Common-sense, steadily applied, will solve any problem.
Cedric. (Emphatically.) Any! (After a pause.) Always provided —
Flora. (Surprised.) Always provided?
Cedric. My dear, in this outpouring of wisdom I, too, must have my share. Common-sense will solve any problem – any! – always provided it is employed simultaneously with politeness. During a long and varied career as a bachelor, dear spouse (mock platform manner), I have noticed that marriage is usually the death of politeness between a man and a woman. I have noticed that the stronger the passion the weaker the manners. Now, my theory is that politeness, instead of decreasing with intimacy – should increase! And when I say "politeness" I mean common, superficial politeness. I don't mean the deep-down sort of thing that you can only detect with a divining-rod… Pardon, you were saying?
Flora. Cedric! (Impulsively rushes to him and kisses him.) How right you are! It's exactly what I've been thinking for years. Now, as to common-sense and the programme. It would be against common-sense for us to begin by annoying your mother. If you really do think your mother would be in the least upset by our not going to Paris, naturally I shall be delighted to go. We could stop just long enough to inspect the lamp-post – and then off again.
Cedric. Oh, no! Oh, no! Of course she won't be upset!
Flora. That's settled, then. Do you know I've had the tiniest idea of going to Ostend, and then taking the Orient express to Buda-Pesth? I'm dying to see Hungary, simply dying.
Cedric. My dearest, your life shall be saved regardless of cost.
Flora. I do want an expensive honeymoon. Not because I'm extravagant, but because a honeymoon is a solemn, important thing.
Cedric. A symbol.
Flora. A symbol. And it ought to be done – well, adequately.
Cedric. Nineteen thousand pounds odd of mine is now on deposit at my bank – all honestly taken by me out of the pockets of ratepayers of various important towns in less than a year. And when that's gone I can always get more at about the same rate, as you know.
Flora. Cedric! There is to be no flying during our honeymoon?
Cedric. Certainly not!
Flora. And it is to last a full month, naturally.
Cedric. A full calendar month – with no address for letters.
Flora. (Sigh of ecstatic anticipation.) Two or three days, you said, here?
Cedric. Yes, don't you think it's enough?
Flora. Oh! quite. We shall be gone before anybody's had time to guess – (breaking off). Dearest, don't you think we came into the hotel rather well?
Cedric. Fine. No one could suspect that we hadn't been born married. I was proud of both of us.
Gaston. Shall I clear the table? (Beginning to do so before receiving permission.)
Flora. Yes. (Flora and Cedric rise.)
Gaston. (With a cheerful air, quite unconscious of his impudent manner.) I suppose you stay here long time?
Flora. (Determined to snub the waiter.) Really!
Cedric. Why?
Gaston. Oh! honeymoon. Dull place. Fresh married English people demand generally dull place.
(Flora collapses and exit hurriedly into the garden, L. Cedric, with more leisurely dignity, lights a cigarette and is about to follow her when he stops and turns.)
Cedric. By the way, I don't think we shall stay long.
Gaston. (After looking at Flora in the garden, impartially and cheerfully.) It is strange how English people have shame of being married. One would say it was a crime in England. A young man and young lady in English hotel – they like better that one should think they not married. It is different in Switzerland. In Switzerland we are proud. We tell all the world. Why not?
Cedric. So you come from Switzerland?
Gaston. Oh, yes. I am not English (eagerly.) Geneva. My father is a fabricant, a —
Cedric. Manufacturer.
Gaston. Yes, manufacturer of door-mats. My father makes door-mats for all the hotels in Switzerland. Very big! Very important! He says – I must go into the hotel business. He will buy me a hotel. I learn everything. We do that in Switzerland. We are scientifique. I have been in the kitchens. Now I am waiter. No shame. Nobody could guess I am a gentleman.
Cedric. You mustn't be too hard on yourself, my friend. And so you've come to England?
Gaston. My father says, Go to England. Study the English caractère in England. Very valuable. When I come to London I could not speak English – no!
Cedric. When was that? Last week?
Gaston. No. It is a year, nearly. But I had at once a situation, the first day, at the Grand Babylon Hotel.
Cedric. Rather awkward, wasn't it, not knowing English?
Gaston. Yes. That fatigues one – to hear a strange language all the day.
Cedric. I meant for the customers.
Gaston. (Nonchalant gesture.) They are now well habituated. Many of them learn French or German, it saves time. English people are so practical. They are not logique, but they are practical. Now to-day I speak German, Italian, as perfectly as English.
Cedric. Remarkable! But surely a man of your enormous ability is wasted in a sleepy place like this… Perhaps you find it amusing, though.
Gaston. (Shakes his head. Passionately.) Dull! It is for my health that I am here. Sleepy! Ah, my God! (Disdainfully.) But all England sleeps… But next month I go to Germany. I shall have done England.
Cedric. You like Germany.
Gaston. Ah! What a country! What organisation! What science! Never sleeps! Always conquers! (Patronisingly.) Do you think in your business the Germans will not conquer, at the end?
Cedric. My business?
Gaston. Yes. Aeroplanes.
Cedric. So you know that?
Gaston. I know everything… Look at anileen!
Cedric. Anileen?
Gaston. Yes. Anileen – colours.
Cedric. Ah! You mean aniline dyes.
Gaston. Yes, I said so.
Cedric. What about them?
Gaston. What about them? England invented them. Germany has taken them from you – all. That is science. All German now. So with aeroplanes. England and France – proud, very proud. But at the end, you will see … at the end.
Cedric. Oh!
Gaston.
