren. [He kisses her
hand. She snatches it away, her lips tightening, and looks more than
half disposed to box his ears. He laughs mischievously and runs off,
clapping-to the door behind him].

MRS WARREN [resigning herself to an evening of boredom now that the men
are gone] Did you ever in your life hear anyone rattle on so? Isn't he a
tease? [She sits at the table]. Now that I think of it, dearie, don't you
go encouraging him. I'm sure he's a regular good-for-nothing.

VIVIE [rising to fetch more books] I'm afraid so. Poor Frank! I shall
have to get rid of him; but I shall feel sorry for him, though he's
not worth it. That man Crofts does not seem to me to be good for much
either: is he? [She throws the books on the table rather roughly].

MRS WARREN [galled by Vivie's indifference] What do you know of men,
child, to talk that way of them? Youll have to make up your mind to see
a good deal of Sir George Crofts, as he's a friend of mine.

VIVIE [quite unmoved] Why? [She sits down and opens a book]. Do you
expect that we shall be much together? You and I, I mean?

MRS WARREN [staring at her] Of course: until youre married. Youre not
going back to college again.

VIVIE. Do you think my way of life would suit you? I doubt it.

MRS WARREN. Y o u r way of life! What do you mean?

VIVIE [cutting a page of her book with the paper knife on her
chatelaine] Has it really never occurred to you, mother, that I have a
way of life like other people?

MRS WARREN. What nonsense is this youre trying to talk? Do you want to
shew your independence, now that youre a great little person at school?
Don't be a fool, child.

VIVIE [indulgently] Thats all you have to say on the subject, is it,
mother?

MRS WARREN [puzzled, then angry] Don't you keep on asking me questions
like that. [Violently] Hold your tongue. [Vivie works on, losing no
time, and saying nothing]. You and your way of life, indeed! What next?
[She looks at Vivie again. No reply].

Your way of life will be what I please, so it will. [Another pause].
Ive been noticing these airs in you ever since you got that tripos or
whatever you call it. If you think I'm going to put up with them, youre
mistaken; and the sooner you find it out, the better. [Muttering] All I
have to say on the subject, indeed! [Again raising her voice angrily] Do
you know who youre speaking to, Miss?

VIVIE [looking across at her without raising her head from her book] No.
Who are you? What are you?

MRS WARREN [rising breathless] You young imp!

VIVIE. Everybody knows my reputation, my social standing, and the
profession I intend to pursue. I know nothing about you. What is that
way of life which you invite me to share with you and Sir George Crofts,
pray?

MRS WARREN. Take care. I shall do something I'll be sorry for after, and
you too.

VIVIE [putting aside her books with cool decision] Well, let us drop the
subject until you are better able to face it. [Looking critically at her
mother] You want some good walks and a little lawn tennis to set you up.
You are shockingly out of condition: you were not able to manage twenty
yards uphill today without stopping to pant; and your wrists are mere
rolls of fat. Look at mine. [She holds out her wrists].

MRS WARREN [after looking at her helplessly, begins to whimper] Vivie--

VIVIE [springing up sharply] Now pray don't begin to cry. Anything but
that. I really cannot stand whimpering. I will go out of the room if you
do.

MRS WARREN [piteously] Oh, my darling, how can you be so hard on me?
Have I no rights over you as your mother?

VIVIE. A r e you my mother?

MRS WARREN. _Am_ I your mother? Oh, Vivie!

VIVIE. Then where are our relatives? my father? our family friends? You
claim the rights of a mother: the right to call me fool and child; to
speak to me as no woman in authority over me at college dare speak to
me; to dictate my way of life; and to force on me the acquaintance of
a brute whom anyone can see to be the most vicious sort of London man
about town. Before I give myself the trouble to resist such claims, I
may as well find out whether they have any real existence.

MRS WARREN [distracted, throwing herself on her knees] Oh no, no.

Stop, stop. I _am_ your mother: I swear it. Oh, you can't mean to turn on
me--my own child! it's not natural. You believe me, don't you? Say you
believe me.

VIVIE. Who was my father?

MRS WARREN. You don't know what youre asking. I can't tell you.

VIVIE [determinedly] Oh yes you can, if you like. I have a right to
know; and you know very well that I have that right. You can refuse
to tell me if you please; but if you do, you will see the last of me
tomorrow morning.

MRS WARREN. Oh, it's too horrible to hear you talk like that. You
wouldn't--you _couldn't_ leave me.

VIVIE [ruthlessly] Yes, without a moment's hesitation, if you trifle
with me about this. [Shivering with disgust] How can I feel sure that I
may not have the contaminated blood of that brutal waster in my veins?

MRS WARREN. No, no. On my oath it's not he, nor any of the rest that you
have ever met. I'm certain of that, at least.

[Vivie's eyes fasten sternly on her mother as the significance of this
flashes on her.]

VIVIE [slowly] You are certain of that, at _least_. Ah! You mean that
that is all you are certain of. [Thoughtfully] I see. [Mrs Warren buries
her face in her hands]. Don't do that, mother: you know you don't feel
it a bit. [Mrs Warren takes down her hands and looks up deplorably
at Vivie, who takes out her watch and says] Well, that is enough for
tonight. At what hour would you like breakfast? Is half-past eight too
early for you?

MRS WARREN [wildly] My God, what sort of woman are you?

VIVIE [coolly] The sort the world is mostly made of, I should hope.
Otherwise I don't understand how it gets its business done.

Come [taking her mother by the wrist and pulling her up pretty
resolutely]: pull yourself together. Thats right.

MRS WARREN [querulously] Youre very rough with me, Vivie.

VIVIE. Nonsense. What about bed? It's past ten.

MRS WARREN [passionately] Whats the use of my going to bed? Do you think
I could sleep?

VIVIE. Why not? I shall.

MRS WARREN. You! you've no heart. [She suddenly breaks out vehemently in
her natural tongue--the dialect of a woman of the people--with all her
affectations of maternal authority and conventional manners gone, and an
overwhelming inspiration of true conviction and scorn in her] Oh, I wont
bear it: I won't put up with the injustice of it. What right have you to
set yourself up above me like this? You boast of what you are to me--to
_me_, who gave you a chance of being what you are. What chance had I?
Shame on you for a bad daughter and a stuck-up prude!

VIVIE [sitting down with a shrug, no longer confident; for her replies,
which have sounded sensible and strong to her so far, now begin to ring
rather woodenly and even priggishly against the new tone of her mother]
Don't think for a moment I set myself above you in any way. You attacked
me with the conventional authority of a mother: I defended myself with
the conventional superiority of a respectable woman. Frankly, I am not
going to stand any of your nonsense; and when you drop it I shall not
expect you to stand any of mine. I shall always respect your right to
your own opinions and your own way of life.

MRS WARREN. My own opinions and my own way of life! Listen to her
talking! Do you think I was brought up like you? able to pick and choose
my own way of life? Do you think I did what I did because I liked it, or
thought it right, or wouldn't rather have gone to college and been a lady
if I'd had the chance?

VIVIE. Everybody has some choice, mother. The poorest girl alive may
not be able to choose between being Queen of England or Principal
of Newnham; but she can choose between ragpicking and flowerselling,
according to her taste. People are always blaming circumstances for what
they are. I don't believe in circumstances. The people who get on in
this world are the people who get up and look for the circumstances they
want, and, if they can't find them, make them.

MRS WARREN. Oh, it's easy to talk, isn't it? Here! would you like to know
what _my_ circumstances were?

VIVIE. Yes: you had better tell me. Won't you sit down?

MRS WARREN. Oh, I'll sit down: don't you be afraid. [She plants her chair
farther forward with brazen energy, and sits down. Vivie is impressed in
spite of herself]. D'you know what your gran'mother was?

VIVIE. No.

MRS WARREN. No, you don't. I do. She called herself a widow and had a
fried-fish shop down by the Mint, and kept herself and four daughters
out of it. Two of us were sisters: that was me and Liz; and we were both
good-looking and well made. I suppose our father was a well-fed man:
mother pretended he was a gentleman; but I don't know. The other two
were only half sisters: undersized, ugly, starved looking, hard working,
honest poor creatures: Liz and I would have half-murdered them if
mother hadn't half-murdered us to keep our hands off them. They were the
respectable ones. Well, what did they get by their respectability? I'll
tell you. One of them worked in a whitelead factory twelve hours a day
for nine shillings a week until she died of lead poisoning. She only
expected to get her hands a little paralyzed; but she died. The other
was always held up to us as a model because she married a Government
laborer in the Deptford victualling yard, and kept his room and the
three children neat and tidy on eighteen shillings a week--until he took
to drink. That was worth being respectable for, wasn't it?

VIVIE [now thoughtfully attentive] Did you and your sister think so?

MRS WARREN. Liz didn't, I can tell you: she had more spirit. We both went
to a church school--that was part of the ladylike airs we gave ourselves
to be superior to the children that knew nothing and went nowhere--and
we stayed there until Liz went out one night and never came back. I
know the schoolmistress thought I'd soon follow her example; for
the clergyman was always warning me that Lizzie'd end by jumping off
Waterloo Bridge. Poor fool: that was all he knew about it! But I was
more afraid of the whitelead factory than I was of the river; and so
would you have been in my place. That clergyman got me a situation as
a scullery maid in a temperance restaurant where they sent out for
anything you liked. Then I was a waitress; and then I went to the bar
at Waterloo station: fourteen hours a day serving drinks and washing
glasses for four shillings a week and my board. That was considered a
great promotion for me. Well, one cold, wretched night, when I was so
tired I could hardly keep myself awake, who should come up for a half of
Scotch but Lizzie, in a long fur cloak, elegant and comfortable, with a
lot of sovereigns in her purse.

VIVIE [grimly] My aunt Lizzie!

MRS WARREN. Yes; and a very good aunt to have, too. She's living down
at Winchester now, close to the cathedral, one of the most respectable
ladies there. Chaperones girls at the country ball, if you please.
No river for Liz, thank you! You remind me of Liz a little: she was a
first-rate business woman--saved money from the beginning--never let
herself look too like what she was--never lost her head or threw away a
chance. When she saw I'd grown up good-looking she said to me across the
bar "What are you doing there, you little fool? wearing out your health
and your appearance for other people's profit!" Liz was saving money
then to take a house for herself in Brussels; and she thought we two
could save faster than one. So she lent me some money and gave me a
start; and I saved steadily and first paid her back, and then went into
business with her as a partner. Why shouldn't I have done it? The house
in Brussels was real high class: a much better place for a woman to be
in than the factory where Anne Jane got poisoned. None of the girls were
ever treated as I was treated in the scullery of that temperance place,
or at the Waterloo bar, or at home. Would you have had me stay in them
and become a worn out old drudge before I was forty?

VIVIE [intensely interested by this time] No; but why did you choose
that business? Saving money and good management will succeed in any
business.

MRS WARREN. Yes, saving money. But where can a woman get the money to
save in any other business? Could y o u save out of four shillings a
week and keep yourself dressed as well? Not you. Of course, if youre
a plain woman and can't earn anything more; or if you have a turn for
music, or the stage, or newspaper-writing: thats different. But neither
Liz nor I had any turn for such things at all: all we had was our
appearance and our turn for pleasing men. Do you think we were such
fools as to let other people trade in our good looks by employing us
as shopgirls, or barmaids, or waitresses, when we could trade in them
ourselves and get all the profits instead of starvation wages? Not
likely.

VIVIE. You were certainly quite justified--from the business point of
view.

MRS WARREN. Yes; or any other point of view. What is any respectable
girl brought up to do but to catch some rich man's fancy and get the
benefit of his money by marrying him?--as if a marriage ceremony
could make any difference in the right or wrong of the thing! Oh, the
hypocrisy of the world makes me sick! Liz and I had to work and save and
calculate just like other people; elseways we should be as poor as any
good-for-nothing drunken waster of a woman that thinks her luck will
last for ever. [With great energy] I despise such people: theyve
no character; and if theres a thing I hate in a woman, it's want of
character.

VIVIE. Come now, mother: frankly! Isn't it part of what you call
character in a woman that she should greatly dislike such a way of
making money?

MRS WARREN. Why, of course. Everybody dislikes having to work and make
money; but they have to do it all the same. I'm sure I've often pitied
a poor girl, tired out and in low spirits, having to try to please some
man that she doesn't care two straws for--some half-drunken fool that
thinks he's making himself agreeable when he's teasing and worrying and
disgusting a woman so that hardly any money could pay her for putting up
with it. But she has to bear with disagreeables and take the rough with
the smooth, just like a nurse in a hospital or anyone else. It's not
work that any woman would do for pleasure, goodness knows; though to
hear the pious people talk you would suppose it was a bed of roses.

VIVIE. Still, you consider it worth while. It pays.

MRS WARREN. Of course it's worth while to a poor girl, if she can resist
temptation and is good-looking and well conducted and sensible. It's far
better than any other employment open to her.

I always thought that it oughtn't to be. It _can't_ be right, Vivie, that
there shouldn't be better opportunities for women. I stick to that: it's
wrong. But it's so, right or wrong; and a girl must make the best of it.
But of course it's not worth while for a lady. If you took to it youd be
a fool; but I should have been a fool if I'd taken to anything else.

VIVIE [more and more deeply moved] Mother: suppose we were both as poor
as you were in those wretched old days, are you quite sure that you
wouldn't advise me to try the Waterloo bar, or marry a laborer, or even
go into the factory?

MRS WARREN [indignantly] Of course not. What sort of mother do you take
me for! How could you keep your self-respect in such starvation
and slavery? And whats a woman worth? whats life worth? without
self-respect! Why am I independent and able to give my daughter
a first-rate education, when other women that had just as good
opportunities are in the gutter? Because I always knew how to respect
myself and control myself. Why is Liz looked up to in a cathedral town?
The same reason. Where would we be now if we'd minded the clergyman's
foolishness? Scrubbing floors for one and sixpence a day and nothing to
look forward to but the workhouse infirmary. Don't you be led astray by
people who don't know the world, my girl. The only way for a woman to
provide for herself decently is for her to be good to some man that can
afford to be good to her. If she's in his own station of life, let her
make him marry her; but if she's far beneath him she can't expect it: why
should she? it wouldn't be for her own happiness. Ask any lady in London
society that has daughters; and she'll tell you the same, except that I
tell you straight and she'll tell you crooked. Thats all the difference.

VIVIE [fascinated, gazing at her] My dear mother: you are a wonderful
woman: you are stronger than all England. And are you really and truly
not one wee bit doubtful--or--or--ashamed?

MRS WARREN. Well, of course, dearie, it's only good manners to be
ashamed of it: it's expected from a woman. Women have to pretend to
feel a great deal that they don't feel. Liz used to be angry with me for
plumping out the truth about it. She used to say that when every woman
could learn enough from what was going on in the world before her eyes,
there was no need to talk about it to her. But then Liz was such a
perfect lady! She had the true instinct of it; while I was always a bit
of a vulgarian. I used to be so pleased when you sent me your photos
to see that you were growing up like Liz: you've just her ladylike,
determined way. But I can't stand saying one thing when everyone knows
I mean another. Whats the use in such hypocrisy? If people arrange the
world that way for women, theres no good pretending it's arranged the
other way. No: I never was a bit ashamed really. I consider I had a
right to be proud of how we managed everything so respectably, and never
had a word against us, and how the girls were so well taken care of.
Some of them did very well: one of them married an ambassador. But of
course now I daren't talk about such things: whatever would they think
of us! [She yawns]. Oh dear! I do believe I'm getting sleepy after all.
[She stretches herself lazily, thoroughly relieved by her explosion, and
placidly ready for her night's rest].

VIVIE. I believe it is I who will not be able to sleep now. [She goes
to the dresser and lights the candle. Then she extinguishes the lamp,
darkening the room a good deal]. Better let in some fresh air before
locking up. [She opens the cottage door, and finds that it is broad
moonlight]. What a beautiful night! Look! [She draws the curtains of the
window. The landscape is seen bathed in the radiance of the harvest moon
rising over Blackdown].

MRS WARREN [with a perfunctory glance at the scene] Yes, dear; but take
care you don't catch your death of cold from the night air.

VIVIE [contemptuously] Nonsense.

MRS WARREN [querulously] Oh yes: everything I say is nonsense, according
to you.

VIVIE [turning to her quickly] No: really that is not so, mother.

You have got completely the better of me tonight, though I intended it
to be the other way. Let us be good friends now.

MRS WARREN [shaking her head a little ruefully] So it _has_ been the
other way. But I suppose I must give in to it. I always got the worst of
it from Liz; and now I suppose it'll be the same with you.

VIVIE. Well, never mind. Come: good-night, dear old mother. [She takes
her mother in her arms].

MRS WARREN [fondly] I brought you up well, didn't I, dearie?

VIVIE. You did.

MRS WARREN. And youll be good to your poor old mother for it, won't you?

VIVIE. I will, dear. [Kissing her] Good-night.

MRS WARREN [with unction] Blessings on my own dearie darling! a mother's
blessing!

[She embraces her daughter protectingly, instinctively looking upward
for divine sanction.]




ACT III


[In the Rectory garden next morning, with the sun shining from a
cloudless sky. The garden wall has a five-barred wooden gate, wide
enough to admit a carriage, in the middle. Beside the gate hangs a bell
on a coiled spring, communicating with a pull outside. The carriage
drive comes down the middle of the garden and then swerves to its left,
where it ends in a little gravelled circus opposite the Rectory porch.
Beyond the gate is seen the dusty high road, parallel with the wall,
bounded on the farther side by a strip of turf and an unfenced pine
wood. On the lawn, between the house and the drive, is a clipped yew
tree, with a garden bench in its shade. On the opposite side the garden
is shut in by a box hedge; and there is a little sundial on the turf,
with an iron chair near it. A little path leads through the box hedge,
behind the sundial.]

[Frank, seated on the chair near the sundial, on which he has placed the
morning paper, is reading The Standard. His father comes from the house,
red-eyed and shivery, and meets Frank's eye with misgiving.]

FRANK [looking at his watch] Half-past eleven. Nice your for a rector to
come down to breakfast!

REV. S. Don't mock, Frank: don't mock. I am a little--er--[Shivering]--

FRANK. Off color?

REV. S. [repudiating the expression] No, sir: _unwell_ this morning.
Where's your mother?

FRANK. Don't be alarmed: she's not here. Gone to town by the 11.13
with Bessie. She left several messages for you. Do you feel equal to
receiving them now, or shall I wait til you've breakfasted?

REV. S. I h a v e breakfasted, sir. I am surprised at your mother
going to town when we have people staying with us. They'll think it very
strange.

FRANK. Possibly she has considered that. At all events, if Crofts is
going to stay here, and you are going to sit up every night with him
until four, recalling the incidents of your fiery youth, it is clearly
my mother's duty, as a prudent housekeeper, to go up to the stores and
order a barrel of whisky and a few hundred siphons.

REV. S. I did not observe that Sir George drank excessively.

FRANK. You were not in a condition to, gov'nor.

REV. S. Do you mean to say that _I_--?

FRANK [calmly] I never saw a beneficed clergyman less sober. The
anecdotes you told about your past career were so awful that I really
don't think Praed would have passed the night under your roof if it hadnt
been for the way my mother and he took to one another.

REV. S. Nonsense, sir. I am Sir George Crofts' host. I must talk to him
about something; and he has only one subject. Where is Mr Praed now?

FRANK. He is driving my mother and Bessie to the station.

REV. S. Is Crofts up yet?

FRANK. Oh, long ago. He hasn't turned a hair: he's in much better
practice than you. Has kept it up ever since, probably. He's taken
himself off somewhere to smoke.

[Frank resumes his paper. The parson turns disconsolately towards the
gate; then comes back irresolutely.]

REV. S. Er--Frank.

FRANK. Yes.

REV. S. Do you think the Warrens will expect to be asked here after
yesterday afternoon?

FRANK. Theyve been asked already.

REV. S. [appalled] What!!!

FRANK. Crofts informed us at breakfast that you told him to bring Mrs
Warren and Vivie over here to-day, and to invite them to make this house
their home. My mother then found she must go to town by the 11.13 train.

REV. S. [with despairing vehemence] I never gave any such invitation. I
never thought of such a thing.

FRANK [compassionately] How do you know, gov'nor, what you said and
thought last night?

PRAED [coming in through the hedge] Good morning.

REV. S. Good morning. I must apologize for not having met you at
breakfast. I have a touch of--of--

FRANK. Clergyman's sore throat, Praed. Fortunately not chronic.

PRAED [changing the subject] Well I must say your house is in a charming
spot here. Really most charming.

REV. S. Yes: it is indeed. Frank will take you for a walk, Mr Praed,
if you like. I'll ask you to excuse me: I must take the opportunity
to write my sermon while Mrs Gardner is away and you are all amusing
yourselves. You won't mind, will you?

PRAED. Certainly not. Don't stand on the slightest ceremony with me.

REV. S. Thank you. I'll--er--er--[He stammers his way to the porch and
vanishes into the house].

PRAED. Curious thing it must be writing a sermon every week.

FRANK. Ever so curious, if he did it. He buys em. He's gone for some
soda water.

PRAED. My dear boy: I wish you would be more respectful to your father.
You know you can be so nice when you like.

FRANK. My dear Praddy: you forget that I have to live with the governor.
When two people live together--it don't matter whether theyre father and
son or husband and wife or brother and sister--they can't keep up the
polite humbug thats so easy for ten minutes on an afternoon call.
Now the governor, who unites to many admirable domestic qualities the
irresoluteness of a sheep and the pompousness and aggressiveness of a
jackass--

PRAED. No, pray, pray, my dear Frank, remember! He is your father.

FRANK. I give him due credit for that. [Rising and flinging down his
paper] But just imagine his telling Crofts to bring the Warrens over
here! He must have been ever so drunk. You know, my dear Praddy, my
mother wouldn't stand Mrs Warren for a moment. Vivie mustn't come here
until she's gone back to town.

PRAED. But your mother doesn't know anything about Mrs Warren, does she?
[He picks up the paper and sits down to read it].

FRANK. I don't know. Her journey to town looks as if she did. Not that
my mother would mind in the ordinary way: she has stuck like a brick to
lots of women who had got into trouble. But they were all nice women.
Thats what makes the real difference. Mrs Warren, no doubt, has her
merits; but she's ever so rowdy; and my mother simply wouldn't put up
with her. So--hallo! [This exclamation is provoked by the reappearance
of the clergyman, who comes out of the house in haste and dismay].

REV. S. Frank: Mrs Warren and her daughter are coming across the heath
with Crofts: I saw them from the study windows. What _am_ I to say about
your mother?

FRANK. Stick on your hat and go out and say how delighted you are to see
them; and that Frank's in the garden; and that mother and Bessie have
been called to the bedside of a sick relative, and were ever so
sorry they couldn't stop; and that you hope Mrs Warren slept well;
and--and--say any blessed thing except the truth, and leave the rest to
Providence.

REV. S. But how are we to get rid of them afterwards?

FRANK. Theres no time to think of that now. Here! [He bounds into the
house].

REV. S. He's so impetuous. I don't know what to do with him, Mr Praed.

FRANK [returning with a clerical felt hat, which he claps on his
father's head]. Now: off with you. [Rushing him through the gate].
Praed and I'll wait here, to give the thing an unpremeditated air. [The
clergyman, dazed but obedient, hurries off].

FRANK. We must get the old girl back to town somehow, Praed. Come!
Honestly, dear Praddy, do you like seeing them together?

PRAED. Oh, why not?

FRANK [his teeth on edge] Don't it make your flesh creep ever so little?
that wicked old devil, up to every villainy under the sun, I'll swear,
and Vivie--ugh!

PRAED. Hush, pray. Theyre coming.

[The clergyman and Crofts are seen coming along the road, followed by
Mrs Warren and Vivie walking affectionately together.]

FRANK. Look: she actually has her arm round the old woman's waist. It's
her right arm: she began it. She's gone sentimental, by God! Ugh! ugh!
Now do you feel the creeps? [The clergyman opens the gate: and Mrs
Warren and Vivie pass him and stand in the middle of the garden looking
at the house. Frank, in an ecstasy of dissimulation, turns gaily to Mrs
Warren, exclaiming] Ever so delighted to see you, Mrs Warren. This quiet
old rectory garden becomes you perfectly.

MRS WARREN. Well, I never! Did you hear that, George? He says I look
well in a quiet old rectory garden.

REV. S. [still holding the gate for Crofts, who loafs through it,
heavily bored] You look well everywhere, Mrs Warren.

FRANK. Bravo, gov'nor! Now look here: lets have a treat before lunch.
First lets see the church. Everyone has to do that. It's a regular old
thirteenth century church, you know: the gov'nor's ever so fond of it,
because he got up a restoration fund and had it completely rebuilt six
years ago. Praed will be able to shew its points.

PRAED [rising] Certainly, if the restoration has left any to shew.

REV. S. [mooning hospitably at them] I shall be pleased, I'm sure, if
Sir George and Mrs Warren really care about it.

MRS WARREN. Oh, come along and get it over.

CROFTS [turning back toward the gate] I've no objection.

REV. S. Not that way. We go through the fields, if you don't mind. Round
here. [He leads the way by the little path through the box hedge].

CROFTS. Oh, all right. [He goes with the parson].

[Praed follows with Mrs Warren. Vivie does not stir: she watches them
until they have gone, with all the lines of purpose in her face marking
it strongly.]

FRANK. Ain't you coming?

VIVIE. No. I want to give you a warning, Frank. You were making fun of
my mother just now when you said that about the rectory garden. That is
barred in the future. Please treat my mother with as much respect as you
treat your own.

FRANK. My dear Viv: she wouldn't appreciate it: the two cases require
different treatment. But what on earth has happened to you? Last night
we were perfectly agreed as to your mother and her set. This morning I
find you attitudinizing sentimentally with your arm around your parent's
waist.

VIVIE [flushing] Attitudinizing!

FRANK. That was how it struck me. First time I ever saw you do a
second-rate thing.

VIVIE [controlling herself] Yes, Frank: there has been a change: but I
don't think it a change for the worse. Yesterday I was a little prig.

FRANK. And today?

VIVIE [wincing; then looking at him steadily] Today I know my mother
better than you do.

FRANK. Heaven forbid!

VIVIE. What do you mean?

FRANK. Viv: theres a freemasonry among thoroughly immoral people that
you know nothing of. You've too much character. _That's_ the bond
between your mother and me: that's why I know her better than youll ever
know her.

VIVIE. You are wrong: you know nothing about her. If you knew the
circumstances against which my mother had to struggle--

FRANK [adroitly finishing the sentence for her] I should know why she is
what she is, shouldn't I? What difference would that make?

Circumstances or no circumstances, Viv, you won't be able to stand your
mother.

VIVIE [very angry] Why not?

FRANK. Because she's an old wretch, Viv. If you ever put your arm around
her waist in my presence again, I'll shoot myself there and then as a
protest against an exhibition which revolts me.

VIVIE. Must I choose between dropping your acquaintance and dropping my
mother's?

FRANK [gracefully] That would put the old lady at ever such a
disadvantage. No, Viv: your infatuated little boy will have to stick to
you in any case. But he's all the more anxious that you shouldn't make
mistakes. It's no use, Viv: your mother's impossible. She may be a good
sort; but she's a bad lot, a very bad lot.

VIVIE [hotly] Frank--! [He stands his ground. She turns away and
sits down on the bench under the yew tree, struggling to recover her
self-command. Then she says] Is she to be deserted by the world because
she's what you call a bad lot? Has she no right to live?

FRANK. No fear of that, Viv: _she_ won't ever be deserted. [He sits on
the bench beside her].

VIVIE. But I am to desert her, I suppose.

FRANK [babyishly, lulling her and making love to her with his voice]
Mustn't go live with her. Little family group of mother and daughter
wouldn't be a success. Spoil o u r little group.

VIVIE [falling under the spell] What little group?

FRANK. The babes in the wood: Vivie and little Frank. [He nestles
against her like a weary child]. Lets go and get covered up with leaves.

VIVIE [rhythmically, rocking him like a nurse] Fast asleep, hand in
hand, under the trees.

FRANK. The wise little girl with her silly little boy.

VIVIE. The deal little boy with his dowdy little girl.

FRANK. Ever so peaceful, and relieved from the imbecility of the little
boy's father and the questionableness of the little girl's--

VIVIE [smothering the word against her breast] Sh-sh-sh-sh! little girl
wants to forget all about her mother. [They are silent for some moments,
rocking one another. Then Vivie wakes up with a shock, exclaiming] What
a pair of fools we are! Come: sit up. Gracious! your hair. [She smooths
it]. I wonder do all grown up people play in that childish way when
nobody is looking.

I never did it when I was a child.

FRANK. Neither did I. You are my first playmate. [He catches her hand to
kiss it, but checks himself to look around first. Very unexpectedly, he
sees Crofts emerging from the box hedge]. Oh damn!

VIVIE. Why damn, dear?

FRANK [whispering] Sh! Here's this brute Crofts. [He sits farther away
from her with an unconcerned air].

CROFTS. Could I have a few words with you, Miss Vivie?

VIVIE. Certainly.

CROFTS [to Frank] Youll excuse me, Gardner. Theyre waiting for you in
the church, if you don't mind.

FRANK [rising] Anything to oblige you, Crofts--except church. If you
should happen to want me, Vivvums, ring the gate bell. [He goes into the
house with unruffled suavity].

CROFTS [watching him with a crafty air as he disappears, and speaking to
Vivie with an assumption of being on privileged terms with her] Pleasant
young fellow that, Miss Vivie. Pity he has no money, isn't it?

VIVIE. Do you think so?

CROFTS. Well, whats he to do? No profession. No property. Whats he good
for?

VIVIE. I realize his disadvantages, Sir George.

CROFTS [a little taken aback at being so precisely interpreted] Oh, it's
not that. But while we're in this world we're in it; and money's money.
[Vivie does not answer]. Nice day, isn't it?

VIVIE [with scarcely veiled contempt for this effort at conversation]
Very.

CROFTS [with brutal good humor, as if he liked her pluck] Well thats not
what I came to say. [Sitting down beside her] Now listen, Miss Vivie.
I'm quite aware that I'm not a young lady's man.

VIVIE. Indeed, Sir George?

CROFTS. No; and to tell you the honest truth I don't want to be either.
But when I say a thing I mean it; and when I feel a sentiment I feel it
in earnest; and what I value I pay hard money for. Thats the sort of man
I am.

VIVIE. It does you great credit, I'm sure.

CROFTS. Oh, I don't mean to praise myself. I have my faults, Heaven
knows: no man is more sensible of that than I am. I know I'm not
perfect: thats one of the advantages of being a middle-aged man; for
I'm not a young man, and I know it. But my code is a simple one, and, I
think, a good one. Honor between man and man; fidelity between man and
woman; and no can't about this religion or that religion, but an honest
belief that things are making for good on the whole.

VIVIE [with biting irony] "A power, not ourselves, that makes for
righteousness," eh?

CROFTS [taking her seriously] Oh certainly. Not ourselves, of course. Y
o u understand what I mean. Well, now as to practical matters. You may
have an idea that I've flung my money about; but I havn't: I'm richer
today than when I first came into the property. I've used my knowledge of
the world to invest my money in ways that other men have overlooked; and
whatever else I may be, I'm a safe man from the money point of view.

VIVIE. It's very kind of you to tell me all this.

CROFTS. Oh well, come, Miss Vivie: you needn't pretend you don't see what
I'm driving at. I want to settle down with a Lady Crofts. I suppose you
think me very blunt, eh?

VIVIE. Not at all: I am very much obliged to you for being so definite
and business-like. I quite appreciate the offer: the money, the
position, _Lady Crofts_, and so on. But I think I will say no, if you
don't mind, I'd rather not. [She rises, and strolls across to the
sundial to get out of his immediate neighborhood].

CROFTS [not at all discouraged, and taking advantage of the additional
room left him on the seat to spread himself comfortably, as if a few
preliminary refusals were part of the inevitable routine of courtship]
I'm in no hurry. It was only just to let you know in case young Gardner
should try to trap you. Leave the question open.

VIVIE [sharply] My no is final. I won't go back from it.

[Crofts is not impressed. He grins; leans forward with his elbows on his
knees to prod with his stick at some unfortunate insect in the grass;
and looks cunningly at her. She turns away impatiently.]

CROFTS. I'm a good deal older than you. Twenty-five years: quarter of
a century. I shan't live for ever; and I'll take care that you shall be
well off when I'm gone.

VIVIE. I am proof against even that inducement, Sir George. Don't you
think youd better take your answer? There is not the slightest chance of
my altering it.

CROFTS [rising, after a final slash at a daisy, and coming nearer to
her] Well, no matter. I could tell you some things that would change
your mind fast enough; but I wont, because I'd rather win you by honest
affection. I was a good friend to your mother: ask her whether I wasn't.
She'd never have make the money that paid for your education if it hadnt
been for my advice and help, not to mention the money I advanced her.
There are not many men who would have stood by her as I have. I put not
less than forty thousand pounds into it, from first to last.

VIVIE [staring at him] Do you mean to say that you were my mother's
business partner?

CROFTS. Yes. Now just think of all the trouble and the explanations
it would save if we were to keep the whole thing in the family, so to
speak. Ask your mother whether she'd like to have to explain all her
affairs to a perfect stranger.

VIVIE. I see no difficulty, since I understand that the business is
wound up, and the money invested.

CROFTS [stopping short, amazed] Wound up! Wind up a business thats
paying 35 per cent in the worst years! Not likely. Who told you that?

VIVIE [her color quite gone] Do you mean that it is still--? [She stops
abruptly, and puts her hand on the sundial to support herself. Then she
gets quickly to the iron chair and sits down].

What business are you talking about?

CROFTS. Well, the fact is it's not what would considered exactly a
high-class business in my set--the country set, you know--o u r set it
will be if you think better of my offer. Not that theres any mystery
about it: don't think that. Of course you know by your mother's being
in it that it's perfectly straight and honest. I've known her for many
years; and I can say of her that she'd cut off her hands sooner than
touch anything that was not what it ought to be. I'll tell you all about
it if you like. I don't know whether you've found in travelling how hard
it is to find a really comfortable private hotel.

VIVIE [sickened, averting her face] Yes: go on.

CROFTS. Well, thats all it is. Your mother has got a genius for managing
such things. We've got two in Brussels, one in Ostend, one in Vienna,
and two in Budapest. Of course there are others besides ourselves in
it; but we hold most of the capital; and your mother's indispensable
as managing director. You've noticed, I daresay, that she travels a good
deal. But you see you can't mention such things in society. Once let out
the word hotel and everybody thinks you keep a public-house. You wouldn't
like people to say that of your mother, would you? Thats why we're so
reserved about it. By the way, youll keep it to yourself, won't you?
Since it's been a secret so long, it had better remain so.

VIVIE. And this is the business you invite me to join you in?

CROFTS. Oh no. My wife shan't be troubled with business. Youll not be in
it more than you've always been.

VIVIE. _I_ always been! What do you mean?

CROFTS. Only that you've always lived on it. It paid for your education
and the dress you have on your back. Don't turn up your nose at business,
Miss Vivie: where would your Newnhams and Girtons be without it?

VIVIE [rising, almost beside herself] Take care. I know what this
business is.

CROFTS [starting, with a suppressed oath] Who told you?

VIVIE. Your partner. My mother.

CROFTS [black with rage] The old--

VIVIE. Just so.

[He swallows the epithet and stands for a moment swearing and raging
foully to himself. But he knows that his cue is to be sympathetic. He
takes refuge in generous indignation.]

CROFTS. She ought to have had more consideration for you. _I'd_ never
have told you.

VIVIE. I think you would probably have told me when we were married: it
would have been a convenient weapon to break me in with.

CROFTS [quite sincerely] I never intended that. On my word as a
gentleman I didn't.

[Vivie wonders at him. Her sense of the irony of his protest cools and
braces her. She replies with contemptuous self-possession.]

VIVIE. It does not matter. I suppose you understand that when we leave
here today our acquaintance ceases.