MRS DUBEDAT. I promise. But all that is far off, dear. You are to
come to Cornwall with me and get well. Sir Ralph says so.

LOUIS. Poor old B. B.

B. B. [affected to tears, turns away and whispers to Sir Patrick]
Poor fellow! Brain going.

LOUIS. Sir Patrick's there, isn't he?

SIR PATRICK. Yes, yes. I'm here.

LOUIS. Sit down, wont you? It's a shame to keep you standing
about.

SIR PATRICK. Yes, Yes. Thank you. All right.

LOUIS. Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear.

LOUIS [with a strange look of delight] Do you remember the
burning bush?

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, Yes. Oh, my dear, how it strains my heart to
remember it now!

LOUIS. Does it? It fills me with joy. Tell them about it.

MRS DUBEDAT. It was nothing--only that once in my old Cornish
home we lit the first fire of the winter; and when we looked
through the window we saw the flames dancing in a bush in the
garden.

LOUIS. Such a color! Garnet color. Waving like silk. Liquid
lovely flame flowing up through the bay leaves, and not burning
them. Well, I shall be a flame like that. I'm sorry to disappoint
the poor little worms; but the last of me shall be the flame in
the burning bush. Whenever you see the flame, Jennifer, that will
be me. Promise me that I shall be burnt.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, if I might be with you, Louis!

LOUIS. No: you must always be in the garden when the bush flames.
You are my hold on the world: you are my immortality. Promise.

MRS DUBEDAT. I'm listening. I shall not forget. You know that I
promise.

LOUIS. Well, thats about all; except that you are to hang my
pictures at the one-man show. I can trust your eye. You wont let
anyone else touch them.

MRS DUBEDAT. You can trust me.

LOUIS. Then theres nothing more to worry about, is there? Give me
some more of that milk. I'm fearfully tired; but if I stop
talking I shant begin again. [Sir Ralph gives him a drink. He
takes it and looks up quaintly]. I say, B. B., do you think
anything would stop you talking?

B. B. [almost unmanned] He confuses me with you, Paddy. Poor
fellow! Poor fellow!

LOUIS [musing] I used to be awfully afraid of death; but now it's
come I have no fear; and I'm perfectly happy. Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Yes, dear?

LOUIS. I'll tell you a secret. I used to think that our marriage
was all an affectation, and that I'd break loose and run away
some day. But now that I'm going to be broken loose whether I
like it or not, I'm perfectly fond of you, and perfectly
satisfied because I'm going to live as part of you and not as my
troublesome self.

MRS DUBEDAT [heartbroken] Stay with me, Louis. Oh, dont leave me,
dearest.

LOUIS. Not that I'm selfish. With all my faults I dont think Ive
ever been really selfish. No artist can: Art is too large for
that. You will marry again, Jennifer.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, how can you, Louis?

LOUIS [insisting childishly] Yes, because people who have found
marriage happy always marry again. Ah, I shant be jealous.
[Slyly.] But dont talk to the other fellow too much about me: he
wont like it. [Almost chuckling] I shall be your lover all the
time; but it will be a secret from him, poor devil!

SIR PATRICK. Come! youve talked enough. Try to rest awhile.

LOUIS [wearily] Yes: I'm fearfully tired; but I shall have a long
rest presently. I have something to say to you fellows. Youre all
there, arnt you? I'm too weak to see anything but Jennifer's
bosom. That promises rest.

RIDGEON. We are all here.

LOUIS [startled] That voice sounded devilish. Take care,
Ridgeon: my ears hear things that other people's cant. Ive been
thinking--thinking. I'm cleverer than you imagine.

SIR PATRICK [whispering to Ridgeon] Youve got on his nerves,
Colly. Slip out quietly.

RIDGEON [apart to Sir Patrick] Would you deprive the dying actor
of his audience?

LOUIS [his face lighting up faintly with mischievous glee] I
heard that, Ridgeon. That was good. Jennifer dear: be kind to
Ridgeon always; because he was the last man who amused me.

RIDGEON [relentless] Was I?

LOUIS. But it's not true. It's you who are still on the stage.
I'm half way home already.

MRS DUBEDAT [to Ridgeon] What did you say?

LOUIS [answering for him] Nothing, dear. Only one of those
little secrets that men keep among themselves. Well, all you
chaps have thought pretty hard things of me, and said them.

B. B. [quite overcome] No, no, Dubedat. Not at all.

LOUIS. Yes, you have. I know what you all think of me. Dont
imagine I'm sore about it. I forgive you.

WALPOLE [involuntarily] Well, damn me! [Ashamed] I beg your
pardon.

LOUIS. That was old Walpole, I know. Don't grieve, Walpole. I'm
perfectly happy. I'm not in pain. I don't want to live. Ive
escaped from myself. I'm in heaven, immortal in the heart of my
beautiful Jennifer. I'm not afraid, and not ashamed.
[Reflectively, puzzling it out for himself weakly] I know that in
an accidental sort of way, struggling through the unreal part of
life, I havnt always been able to live up to my ideal. But in my
own real world I have never done anything wrong, never denied my
faith, never been untrue to myself. Ive been threatened and
blackmailed and insulted and starved. But Ive played the game.
Ive fought the good fight. And now it's all over, theres an
indescribable peace. [He feebly folds his hands and utters his
creed] I believe in Michael Angelo, Velasquez, and Rembrandt; in
the might of design, the mystery of color, the redemption of all
things by Beauty everlasting, and the message of Art that has
made these hands blessed. Amen. Amen. [He closes his eyes and
lies still].

MRS DUBEDAT [breathless] Louis: are you--

Walpole rises and comes quickly to see whether he is dead.

LOUIS. Not yet, dear. Very nearly, but not yet. I should like to
rest my head on your bosom; only it would tire you.

MRS DUBEDAT. No, no, no, darling: how could you tire me? [She
lifts him so that he lies on her bosom].

LOUIS. Thats good. Thats real.

MRS DUBEDAT. Dont spare me, dear. Indeed, indeed you will not
tire me. Lean on me with all your weight.

LOUIS [with a sudden half return of his normal strength and
comfort] Jinny Gwinny: I think I shall recover after all. [Sir
Patrick looks significantly at Ridgeon, mutely warning him that
this is the end].

MRS DUBEDAT [hopefully] Yes, yes: you shall.

LOUIS. Because I suddenly want to sleep. Just an ordinary sleep.

MRS DUBEDAT [rocking him] Yes, dear. Sleep. [He seems to go to
sleep. Walpole makes another movement. She protests]. Sh--sh:
please dont disturb him. [His lips move]. What did you say, dear?
[In great distress] I cant listen without moving him. [His lips
move again; Walpole bends down and listens].

WALPOLE. He wants to know is the newspaper man here.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [excited; for he has been enjoying himself
enormously] Yes, Mr Dubedat. Here I am.

Walpole raises his hand warningly to silence him. Sir Ralph sits
down quietly on the sofa and frankly buries his face in his
handkerchief.

MRS DUBEDAT [with great relief] Oh thats right, dear: dont spare
me: lean with all your weight on me. Now you are really resting.

Sir Patrick quickly comes forward and feels Louis's pulse; then
takes him by the shoulders.

SIR PATRICK. Let me put him back on the pillow, maam. He will be
better so.

MRS DUBEDAT [piteously] Oh no, please, please, doctor. He is not
tiring me; and he will be so hurt when he wakes if he finds I
have put him away.

SIR PATRICK. He will never wake again. [He takes the body from
her and replaces it in the chair. Ridgeon, unmoved, lets down the
back and makes a bier of it].

MRS DUBEDAT [who has unexpectedly sprung to her feet, and stands
dry-eyed and stately] Was that death?

WALPOLE. Yes.

MRS DUBEDAT [with complete dignity] Will you wait for me a
moment? I will come back. [She goes out].

WALPOLE. Ought we to follow her? Is she in her right senses?

SIR PATRICK [with quiet conviction]. Yes. Shes all right. Leave
her alone. She'll come back.

RIDGEON [callously] Let us get this thing out of the way before
she comes.

B. B. [rising, shocked] My dear Colly! The poor lad! He died
splendidly.

SIR PATRICK. Aye! that is how the wicked die.

      For there are no bands in their death;
      But their strength is firm:
      They are not in trouble as other men.

No matter: its not for us to judge. Hes in another world now.

WALPOLE. Borrowing his first five-pound note there, probably.

RIDGEON. I said the other day that the most tragic thing in the
world is a sick doctor. I was wrong. The most tragic thing in the
world is a man of genius who is not also a man of honor.

Ridgeon and Walpole wheel the chair into the recess.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [to Sir Ralph] I thought it shewed a very nice
feeling, his being so particular about his wife going into proper
mourning for him and making her promise never to marry again.

B. B. [impressively] Mrs Dubedat is not in a position to carry
the interview any further. Neither are we.

SIR PATRICK. Good afternoon to you.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Mrs. Dubedat said she was coming back.

B. B. After you have gone.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Do you think she would give me a few words on
How It Feels to be a Widow? Rather a good title for an article,
isnt it?

B. B. Young man: if you wait until Mrs Dubedat comes back, you
will be able to write an article on How It Feels to be Turned Out
of the House.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN [unconvinced] You think she'd rather not--

B. B. [cutting him short] Good day to you. [Giving him a
visiting-card] Mind you get my name correctly. Good day.

THE NEWSPAPER MAN. Good day. Thank you. [Vaguely trying to read
the card] Mr--

B. B. No, not Mister. This is your hat, I think [giving it to
him]. Gloves? No, of course: no gloves. Good day to you. [He
edges him out at last; shuts the door on him; and returns to Sir
Patrick as Ridgeon and Walpole come back from the recess, Walpole
crossing the room to the hat-stand, and Ridgeon coming between
Sir Ralph and Sir Patrick]. Poor fellow! Poor young
fellow! How well he died! I feel a better man, really.

SIR PATRICK. When youre as old as I am, youll know that it
matters very little how a man dies. What matters is, how he
lives. Every fool that runs his nose against a bullet is a hero
nowadays, because he dies for his country. Why dont he live for
it to some purpose?

B. B. No, please, Paddy: dont be hard on the poor lad. Not now,
not now. After all, was he so bad? He had only two failings:
money and women. Well, let us be honest. Tell the truth, Paddy.
Dont be hypocritical, Ridgeon. Throw off the mask, Walpole. Are
these two matters so well arranged at present that a disregard of
the usual arrangements indicates real depravity?

WALPOLE. I dont mind his disregarding the usual arrangements.
Confound the usual arrangements! To a man of science theyre
beneath contempt both as to money and women. What I mind is his
disregarding everything except his own pocket and his own fancy.
He didn't disregard the usual arrangements when they paid
him. Did he give us his pictures for nothing? Do you suppose he'd
have hesitated to blackmail me if I'd compromised myself with his
wife? Not he.

SIR PATRICK. Dont waste your time wrangling over him. A
blackguard's a blackguard; an honest man's an honest man; and
neither of them will ever be at a loss for a religion or a
morality to prove that their ways are the right ways. It's the
same with nations, the same with professions, the same all the
world over and always will be.

B. B. Ah, well, perhaps, perhaps, perhaps. Still, de mortuis nil
nisi bonum. He died extremely well, remarkably well. He has set
us an example: let us endeavor to follow it rather than harp on
the weaknesses that have perished with him. I think it is
Shakespear who says that the good that most men do lives after
them: the evil lies interred with their bones. Yes: interred with
their bones. Believe me, Paddy, we are all mortal. It is the
common lot, Ridgeon. Say what you will, Walpole, Nature's debt
must be paid. If tis not to-day, twill be to-morrow.

     To-morrow and to-morrow and to-morrow
     After life's fitful fever they sleep well
     And like this insubstantial bourne from which
     No traveller returns
     Leave not a wrack behind.

Walpole is about to speak, but B. B., suddenly and
vehemently proceeding, extinguishes him.

     Out, out, brief candle:
     For nothing canst thou to damnation add
     The readiness is all.

WALPOLE [gently; for B. B.'s feeling, absurdly expressed as it
is, is too sincere and humane to be ridiculed] Yes, B. B. Death
makes people go on like that. I dont know why it should; but it
does. By the way, what are we going to do? Ought we to clear out;
or had we better wait and see whether Mrs Dubedat will come back?

SIR PATRICK. I think we'd better go. We can tell the charwoman
what to do.

They take their hats and go to the door.

MRS DUBEDAT [coming from the inner door wonderfully and
beautifully dressed, and radiant, carrying a great piece of
purple silk, handsomely embroidered, over her arm] I'm so sorry
to have kept you waiting.

SIR PATRICK }  [amazed, all   { Dont mention it, madam.
B.B.        }   together      { Not at all, not at all.
RIDGEON     }   in a confused { By no means.
WALPOLE     }   murmur]       { It doesnt matter in the least.

MRS. DUBEDAT [coming to them] I felt that I must shake hands with
his friends once before we part to-day. We have shared together a
great privilege and a great happiness. I dont think we can ever
think of ourselves ordinary people again. We have had a wonderful
experience; and that gives us a common faith, a common ideal,
that nobody else can quite have. Life will always be beautiful to
us: death will always be beautiful to us. May we shake hands on
that?

SIR PATRICK [shaking hands] Remember: all letters had better be
left to your solicitor. Let him open everything and settle
everything. Thats the law, you know.

MRS DUBEDAT. Oh, thank you: I didnt know. [Sir Patrick goes].

WALPOLE. Good-bye. I blame myself: I should have insisted on
operating. [He goes].

B.B. I will send the proper people: they will know it to do: you
shall have no trouble. Good-bye, my dear lady. [He goes].

RIDGEON. Good-bye. [He offers his hand].

MRS DUBEDAT [drawing back with gentle majesty] I said his
friends, Sir Colenso. [He bows and goes].

She unfolds the great piece of silk, and goes into the recess to
cover her dead.



ACT V

One of the smaller Bond Street Picture Galleries. The entrance is
from a picture shop. Nearly in the middle of the gallery there is
a writing-table, at which the Secretary, fashionably dressed,
sits with his back to the entrance, correcting catalogue proofs.
Some copies of a new book are on the desk, also the Secretary's
shining hat and a couple of magnifying glasses. At the side, on
his left, a little behind him, is a small door marked PRIVATE.
Near the same side is a cushioned bench parallel to the walls,
which are covered with Dubedat's works. Two screens, also covered
with drawings, stand near the corners right and left of the
entrance.

Jennifer, beautifully dressed and apparently very happy and
prosperous, comes into the gallery through the private door.

JENNIFER. Have the catalogues come yet, Mr Danby?

THE SECRETARY. Not yet.

JENNIFER. What a shame! It's a quarter past: the private view
will begin in less than half an hour.

THE SECRETARY. I think I'd better run over to the printers to
hurry them up.

JENNIFER. Oh, if you would be so good, Mr Danby. I'll take your
place while youre away.

THE SECRETARY. If anyone should come before the time dont take
any notice. The commissionaire wont let anyone through unless he
knows him. We have a few people who like to come before the
crowd--people who really buy; and of course we're glad to see
them. Have you seen the notices in Brush and Crayon and in The
Easel?

JENNIFER [indignantly] Yes: most disgraceful. They write quite
patronizingly, as if they were Mr Dubedat's superiors. After all
the cigars and sandwiches they had from us on the press day, and
all they drank, I really think it is infamous that they should
write like that. I hope you have not sent them tickets for to-
day.

THE SECRETARY. Oh, they wont come again: theres no lunch to-day.
The advance copies of your book have come. [He indicates the new
books].

JENNIFER [pouncing on a copy, wildly excited] Give it to me. Oh!
excuse me a moment [she runs away with it through the private
door].

The Secretary takes a mirror from his drawer and smartens himself
before going out. Ridgeon comes in.

RIDGEON. Good morning. May I look round, as well, before the
doors open?

THE SECRETARY. Certainly, Sir Colenso. I'm sorry catalogues have
not come: I'm just going to see about them. Heres my own list, if
you dont mind.

RIDGEON. Thanks. Whats this? [He takes up one the new books].

THE SECRETARY. Thats just come in. An advance copy of Mrs
Dubedat's Life of her late husband.

RIDGEON [reading the title] The Story of a King By His Wife. [He
looks at the portrait frontise]. Ay: there he is. You knew him
here, I suppose.

THE SECRETARY. Oh, we knew him. Better than she did, Sir Colenso,
in some ways, perhaps.

RIDGEON. So did I. [They look significantly at one another]. I'll
take a look round.

The Secretary puts on the shining hat and goes out. Ridgeon
begins looking at the pictures. Presently he comes back to the
table for a magnifying glass, and scrutinizes a drawing very
closely. He sighs; shakes his head, as if constrained to admit
the extraordinary fascination and merit of the work; then marks
the Secretary's list. Proceeding with his survey, he disappears
behind the screen. Jennifer comes back with her book. A look
round satisfies her that she is alone. She seats herself at the
table and admires the memoir--her first printed book--to her
heart's content. Ridgeon re-appears, face to the wall,
scrutinizing the drawings. After using his glass again, he steps
back to get a more distant view of one of the larger pictures.
She hastily closes the book at the sound; looks round; recognizes
him; and stares, petrified. He takes a further step back which
brings him nearer to her.

RIDGEON [shaking his head as before, ejaculates] Clever brute!
[She flushes as though he had struck her. He turns to put the
glass down on the desk, and finds himself face to face with her
intent gaze]. I beg your pardon. I thought I was alone.

JENNIFER [controlling herself, and speaking steadily and
meaningly] I am glad we have met, Sir Colenso Ridgeon. I met Dr
Blenkinsop yesterday. I congratulate you on a wonderful cure.

RIDGEON [can find no words; makes an embarrassed gesture of
assent after a moment's silence, and puts down the glass and the
Secretary's list on the table].

JENNIFER. He looked the picture of health and strength and
prosperity. [She looks for a moment at the walls, contrasting
Blenkinsop's fortune with the artist's fate].

RIDGEON [in low tones, still embarrassed] He has been fortunate.

JENNIFER. Very fortunate. His life has been spared.

RIDGEON. I mean that he has been made a Medical Officer of
Health. He cured the Chairman of the Borough Council very
successfully.

JENNIFER. With your medicines?

RIDGEON. No. I believe it was with a pound of ripe greengages.

JENNIFER [with deep gravity] Funny!

RIDGEON. Yes. Life does not cease to be funny when people die any
more than it ceases to be serious when people laugh.

JENNIFER. Dr Blenkinsop said one very strange thing to me.

RIDGEON. What was that?

JENNIFER. He said that private practice in medicine ought to be
put down by law. When I asked him why, he said that private
doctors were ignorant licensed murderers.

RIDGEON. That is what the public doctor always thinks of the
private doctor. Well, Blenkinsop ought to know. He was a private
doctor long enough himself. Come! you have talked at me long
enough. Talk to me. You have something to reproach me with. There
is reproach in your face, in your voice: you are full of it. Out
with it.

JENNIFER. It is too late for reproaches now. When I turned and
saw you just now, I wondered how you could come here coolly to
look at his pictures. You answered the question. To you, he was
only a clever brute.

RIDGEON [quivering] Oh, dont. You know I did not know you were
here.

JENNIFER [raising her head a little with a quite gentle impulse
of pride] You think it only mattered because I heard it. As if it
could touch me, or touch him! Dont you see that what is really
dreadful is that to you living things have no souls.

RIDGEON [with a sceptical shrug] The soul is an organ I have not
come across in the course of my anatomical work.

JENNIFER. You know you would not dare to say such a silly thing
as that to anybody but a woman whose mind you despise. If you
dissected me you could not find my conscience. Do you think I
have got none?

RIDGEON. I have met people who had none.

JENNIFER. Clever brutes? Do you know, doctor, that some of the
dearest and most faithful friends I ever had were only brutes!
You would have vivisected them. The dearest and greatest of all
my friends had a sort of beauty and affectionateness that only
animals have. I hope you may never feel what I felt when I had to
put him into the hands of men who defend the torture of animals
because they are only brutes.

RIDGEON. Well, did you find us so very cruel, after all? They
tell me that though you have dropped me, you stay for weeks with
the Bloomfield Boningtons and the Walpoles. I think it must be
true, because they never mention you to me now.

JENNIFER. The animals in Sir Ralph's house are like spoiled
children. When Mr. Walpole had to take a splinter out of the
mastiff's paw, I had to hold the poor dog myself; and Mr Walpole
had to turn Sir Ralph out of the room. And Mrs. Walpole has to
tell the gardener not to kill wasps when Mr. Walpole is looking.
But there are doctors who are naturally cruel; and there are
others who get used to cruelty and are callous about it. They
blind themselves to the souls of animals; and that blinds them to
the souls of men and women. You made a dreadful mistake about
Louis; but you would not have made it if you had not trained
yourself to make the same mistake about dogs. You saw nothing in
them but dumb brutes; and so you could see nothing in him but a
clever brute.

RIDGEON [with sudden resolution] I made no mistake whatever about
him.

JENNIFER. Oh, doctor!

RIDGEON [obstinately] I made no mistake whatever about him.

JENNIFER. Have you forgotten that he died?

RIDGEON [with a sweep of his hand towards the pictures] He is not
dead. He is there. [Taking up the book] And there.

JENNIFER [springing up with blazing eyes] Put that down. How dare
you touch it?

Ridgeon, amazed at the fierceness of the outburst, puts it down
with a deprecatory shrug. She takes it up and looks at it as if
he had profaned a relic.

RIDGEON. I am very sorry. I see I had better go.

JENNIFER [putting the book down] I beg your pardon. I forgot
myself. But it is not yet--it is a private copy.

RIDGEON. But for me it would have been a very different book.

JENNIFER. But for you it would have been a longer one.

RIDGEON. You know then that I killed him?

JENNIFER [suddenly moved and softened] Oh, doctor, if you
acknowledge that--if you have confessed it to yourself--if you
realize what you have done, then there is forgiveness. I trusted
in your strength instinctively at first; then I thought I had
mistaken callousness for strength. Can you blame me? But if it
was really strength--if it was only such a mistake as we all make
sometimes--it will make me so happy to be friends with you again.

RIDGEON. I tell you I made no mistake. I cured Blenkinsop: was
there any mistake there?

JENNIFER. He recovered. Oh, dont be foolishly proud, doctor.
Confess to a failure, and save our friendship. Remember, Sir
Ralph gave Louis your medicine; and it made him worse.

RIDGEON. I cant be your friend on false pretences. Something has
got me by the throat: the truth must come out. I used that
medicine myself on Blenkinsop. It did not make him worse. It is a
dangerous medicine: it cured Blenkinsop: it killed Louis Dubedat.
When I handle it, it cures. When another man handles it, it
kills--sometimes.

JENNIFER [naively: not yet taking it all in] Then why did you let
Sir Ralph give it to Louis?

RIDGEON. I'm going to tell you. I did it because I was in love
with you.

JENNIFER [innocently surprised] In lo-- You! elderly man!

RIDGEON [thunderstruck, raising his fists to heaven] Dubedat:
thou art avenged! [He drops his hands and collapses on the
bench]. I never thought of that. I suppose I appear to you a
ridiculous old fogey.

JENNIFER. But surely--I did not mean to offend you, indeed--but
you must be at least twenty years older than I am.

RIDGEON. Oh, quite. More, perhaps. In twenty years you will
understand how little difference that makes.

JENNIFER. But even so, how could you think that I--his wife--
could ever think of YOU--

RIDGEON [stopping her with a nervous waving of his fingers] Yes,
yes, yes, yes: I quite understand: you neednt rub it in.

JENNIFER. But--oh, it is only dawning on me now--I was so
surprised at first--do you dare to tell me that it was to gratify
a miserable jealousy that you deliberately--oh! oh! you murdered
him.

RIDGEON. I think I did. It really comes to that.

      Thou shalt not kill, but needst not strive
      Officiously to keep alive.

I suppose--yes: I killed him.

JENNIFER. And you tell me that! to my face! callously! You are
not afraid!

RIDGEON. I am a doctor: I have nothing to fear. It is not an
indictable offense to call in B. B. Perhaps it ought to be; but
it isnt.

JENNIFER. I did not mean that. I meant afraid of my taking the
law into my own hands, and killing you.

RIDGEON. I am so hopelessly idiotic about you that I should not
mind it a bit. You would always remember me if you did that.

JENNIFER. I shall remember you always as a little man who tried
to kill a great one.

RIDGEON. Pardon me. I succeeded.

JENNIFER [with quiet conviction] No. Doctors think they hold the
keys of life and death; but it is not their will that is
fulfilled. I dont believe you made any difference at all.

RIDGEON. Perhaps not. But I intended to.

JENNIFER [looking at him amazedly: not without pity] And you
tried to destroy that wonderful and beautiful life merely because
you grudged him a woman whom you could never have expected to
care for you!

RIDGEON. Who kissed my hands. Who believed in me. Who told me her
friendship lasted until death.

JENNIFER. And whom you were betraying.

RIDGEON. No. Whom I was saving.

JENNIFER [gently] Pray, doctor, from what?

RIDGEON. From making a terrible discovery. From having your life
laid waste.

JENNIFER. How?

RIDGEON. No matter. I have saved you. I have been the best friend
you ever had. You are happy. You are well. His works are an
imperishable joy and pride for you.

JENNIFER. And you think that is your doing. Oh doctor, doctor!
Sir Patrick is right: you do think you are a little god. How can
you be so silly? You did not paint those pictures which are my
imperishable joy and pride: you did not speak the words that will
always be heavenly music in my ears. I listen to them now
whenever I am tired or sad. That is why I am always happy.

RIDGEON. Yes, now that he is dead. Were you always happy when he
was alive?

JENNIFER [wounded] Oh, you are cruel, cruel. When he was alive I
did not know the greatness of my blessing. I worried meanly about
little things. I was unkind to him. I was unworthy of him.

RIDGEON [laughing bitterly] Ha!

JENNIFER. Dont insult me: dont blaspheme. [She snatches up the
book and presses it to her heart in a paroxysm of remorse,
exclaiming] Oh, my King of Men!

RIDGEON. King of Men! Oh, this is too monstrous, too grotesque.
We cruel doctors have kept the secret from you faithfully; but it
is like all secrets: it will not keep itself. The buried truth
germinates and breaks through to the light.

JENNIFER. What truth?

RIDGEON. What truth! Why, that Louis Dubedat, King of Men, was
the most entire and perfect scoundrel, the most miraculously mean
rascal, the most callously selfish blackguard that ever made a
wife miserable.

JENNIFER [unshaken: calm and lovely] He made his wife the
happiest woman in the world, doctor.

RIDGEON. No: by all thats true on earth, he made his WIDOW the
happiest woman in the world; but it was I who made her a widow.
And her happiness is my justification and my reward. Now you know
what I did and what I thought of him. Be as angry with me as you
like: at least you know me as I really am. If you ever come to
care for an elderly man, you will know what you are caring for.

JENNIFER [kind and quiet] I am not angry with you any more, Sir
Colenso. I knew quite well that you did not like Louis; but it is
not your fault: you dont understand: that is all. You never could
have believed in him. It is just like your not believing in my
religion: it is a sort of sixth sense that you have not got. And
[with a gentle reassuring movement towards him] dont think that
you have shocked me so dreadfully. I know quite well what you
mean by his selfishness. He sacrificed everything for his art. In
a certain sense he had even to sacrifice everybody--

RIDGEON. Everybody except himself. By keeping that back he lost
the right to sacrifice you, and gave me the right to sacrifice
him. Which I did.

JENNIFER [shaking her head, pitying his error] He was one of the
men who know what women know: that self-sacrifice is vain and
cowardly.

RIDGEON. Yes, when the sacrifice is rejected and thrown away. Not
when it becomes the food of godhead.

JENNIFER. I dont understand that. And I cant argue with you: you
are clever enough to puzzle me, but not to shake me. You are so
utterly, so wildly wrong; so incapable of appreciating Louis--

RIDGEON. Oh! [taking up the Secretary's list] I have marked five
pictures as sold to me.

JENNIFER. They will not be sold to you. Louis' creditors insisted
on selling them; but this is my birthday; and they were all
bought in for me this morning by my husband.

RIDGEON. By whom?!!!

JENNIFER. By my husband.

RIDGEON [gabbling and stuttering] What husband? Whose husband?
Which husband? Whom? how? what? Do you mean to say that you have
married again?

JENNIFER. Do you forget that Louis disliked widows, and that
people who have married happily once always marry again?

The Secretary returns with a pile of catalogues.

THE SECRETARY. Just got the first batch of catalogues in time.
The doors are open.

JENNIFER [to Ridgeon, politely] So glad you like the pictures,
Sir Colenso. Good morning.

RIDGEON. Good morning. [He goes towards the door; hesitates;
turns to say something more; gives it up as a bad job; and goes].