RIDGEON. My patients call me in as a physician, not as a
commercial traveller.

A knock at the door.

Louis goes unconcernedly to open it, pursuing the subject as he
goes.

LOUIS. But you must have great influence with them. You must know
such lots of things about them--private things that they wouldnt
like to have known. They wouldnt dare to refuse you.

RIDGEON [exploding] Well, upon my--

Louis opens the door, and admits Sir Patrick, Sir Ralph, and
Walpole.

RIDGEON [proceeding furiously] Walpole: Ive been here hardly ten
minutes; and already he's tried to borrow 150 pounds from me.
Then he proposed that I should get the money for him by
blackmailing his wife; and youve just interrupted him in the act
of suggesting that I should blackmail my patients into sitting to
him for their portraits.

LOUIS. Well, Ridgeon, if this is what you call being an honorable
man! I spoke to you in confidence.

SIR PATRICK. We're all going to speak to you in confidence, young
man.

WALPOLE [hanging his hat on the only peg left vacant on the hat-
stand] We shall make ourselves at home for half an hour, Dubedat.
Dont be alarmed: youre a most fascinating chap; and we love you.

LOUIS. Oh, all right, all right. Sit down--anywhere you can. Take
this chair, Sir Patrick [indicating the one on the throne]. Up-z-
z-z! [helping him up: Sir Patrick grunts and enthrones himself].
Here you are, B. B. [Sir Ralph glares at the familiarity; but
Louis, quite undisturbed, puts a big book and a sofa cushion on
the dais, on Sir Patrick's right; and B. B. sits down, under
protest]. Let me take your hat. [He takes B. B.'s hat
unceremoniously, and substitutes it for the cardinal's hat on the
head of the lay figure, thereby ingeniously destroying the
dignity of the conclave. He then draws the piano stool from the
wall and offers it to Walpole]. You dont mind this, Walpole, do
you? [Walpole accepts the stool, and puts his hand into his
pocket for his cigaret case. Missing it, he is reminded of his
loss].

WALPOLE. By the way, I'll trouble you for my cigaret case, if you
dont mind?

LOUIS. What cigaret case?

WALPOLE. The gold one I lent you at the Star and Garter.

LOUIS [surprised] Was that yours?

WALPOLE. Yes.

LOUIS. I'm awfully sorry, old chap. I wondered whose it was. I'm
sorry to say this is all thats left of it. [He hitches up his
smock; produces a card from his waistcoat pocket; and hands it to
Walpole].

WALPOLE. A pawn ticket!

LOUIS [reassuringly] It's quite safe: he cant sell it for a year,
you know. I say, my dear Walpole, I am sorry. [He places his hand
ingenuously on Walpole's shoulder and looks frankly at him].

WALPOLE [sinking on the stool with a gasp] Dont mention it. It
adds to your fascination.

RIDGEON [who has been standing near the easel] Before we go any
further, you have a debt to pay, Mr Dubedat.

LOUIS. I have a precious lot of debts to pay, Ridgeon. I'll fetch
you a chair. [He makes for the inner door].

RIDGEON [stopping him] You shall not leave the room until you pay
it. It's a small one; and pay it you must and shall. I dont so
much mind your borrowing 10 pounds from one of my guests and 20
pounds from the other--

WALPOLE. I walked into it, you know. I offered it.

RIDGEON. --they could afford it. But to clean poor Blenkinsop out
of his last half-crown was damnable. I intend to give him that
half-crown and to be in a position to pledge him my word that you
paid it. I'll have that out of you, at all events.

B. B. Quite right, Ridgeon. Quite right. Come, young man! down
with the dust. Pay up.

LOUIS. Oh, you neednt make such a fuss about it. Of course I'll
pay it. I had no idea the poor fellow was hard up. I'm as shocked
as any of you about it. [Putting his hand into his pocket] Here
you are. [Finding his pocket empty] Oh, I say, I havnt any money
on me just at present. Walpole: would you mind lending me half-a-
crown just to settle this.

WALPOLE. Lend you half-- [his voice faints away].

LOUIS. Well, if you dont, Blenkinsop wont get it; for I havnt a
rap: you may search my pockets if you like.

WALPOLE. Thats conclusive. [He produces half-a-crown].

LOUIS [passing it to Ridgeon] There! I'm really glad thats
settled: it was the only thing that was on my conscience. Now I
hope youre all satisfied.

SIR PATRICK. Not quite, Mr Dubedat. Do you happen to know a young
woman named Minnie Tinwell?

LOUIS. Minnie! I should think I do; and Minnie knows me too.
She's a really nice good girl, considering her station. Whats
become of her?

WALPOLE. It's no use bluffing, Dubedat. Weve seen Minnie's
marriage lines.

LOUIS [coolly] Indeed? Have you seen Jennifer's?

RIDGEON [rising in irrepressible rage] Do you dare insinuate that
Mrs Dubedat is living with you without being married to you?

LOUIS. Why not?

B. B.    { [echoing him in  }  Why not!
SIR PATRICK { various tones of }  Why not!
RIDGEON { scandalized  }  Why not!
WALPOLE { amazement]  }  Why not!

LOUIS. Yes, why not? Lots of people do it: just as good people as
you. Why dont you learn to think, instead of bleating and bashing
like a lot of sheep when you come up against anything youre not
accustomed to? [Contemplating their amazed faces with a chuckle]
I say: I should like to draw the lot of you now: you do look
jolly foolish. Especially you, Ridgeon. I had you that time, you
know.

RIDGEON. How, pray?

LOUIS. Well, you set up to appreciate Jennifer, you know. And you
despise me, dont you?

RIDGEON [curtly] I loathe you. [He sits down again on the sofa].

LOUIS. Just so. And yet you believe that Jennifer is a bad lot
because you think I told you so.

RIDGEON. Were you lying?

LOUIS. No; but you were smelling out a scandal instead of keeping
your mind clean and wholesome. I can just play with people like
you. I only asked you had you seen Jennifer's marriage lines; and
you concluded straight away that she hadnt got any. You dont know
a lady when you see one.

B. B. [majestically] What do you mean by that, may I ask?

LOUIS. Now, I'm only an immoral artist; but if YOUD told me that
Jennifer wasnt married, I'd have had the gentlemanly feeling and
artistic instinct to say that she carried her marriage
certificate in her face and in her character. But you are all
moral men; and Jennifer is only an artist's wife--probably a
model; and morality consists in suspecting other people of not
being legally married. Arnt you ashamed of yourselves? Can one of
you look me in the face after it?

WALPOLE. Its very hard to look you in the face, Dubedat; you have
such a dazzling cheek. What about Minnie Tinwell, eh?

LOUIS. Minnie Tinwell is a young woman who has had three weeks of
glorious happiness in her poor little life, which is more than
most girls in her position get, I can tell you. Ask her whether
she'd take it back if she could. She's got her name into history,
that girl. My little sketches of her will be bought by collectors
at Christie's. She'll have a page in my biography. Pretty good,
that, for a still-room maid at a seaside hotel, I think. What
have you fellows done for her to compare with that?

RIDGEON. We havnt trapped her into a mock marriage and deserted
her.

LOUIS. No: you wouldnt have the pluck. But dont fuss yourselves.
I didnt desert little Minnie. We spent all our money--

WALPOLE. All HER money. Thirty pounds.

LOUIS. I said all our money: hers and mine too. Her thirty pounds
didnt last three days. I had to borrow four times as much to
spend on her. But I didnt grudge it; and she didnt grudge her few
pounds either, the brave little lassie. When we were cleaned out,
we'd had enough of it: you can hardly suppose that we were fit
company for longer than that: I an artist, and she quite out of
art and literature and refined living and everything else. There
was no desertion, no misunderstanding, no police court or divorce
court sensation for you moral chaps to lick your lips over at
breakfast. We just said, Well, the money's gone: weve had a good
time that can never be taken from us; so kiss; part good friends;
and she back to service, and I back to my studio and my Jennifer,
both the better and happier for our holiday.

WALPOLE. Quite a little poem, by George!'

B. B. If you had been scientifically trained, Mr Dubedat, you
would know how very seldom an actual case bears out a principle.
In medical practice a man may die when, scientifically speaking,
he ought to have lived. I have actually known a man die of a
disease from which he was scientifically speaking, immune. But
that does not affect the fundamental truth of science. In just
the same way, in moral cases, a man's behavior may be quite
harmless and even beneficial, when he is morally behaving like a
scoundrel. And he may do great harm when he is morally acting on
the highest principles. But that does not affect the fundamental
truth of morality.

SIR PATRICK. And it doesnt affect the criminal law on the subject
of bigamy.

LOUIS. Oh bigamy! bigamy! bigamy! What a fascination anything
connected with the police has for you all, you moralists! Ive
proved to you that you were utterly wrong on the moral point: now
I'm going to shew you that youre utterly wrong on the legal
point; and I hope it will be a lesson to you not to be so jolly
cocksure next time.

WALPOLE. Rot! You were married already when you married her; and
that settles it.

LOUIS. Does it! Why cant you think? How do you know she wasnt
married already too?

B.B.          {   [all       }   Walpole! Ridgeon!
RIDGEON       {  crying      }   This is beyond everything!
WALPOLE       {    out       }   Well, damn me!
SIR PATRICK   {  together]   }   You young rascal.

LOUIS [ignoring their outcry] She was married to the steward of a
liner. He cleared out and left her; and she thought, poor girl,
that it was the law that if you hadnt heard of your husband for
three years you might marry again. So as she was a thoroughly
respectable girl and refused to have anything to say to me unless
we were married I went through the ceremony to please her and to
preserve her self-respect.

RIDGEON. Did you tell her you were already married?

LOUIS. Of course not. Dont you see that if she had known, she
wouldnt have considered herself my wife? You dont seem to
understand, somehow.

SIR PATRICK. You let her risk imprisonment in her ignorance of
the law?

LOUIS. Well, _I_ risked imprisonment for her sake. I could have
been had up for it just as much as she. But when a man makes a
sacrifice of that sort for a woman, he doesnt go and brag about
it to her; at least, not if he's a gentleman.

WALPOLE. What are we to do with this daisy?

LOUIS. [impatiently] Oh, go and do whatever the devil you please.
Put Minnie in prison. Put me in prison. Kill Jennifer with the
disgrace of it all. And then, when youve done all the mischief
you can, go to church and feel good about it. [He sits down
pettishly on the old chair at the easel, and takes up a sketching
block, on which he begins to draw]

WALPOLE. He's got us.

SIR PATRICK [grimly] He has.

B. B. But is he to be allowed to defy the criminal law of the
land?

SIR PATRICK. The criminal law is no use to decent people. It only
helps blackguards to blackmail their families. What are we family
doctors doing half our time but conspiring with the family
solicitor to keep some rascal out of jail and some family out of
disgrace?

B. B. But at least it will punish him.

SIR PATRICK. Oh, yes: Itll punish him. Itll punish not only him
but everybody connected with him, innocent and guilty alike. Itll
throw his board and lodging on our rates and taxes for a couple
of years, and then turn him loose on us a more dangerous
blackguard than ever. Itll put the girl in prison and ruin her:
Itll lay his wife's life waste. You may put the criminal law out
of your head once for all: it's only fit for fools and savages.

LOUIS. Would you mind turning your face a little more this way,
Sir Patrick. [Sir Patrick turns indignantly and glares at him].
Oh, thats too much.

SIR PATRICK. Put down your foolish pencil, man; and think of your
position. You can defy the laws made by men; but there are other
laws to reckon with. Do you know that youre going to die?

LOUIS. We're all going to die, arnt we?

WALPOLE. We're not all going to die in six months.

LOUIS. How do you know?

This for B. B. is the last straw. He completely loses his temper
and begins to walk excitedly about.

B. B. Upon my soul, I will not stand this. It is in questionable
taste under any circumstances or in any company to harp on the
subject of death; but it is a dastardly advantage to take of a
medical man. [Thundering at Dubedat] I will not allow it, do you
hear?

LOUIS. Well, I didn't begin it: you chaps did. It's always the
way with the inartistic professions: when theyre beaten in
argument they fall back on intimidation. I never knew a lawyer
who didnt threaten to put me in prison sooner or later. I never
knew a parson who didnt threaten me with damnation. And now you
threaten me with death. With all your talk youve only one real
trump in your hand, and thats Intimidation. Well, I'm not a
coward; so it's no use with me.

B. B. [advancing upon him] I'll tell you what you are, sir. Youre
a scoundrel.

LOUIS. Oh, I don't mind you calling me a scoundrel a bit. It's
only a word: a word that you dont know the meaning of. What is a
scoundrel?

B. B. You are a scoundrel, sir.

LOUIS. Just so. What is a scoundrel? I am. What am I? A
Scoundrel. It's just arguing in a circle. And you imagine youre a
man of science!

B. B. I--I--I--I have a good mind to take you by the scruff of
your neck, you infamous rascal, and give you a sound thrashing.

LOUIS. I wish you would. Youd pay me something handsome to keep
it out of court afterwards. [B. B., baffled, flings away from him
with a snort]. Have you any more civilities to address to me in
my own house? I should like to get them over before my wife comes
back. [He resumes his sketching].

RIDGEON. My mind's made up. When the law breaks down, honest men
must find a remedy for themselves. I will not lift a finger to
save this reptile.

B. B. That is the word I was trying to remember. Reptile.

WALPOLE. I cant help rather liking you, Dubedat. But you
certainly are a thoroughgoing specimen.

SIR PATRICK. You know our opinion of you now, at all events.

LOUIS [patiently putting down his pencil] Look here. All this is
no good. You dont understand. You imagine that I'm simply an
ordinary criminal.

WALPOLE. Not an ordinary one, Dubedat. Do yourself justice.

LOUIS. Well youre on the wrong tack altogether. I'm not a
criminal. All your moralizings have no value for me. I don't
believe in morality. I'm a disciple of Bernard Shaw.

SIR PATRICK [puzzled] Eh?

B.B. [waving his hand as if the subject was now disposed of]
Thats enough, I wish to hear no more.

LOUIS. Of course I havnt the ridiculous vanity to set up to be
exactly a Superman; but still, it's an ideal that I strive
towards just as any other man strives towards his ideal.

B. B. [intolerant] Dont trouble to explain. I now understand you
perfectly. Say no more, please. When a man pretends to discuss
science, morals, and religion, and then avows himself a follower
of a notorious and avowed anti-vaccinationist, there is nothing
more to be said. [Suddenly putting in an effusive saving clause
in parenthesis to Ridgeon] Not, my dear Ridgeon, that I believe
in vaccination in the popular sense any more than you do: I
neednt tell you that. But there are things that place a man
socially; and anti-vaccination is one of them. [He resumes his
seat on the dais].

SIR PATRICK. Bernard Shaw? I never heard of him. He's a Methodist
preacher, I suppose.

LOUIS [scandalized] No, no. He's the most advanced man now
living: he isn't anything.

SIR PATRICK. I assure you, young man, my father learnt the
doctrine of deliverance from sin from John Wesley's own lips
before you or Mr. Shaw were born. It used to be very popular as
an excuse for putting sand in sugar and water in milk. Youre a
sound Methodist, my lad; only you don't know it.

LOUIS [seriously annoyed for the first time] Its an intellectual
insult. I don't believe theres such a thing as sin.

SIR PATRICK. Well, sir, there are people who dont believe theres
such a thing as disease either. They call themselves Christian
Scientists, I believe. Theyll just suit your complaint. We can do
nothing for you. [He rises]. Good afternoon to you.

LOUIS [running to him piteously] Oh dont get up, Sir Patrick.
Don't go. Please dont. I didnt mean to shock you, on my word. Do
sit down again. Give me another chance. Two minutes more: thats
all I ask.

SIR PATRICK [surprised by this sign of grace, and a little
touched] Well-- [He sits down]

LOUIS [gratefully] Thanks awfully.

SIR PATRICK [continuing] I don't mind giving you two minutes
more. But dont address yourself to me; for Ive retired from
practice; and I dont pretend to be able to cure your complaint.
Your life is in the hands of these gentlemen.

RIDGEON. Not in mine. My hands are full. I have no time and no
means available for this case.

SIR PATRICK. What do you say, Mr. Walpole?

WALPOLE. Oh, I'll take him in hand: I dont mind. I feel perfectly
convinced that this is not a moral case at all: it's a physical
one. Theres something abnormal about his brain. That means,
probably, some morbid condition affecting the spinal cord. And
that means the circulation. In short, it's clear to me that he's
suffering from an obscure form of blood-poisoning, which is
almost certainly due to an accumulation of ptomaines in the
nuciform sac. I'll remove the sac--

LOUIS [changing color] Do you mean, operate on me? Ugh! No, thank
you.

WALPOLE. Never fear: you wont feel anything. Youll be under an
anaesthetic, of course. And it will be extraordinarily
interesting.

LOUIS. Oh, well, if it would interest you, and if it wont hurt,
thats another matter. How much will you give me to let you do it?

WALPOLE [rising indignantly] How much! What do you mean?

LOUIS. Well, you dont expect me to let you cut me up for nothing,
do you?

WALPOLE. Will you paint my portrait for nothing?

LOUIS. No; but I'll give you the portrait when its painted; and
you can sell it afterwards for perhaps double the money. But I
cant sell my nuciform sac when youve cut it out.

WALPOLE. Ridgeon: did you ever hear anything like this! [To
Louis] Well, you can keep your nuciform sac, and your tubercular
lung, and your diseased brain: Ive done with you. One would think
I was not conferring a favor on the fellow! [He returns to his
stool in high dudgeon].

SIR PATRICK. That leaves only one medical man who has not
withdrawn from your case, Mr. Dubedat. You have nobody left to
appeal to now but Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington.

WALPOLE. If I were you, B. B., I shouldnt touch him with a pair
of tongs. Let him take his lungs to the Brompton Hospital. They
wont cure him; but theyll teach him manners.

B. B. My weakness is that I have never been able to say No, even
to the most thoroughly undeserving people. Besides, I am bound to
say that I dont think it is possible in medical practice to go
into the question of the value of the lives we save. Just
consider, Ridgeon. Let me put it to you, Paddy. Clear your mind
of cant, Walpole.

WALPOLE [indignantly] My mind is clear of cant.

B. B. Quite so. Well now, look at my practice. It is what I
suppose you would call a fashionable practice, a smart practice,
a practice among the best people. You ask me to go into the
question of whether my patients are of any use either to
themselves or anyone else. Well, if you apply any scientific test
known to me, you will achieve a reductio ad absurdum. You will be
driven to the conclusion that the majority of them would be, as
my friend Mr J. M. Barrie has tersely phrased it, better dead.
Better dead. There are exceptions, no doubt. For instance, there
is the court, an essentially social-democratic institution,
supported out of public funds by the public because the public
wants it and likes it. My court patients are hard-working people
who give satisfaction, undoubtedly. Then I have a duke or two
whose estates are probably better managed than they would be in
public hands. But as to most of the rest, if I once began to
argue about them, unquestionably the verdict would be, Better
dead. When they actually do die, I sometimes have to offer that
consolation, thinly disguised, to the family. [Lulled by the
cadences of his own voice, he becomes drowsier and drowsier]. The
fact that they spend money so extravagantly on medical attendance
really would not justify me in wasting my talents--such as they
are--in keeping them alive. After all, if my fees are high, I
have to spend heavily. My own tastes are simple: a camp bed, a
couple of rooms, a crust, a bottle of wine; and I am happy and
contented. My wife's tastes are perhaps more luxurious; but even
she deplores an expenditure the sole object of which is to
maintain the state my patients require from their medical
attendant. The--er--er--er-- [suddenly waking up] I have lost the
thread of these remarks. What was I talking about, Ridgeon?

RIDGEON. About Dubedat.

B. B. Ah yes. Precisely. Thank you. Dubedat, of course. Well,
what is our friend Dubedat? A vicious and ignorant young man with
a talent for drawing.

LOUIS. Thank you. Dont mind me.

B. B. But then, what are many of my patients? Vicious and
ignorant young men without a talent for anything. If I were to
stop to argue about their merits I should have to give up three-
quarters of my practice. Therefore I have made it a rule not so
to argue. Now, as an honorable man, having made that rule as to
paying patients, can I make an exception as to a patient who, far
from being a paying patient, may more fitly be described as a
borrowing patient? No. I say No. Mr Dubedat: your moral character
is nothing to me. I look at you from a purely scientific point of
view. To me you are simply a field of battle in which an invading
army of tubercle bacilli struggles with a patriotic force of
phagocytes. Having made a promise to your wife, which my
principles will not allow me to break, to stimulate those
phagocytes, I will stimulate them. And I take no further
responsibility. [He digs himself back in his seat exhausted].

SIR PATRICK. Well, Mr Dubedat, as Sir Ralph has very kindly
offered to take charge of your case, and as the two minutes I
promised you are up, I must ask you to excuse me. [He rises].

LOUIS. Oh, certainly. Ive quite done with you. [Rising and
holding up the sketch block] There! While youve been talking, Ive
been doing. What is there left of your moralizing? Only a little
carbonic acid gas which makes the room unhealthy. What is there
left of my work? That. Look at it [Ridgeon rises to look at it].

SIR PATRICK [who has come down to him from the throne] You young
rascal, was it drawing me you were?

LOUIS. Of course. What else?

SIR PATRICK [takes the drawing from him and grunts approvingly]
Thats rather good. Dont you think so, Lolly?

RIDGEON. Yes. So good that I should like to have it.

SIR PATRICK. Thank you; but _I_ should like to have it myself.
What d'ye think, Walpole?

WALPOLE [rising and coming over to look] No, by Jove: _I_ must
have this.

LOUIS. I wish I could afford to give it to you, Sir Patrick. But
I'd pay five guineas sooner than part with it.

RIDGEON. Oh, for that matter, I will give you six for it.

WALPOLE. Ten.

LOUIS. I think Sir Patrick is morally entitled to it, as he sat
for it. May I send it to your house, Sir Patrick, for twelve
guineas?

SIR PATRICK. Twelve guineas! Not if you were President of the
Royal Academy, young man. [He gives him back the drawing
decisively and turns away, taking up his hat].

LOUIS [to B. B.] Would you like to take it at twelve, Sir Ralph?

B. B. [coming between Louis and Walpole] Twelve guineas? Thank
you: I'll take it at that. [He takes it and presents it to Sir
Patrick]. Accept it from me, Paddy; and may you long be spared to
contemplate it.

SIR PATRICK. Thank you. [He puts the drawing into his hat].

B. B. I neednt settle with you now, Mr Dubedat: my fees will come
to more than that. [He also retrieves his hat].

LOUIS [indignantly] Well, of all the mean--[words fail him]! I'd
let myself be shot sooner than do a thing like that. I consider
youve stolen that drawing.

SIR PATRICK [drily] So weve converted you to a belief in morality
after all, eh?

LOUIS. Yah! [To Walpole] I'll do another one for you, Walpole, if
youll let me have the ten you promised.

WALPOLE. Very good. I'll pay on delivery.

LOUIS. Oh! What do you take me for? Have you no confidence in my
honor?

WALPOLE. None whatever.

LOUIS. Oh well, of course if you feel that way, you cant help it.
Before you go, Sir Patrick, let me fetch Jennifer. I know she'd
like to see you, if you dont mind. [He goes to the inner door].
And now, before she comes in, one word. Youve all been talking
here pretty freely about me--in my own house too. I dont mind
that: I'm a man and can take care of myself. But when Jennifer
comes in, please remember that she's a lady, and that you are
supposed to be gentlemen. [He goes out].

WALPOLE. Well!!! [He gives the situation up as indescribable, and
goes for his hat].

RIDGEON. Damn his impudence!

B. B. I shouldnt be at all surprised to learn that he's well
connected. Whenever I meet dignity and self-possession without
any discoverable basis, I diagnose good family.

RIDGEON. Diagnose artistic genius, B. B. Thats what saves his
self-respect.

SIR PATRICK. The world is made like that. The decent fellows are
always being lectured and put out of countenance by the snobs.

B. B. [altogether refusing to accept this] _I_ am not out of
countenance. I should like, by Jupiter, to see the man who could
put me out of countenance. [Jennifer comes in]. Ah, Mrs.
Dubedat! And how are we to-day?

MRS DUBEDAT [shaking hands with him] Thank you all so much for
coming. [She shakes Walpole's hand]. Thank you, Sir Patrick [she
shakes Sir Patrick's]. Oh, life has been worth living since I
have known you. Since Richmond I have not known a moment's fear.
And it used to be nothing but fear. Wont you sit down and tell me
the result of the consultation?

WALPOLE. I'll go, if you dont mind, Mrs. Dubedat. I have an
appointment. Before I go, let me say that I am quite agreed with
my colleagues here as to the character of the case. As to the
cause and the remedy, thats not my business: I'm only a surgeon;
and these gentlemen are physicians and will advise you. I may
have my own views: in fact I HAVE them; and they are perfectly
well known to my colleagues. If I am needed--and needed I shall
be finally--they know where to find me; and I am always at your
service. So for to-day, good-bye. [He goes out, leaving Jennifer
much puzzled by his unexpected withdrawal and formal manner].

SIR PATRICK. I also will ask you to excuse me, Mrs Dubedat.

RIDGEON [anxiously] Are you going?

SIR PATRICK. Yes: I can be of no use here; and I must be getting
back. As you know, maam, I'm not in practice now; and I shall not
be in charge of the case. It rests between Sir Colenso Ridgeon
and Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington. They know my opinion. Good
afternoon to you, maam. [He bows and makes for the door].

MRS DUBEDAT [detaining him] Theres nothing wrong, is there? You
dont think Louis is worse, do you?

SIR PATRICK. No: he's not worse. Just the same as at Richmond.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, thank you: you frightened me. Excuse me.

SIR PATRICK. Dont mention it, maam. [He goes out].

B. B. Now, Mrs Dubedat, if I am to take the patient in hand--

MRS DUBEDAT [apprehensively, with a glance at Ridgeon] You! But I
thought that Sir Colenso--

B. B. [beaming with the conviction that he is giving her a most
gratifying surprise] My dear lady, your husband shall have Me.

MRS DUBEDAT. But--

B. B. Not a word: it is a pleasure to me, for your sake.
Sir Colenso Ridgeon will be in his proper place, in the
bacteriological laboratory. _I_ shall be in my proper place, at
the bedside. Your husband shall be treated exactly as if he were
a member of the royal family. [Mrs Dubedat, uneasy, again is
about to protest]. No gratitude: it would embarrass me, I assure
you. Now, may I ask whether you are particularly tied to these
apartments. Of course, the motor has annihilated distance; but I
confess that if you were rather nearer to me, it would be a
little more convenient.

MRS DUBEDAT. You see, this studio and flat are self-contained. I
have suffered so much in lodgings. The servants are so
frightfully dishonest.

B. B. Ah ! Are they? Are they? Dear me!

MRS DUBEDAT. I was never accustomed to lock things up. And I
missed so many small sums. At last a dreadful thing happened. I
missed a five-pound note. It was traced to the housemaid; and she
actually said Louis had given it to her. And he wouldnt let me do
anything: he is so sensitive that these things drive him mad.

B. B. Ah--hm--ha--yes--say no more, Mrs. Dubedat: you shall not
move. If the mountain will not come to Mahomet, Mahomet must come
to the mountain. Now I must be off. I will write and make an
appointment. We shall begin stimulating the phagocytes on--on--
probably on Tuesday next; but I will let you know. Depend on me;
dont fret; eat regularly; sleep well; keep your spirits up; keep
the patient cheerful; hope for the best; no tonic like a charming
woman; no medicine like cheerfulness; no resource like science;
goodbye, good-bye, good-bye. [Having shaken hands--she being too
overwhelmed to speak--he goes out, stopping to say to Ridgeon] On
Tuesday morning send me down a tube of some really stiff anti-
toxin. Any kind will do. Dont forget. Good-bye, Colly. [He goes
out.]

RIDGEON. You look quite discouraged again. [She is almost in
tears]. What's the matter? Are you disappointed?

MRS DUBEDAT. I know I ought to be very grateful. Believe me, I am
very grateful. But--but--

RIDGEON. Well?

hills DUBEDAT. I had set my heart YOUR curing Louis.

RIDGEON. Well, Sir Ralph Bloomfield Bonington--

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, I know, I know. It is a great privilege to have
him. But oh, I wish it had been you. I know it's unreasonable; I
cant explain; but I had such a strong instinct that you would
cure him. I dont I cant feel the same about Sir Ralph. You
promised me. Why did you give Louis up?

RIDGEON. I explained to you. I cannot take another case.

MRS DUBEDAT. But at Richmond?

RIDGEON. At Richmond I thought I could make room for one more
case. But my old friend Dr Blenkinsop claimed that place. His
lung is attacked.

MRS DUBEDAT [attaching no importance whatever to Blenkinsop] Do
you mean that elderly man--that rather--

RIDGEON [sternly] I mean the gentleman that dined with us: an
excellent and honest man, whose life is as valuable as anyone
else's. I have arranged that I shall take his case, and that Sir
Ralph Bloomfield Bonington shall take Mr Dubedat's.

MRS DUBEDAT [turning indignantly on him] I see what it is. Oh! it
is envious, mean, cruel. And I thought that you would be above
such a thing.

RIDGEON. What do you mean?

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, do you think I dont know? do you think it has
never happened before? Why does everybody turn against him? Can
you not forgive him for being superior to you? for being
cleverer? for being braver? for being a great artist?

RIDGEON. Yes: I can forgive him for all that.

MRS DUBEDAT. Well, have you anything to say against him? I have
challenged everyone who has turned against him--challenged them
face to face to tell me any wrong thing he has done, any ignoble
thought he has uttered. They have always confessed that they
could not tell me one. I challenge you now. What do you accuse
him of?

RIDGEON. I am like all the rest. Face to face, I cannot tell you
one thing against him.

MRS DUBEDAT [not satisfied] But your manner is changed. And you
have broken your promise to me to make room for him as your
patient.

RIDGEON. I think you are a little unreasonable. You have had the
very best medical advice in London for him; and his case has been
taken in hand by a leader of the profession. Surely--

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, it is so cruel to keep telling me that. It seems
all right; and it puts me in the wrong. But I am not in the
wrong. I have faith in you; and I have no faith in the others. We
have seen so many doctors: I have come to know at last when they
are only talking and can do nothing. It is different with you. I
feel that you know. You must listen to me, doctor. [With sudden
misgiving] Am I offending you by calling you doctor instead of
remembering your title?

RIDGEON. Nonsense. I AM a doctor. But mind you, dont call Walpole
one.

MRS DUBEBAT. I dont care about Mr Walpole: it is you who must
befriend me. Oh, will you please sit down and listen to me just
for a few minutes. [He assents with a grave inclination, and sits
on the sofa. She sits on the easel chair] Thank you. I wont keep
you long; but I must tell you the whole truth. Listen. I know
Louis as nobody else in the world knows him or ever can know him.
I am his wife. I know he has little faults: impatiences,
sensitivenesses, even little selfishnesses that are too trivial
for him to notice. I know that he sometimes shocks people about
money because he is so utterly above it, and cant understand the
value ordinary people set on it. Tell me: did he--did he borrow
any money from you?

RIDGEON. He asked me for some once.

MRS DUBEDAT [tears again in her eyes] Oh, I am so sorry--so
sorry. But he will never do it again: I pledge you my word for
that. He has given me his promise: here in this room just before
you came; and he is incapable of breaking his word. That was his
only real weakness; and now it is conquered and done with for
ever.

RIDGEON. Was that really his only weakness?

MRS DUBEDAT. He is perhaps sometimes weak about women, because
they adore him so, and are always laying traps for him. And of
course when he says he doesnt believe in morality, ordinary pious
people think he must be wicked. You can understand, cant you, how
all this starts a great deal of gossip about him, and gets
repeated until even good friends get set against him?

RIDGEON. Yes: I understand.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, if you only knew the other side of him as I do!
Do you know, doctor, that if Louis honored himself by a really
bad action, I should kill myself.

RIDGEON. Come! dont exaggerate.

MRS DUBEDAT. I should. You don't understand that, you east
country people.

RIDGEON. You did not see much of the world in Cornwall, did you?

MRS DUBEDAT [naively] Oh yes. I saw a great deal every day of the
beauty of the world--more than you ever see here in London. But I
saw very few people, if that is what you mean. I was an only
child.

RIDGEON. That explains a good deal.

MRS DUBEDAT. I had a great many dreams; but at last they all came
to one dream.

RIDGEON [with half a sigh] Yes, the usual dream.

MRS DUBEDAT [surprised] Is it usual?

RIDGEON. As I guess. You havnt yet told me what it was.

MRS DUBEDAT. I didn't want to waste myself. I could do nothing
myself; but I had a little property and I could help with it. I
had even a little beauty: dont think me vain for knowing it. I
always had a terrible struggle with poverty and neglect at first.
My dream was to save one of them from that, and bring some charm
and happiness into his life. I prayed Heaven to send me one. I
firmly believe that Louis was guided to me in answer to my
prayer. He was no more like the other men I had met than the
Thames Embankment is like our Cornish coasts. He saw everything
that I saw, and drew it for me. He understood everything. He came
to me like a child. Only fancy, doctor: he never even wanted to
marry me: he never thought of the things other men think of! I
had to propose it myself. Then he said he had no money. When I
told him I had some, he said "Oh, all right," just like a boy. He
is still like that, quite unspoiled, a man in his thoughts, a
great poet and artist in his dreams, and a child in his ways. I
gave him myself and all I had that he might grow to his full
height with plenty of sunshine. If I lost faith in him, it would
mean the wreck and failure of my life. I should go back to
Cornwall and die. I could show you the very cliff I should jump
off. You must cure him: you must make him quite well again for
me. I know that you can do it and that nobody else can. I implore
you not to refuse what I am going to ask you to do. Take Louis
yourself; and let Sir Ralph cure Dr Blenkinsop.

RIDGEON [slowly] Mrs Dubedat: do you really believe in my
knowledge and skill as you say you do?

MRS DUBEDAT. Absolutely. I do not give my trust by halves.

RIDGEON. I know that. Well, I am going to test you--hard. Will
you believe me when I tell you that I understand what you have
just told me; that I have no desire but to serve you in the most
faithful friendship; and that your hero must be preserved to you.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh forgive me. Forgive what I said. You will
preserve him to me.

RIDGEON. At all hazards. [She kisses his hand. He rises hastily].
No: you have not heard the rest. [She rises too]. You must
believe me when I tell you that the one chance of preserving the
hero lies in Louis being in the care of Sir Ralph.

MRS DUBEDAT [firmly] You say so: I have no more doubt: I believe
you. Thank you.

RIDGEON. Good-bye. [She takes his hand]. I hope this will be a
lasting friendship.

MRS DUBEDAT. It will. My friendships end only with death.

RIDGEON. Death ends everything, doesnt it? Goodbye.

With a sigh and a look of pity at her which she does not
understand, he goes.



ACT IV

The studio. The easel is pushed back to the wall. Cardinal Death,
holding his scythe and hour-glass like a sceptre and globe, sits
on the throne. On the hat-stand hang the hats of Sir Patrick and
Bloomfield Bonington. Walpole, just come in, is hanging up his
beside them. There is a knock. He opens the door and finds
Ridgeon there.

WALPOLE. Hallo, Ridgeon!

They come into the middle of the room together, taking off their
gloves.

RIDGEON. Whats the matter! Have you been sent for, too?

WALPOLE. Weve all been sent for. Ive only just come: I havnt seen
him yet. The charwoman says that old Paddy Cullen has been here
with B. B. for the last half-hour. [Sir Patrick, with bad news in
his face, enters from the inner room]. Well: whats up?

SIR PATRICK. Go in and see. B. B. is in there with him.

Walpole goes. Ridgeon is about to follow him; but Sir Patrick
stops him with a look.

RIDGEON. What has happened?

SIR PATRICK. Do you remember Jane Marsh's arm?

RIDGEON. Is that whats happened?

SIR PATRICK. Thats whats happened. His lung has gone like Jane's
arm. I never saw such a case. He has got through three months
galloping consumption in three days.

RIDGEON. B. B. got in on the negative phase.

SIR PATRICK. Negative or positive, the lad's done for. He wont
last out the afternoon. He'll go suddenly: Ive often seen it.

RIDGEON. So long as he goes before his wife finds him out, I dont
care. I fully expected this.

SIR PATRICK [drily] It's a little hard on a lad to be killed
because his wife has too high an opinion of him. Fortunately few
of us are in any danger of that.

Sir Ralph comes from the inner room and hastens between them,
humanely concerned, but professionally elate and communicative.

B. B. Ah, here you are, Ridgeon. Paddy's told you, of course.

RIDGEON. Yes.

B. B. It's an enormously interesting case. You know, Colly, by
Jupiter, if I didnt know as a matter of scientific fact that I'd
been stimulating the phagocytes, I should say I'd been
stimulating the other things. What is the explanation of it, Sir
Patrick? How do you account for it, Ridgeon? Have we over-
stimulated the phagocytes? Have they not only eaten up the
bacilli, but attacked and destroyed the red corpuscles as well? a
possibility suggested by the patient's pallor. Nay, have they
finally begun to prey on the lungs themselves? Or on one another?
I shall write a paper about this case.

Walpole comes back, very serious, even shocked. He comes between
B. B. and Ridgeon.

WALPOLE. Whew! B. B.: youve done it this time.

B. B. What do you mean?

WALPOLE. Killed him. The worst case of neglected blood-poisoning
I ever saw. It's too late now to do anything. He'd die under the
anaesthetic.

B. B. [offended] Killed! Really, Walpole, if your monomania were
not well known, I should take such an expession very seriously.

SIR PATRICK. Come come! When youve both killed as many people as
I have in my time youll feel humble enough about it. Come and
look at him, Colly.

Ridgeon and Sir Patrick go into the inner room.

WALPOLE. I apologize, B. B. But it's blood-poisoning.

B. B. [recovering his irresistible good nature] My dear Walpole,
everything is blood-poisoning. But upon my soul, I shall not use
any of that stuff of Ridgeon's again. What made me so sensitive
about what you said just now is that, strictly between ourselves,
Ridgeon cooked our young friend's goose.

Jennifer, worried and distressed, but always gentle, comes
between them from the inner room. She wears a nurse's apron.

MRS. DUBEDAT. Sir Ralph: what am I to do? That man who insisted
on seeing me, and sent in word that business was important to
Louis, is a newspaper man. A paragraph appeared in the paper this
morning saying that Louis is seriously ill; and this man wants to
interview him about it. How can people be so brutally callous?

WALPOLE [moving vengefully towards the door] You just leave me to
deal with him!

MRS DUBEDAT [stopping him] But Louis insists on seeing him: he
almost began to cry about it. And he says he cant bear his room
any longer. He says he wants to [she struggles with a sob]--to
die in his studio. Sir Patrick says let him have his way: it can
do no harm. What shall we do?

B B. [encouragingly] Why, follow Sir Patrick's excellent advice,
of course. As he says, it can do him no harm; and it will no
doubt do him good--a great deal of good. He will be much the
better for it.

MRS DUBEDAT [a little cheered] Will you bring the man up here, Mr
Walpole, and tell him that he may see Louis, but that he mustnt
exhaust him by talking? [Walpole nods and goes out by the outer
door]. Sir Ralph, dont be angry with me; but Louis will die if he
stays here. I must take him to Cornwall. He will recover there.

B. B. [brightening wonderfully, as if Dubedat were already saved]
Cornwall! The very place for him! Wonderful for the lungs. Stupid
of me not to think of it before. You are his best physician after
all, dear lady. An inspiration! Cornwall: of course, yes, yes,
yes.

MRS DUBEDAT [comforted and touched] You are so kind, Sir Ralph.
But dont give me much or I shall cry; and Louis cant bear that.

B. B. [gently putting his protecting arm round her shoulders]
Then let us come back to him and help to carry him in. Cornwall!
of course, of course. The very thing! [They go together into the
bedroom].

Walpole returns with The Newspaper Man, a cheerful, affable young
man who is disabled for ordinary business pursuits by a
congenital erroneousness which renders him incapable of
describing accurately anything he sees, or understanding or
reporting accurately anything he hears. As the only employment in
which these defects do not matter is journalism (for a newspaper,
not having to act on its description and reports, but only to
sell them to idly curious people, has nothing but honor to lose
by inaccuracy and unveracity), he has perforce become a
journalist, and has to keep up an air of high spirits through a
daily struggle with his own illiteracy and the precariousness of
his employment. He has a note-book, and ocasionally attempts to
make a note; but as he cannot write shorthand, and does not write
with ease in any hand, he generally gives it up as a bad job
before he succeeds in finishing a sentence.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [looking round and making indecisive attempts
at notes] This is the studio, I suppose.

WALPOLE. Yes.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [wittily] Where he has his models, eh?

WALPOLE [grimly irresponsive] No doubt.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Cubicle, you said it was?

WALPOLE. Yes, tubercle.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Which way do you spell it: is it c-u-b-i-c-a-l
or c-l-e?

WALPOLE. Tubercle, man, not cubical. [Spelling it for him] T-u-b-
e-r-c-l-e.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Oh! tubercle. Some disease, I suppose. I
thought he had consumption. Are you one of the family or the
doctor?

WALPOLE. I'm neither one nor the other. I am Mister Cutler
Walpole. Put that down. Then put down Sir Colenso Ridgeon.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Pigeon?

WALPOLE. Ridgeon. [Contemptuously snatching his book] Here: youd
better let me write the names down for you: youre sure to get
them wrong. That comes of belonging to an illiterate profession,
with no qualifications and no public register. [He writes the
particulars].

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Oh, I say: you have got your knife into us,
havnt you?

WALPOLE [vindictively] I wish I had: I'd make a better man of
you. Now attend. [Shewing him the book] These are the names of
the three doctors. This is the patient. This is the address. This
is the name of the disease. [He shuts the book with a snap which
makes the journalist blink, and returns it to him]. Mr Dubedat
will be brought in here presently. He wants to see you because he
doesnt know how bad he is. We'll allow you to wait a few minutes
to humor him; but if you talk to him, out you go. He may die at
any moment.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [interested] Is he as bad as that? I say: I am
in luck to-day. Would you mind letting me photograph you? [He
produces a camera]. Could you have a lancet or something in your
hand?

WALPOLE. Put it up. If you want my photograph you can get it in
Baker Street in any of the series of celebrities.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. But theyll want to be paid. If you wouldnt
mind [fingering the camera]--?

WALPOLE. I would. Put it up, I tell you. Sit down there and be
quiet.

The Newspaper Man quickly sits down on the piano stool as
Dubedat, in an invalid's chair, is wheeled in by Mrs Dubedat and
Sir Ralph. They place the chair between the dais and the sofa,
where the easel stood before. Louis is not changed as a robust
man would be; and he is not scared. His eyes look larger; and he
is so weak physically that he can hardly move, lying on his
cushions, with complete languor; but his mind is active; it is
making the most of his condition, finding voluptuousness in
languor and drama in death. They are all impressed, in spite of
themselves, except Ridgeon, who is implacable. B.B. is entirely
sympathetic and forgiving. Ridgeon follows the chair with a tray
of milk and stimulants. Sir Patrick, who accompanies him, takes
the tea-table from the corner and places it behind the chair for
the tray. B. B. takes the easel chair and places it for Jennifer
at Dubedat's side, next the dais, from which the lay figure ogles
the dying artist. B. B. then returns to Dubedat's left. Jennifer
sits. Walpole sits down on the edge of the dais. Ridgeon stands
near him.

LOUIS [blissfully] Thats happiness! To be in a  studio!
Happiness!

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear. Sir Patrick says you may stay here as
long as you like.

LOUIS. Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, my darling.

LOUIS. Is the newspaper man here?

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [glibly] Yes, Mr Dubedat: I'm here, at your
service. I represent the press. I thought you might like to let
us have a few words about--about--er--well, a few words on your
illness, and your plans for the season.

LOUIS. My plans for the season are very simple. I'm going to die.

MRS DUBEDAT [tortured] Louis--dearest--

LOUIS. My darling: I'm very weak and tired. Dont put on me the
horrible strain of pretending that I dont know. Ive been lying
there listening to the doctors--laughing to myself. They know.
Dearest: dont cry. It makes you ugly; and I cant bear that. [She
dries her eyes and recovers herself with a proud effort]. I want
you to promise me something.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, yes: you know I will. [Imploringly] Only, my
love, my love, dont talk: it will waste your strength.

LOUIS. No: it will only use it up. Ridgeon: give me something to
keep me going for a few minutes--one of your confounded anti-
toxins, if you dont mind. I have some things to say before I go.

RIDGEON [looking at Sir Patrick] I suppose it can do no harm? [He
pours out some spirit, and is about to add soda water when Sir
Patrick corrects him].

SIR PATRICK. In milk. Dont set him coughing.

LOUIS [after drinking] Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear.

LOUIS. If theres one thing I hate more than another, it's a
widow. Promise me that youll never be a widow.

MRS DUBEDAT. My dear, what do you mean?

LOUIS. I want you to look beautiful. I want people to see in your
eyes that you were married to me. The people in Italy used to
point at Dante and say "There goes the man who has been in hell."
I want them to point at you and say "There goes a woman who has
been in heaven." It has been heaven, darling, hasnt it--
sometimes?

MRs DUBEDAT. Oh yes, yes. Always, always.

LOUIS. If you wear black and cry, people will say "Look at that
miserable woman: her husband made her miserable."

MRS DUBEDAT. No, never. You are the light and the blessing of my
life. I never lived until I knew you.

LOUIS [his eyes glistening] Then you must always wear beautiful
dresses and splendid magic jewels. Think of all the wonderful
pictures I shall never paint.

[She wins a terrible victory over a sob] Well, you must be
transfigured with all the beauty of those pictures. Men must get
such dreams from seeing you as they never could get from any
daubing with paints and brushes. Painters must paint you as they
never painted any mortal woman before. There must be a great
tradition of beauty, a great atmosphere of wonder and romance.
That is what men must always think of when they think of me.
That is the sort of immortality I want. You can make that for me,
Jennifer. There are lots of things you dont understand that every
woman in the street understands; but you can understand that and
do it as nobody else can. Promise me that immortality. Promise me
you will not make a little hell of crape and crying and
undertaker's horrors and withering flowers and all that vulgar
rubbish.