hang. 'Tis your father's wish that you and I should wed.
~Dorothy~ (_refusing him_). Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you.
~Carey.~ By heaven---- (_Thinking better of it._) I go to fetch your father.
(_Exit._)
_Enter_ Roger _by secret door L._
~Dorothy.~ Roger! You have escaped.
~Roger.~ Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where we so often played as children? 'Twas in that same cellar the thick-skulled knaves immured me.
~Dorothy.~ Roger, you must fly! Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude our enemies?
~Roger~ (_missing the point rather_). Nay, if I die, let me die like a man, not like a puling girl. Yet, sweetheart----
_Enter_ Lord Carey _by ordinary door._
~Carey~ (_forgetting himself in his confusion_). Odds my zounds, dod sink me! What murrain is this?
~Roger~ (_seizing Sir Thomas's sword, which had been accidentally left behind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancing threateningly_). It means, my lord, that a villain's time has come. Wilt say a prayer?
(_They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other._)
~Carey~ (_dying game_). Strike, Master Dale!
~Roger.~ Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood.
(_He throws down his sword._ Lord Carey _exhibits considerable emotion at this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf._)
_Enter two soldiers._
~Carey.~ Arrest that man! (Roger _is seized again._) Mistress Dorothy, it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner.
~Dorothy~ (_standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down if she was standing up_). Ah, give him to me, my lord!
~Carey~ (_joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy_). I trust to you, sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again.
(Dorothy _and_ Roger _embrace each other, if they can do it without causing a scandal in the neighbourhood, and the curtain goes down._)
XLI. "A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING"
_The scene is a drawing-room (in which the men are allowed to smoke--or a smoking-room in which the women are allowed to draw--it doesn't much matter) in the house of somebody or other in the country._ George Turnbull _and his old College friend_, Henry Peterson, _are confiding in each other, as old friends will, over their whiskies and cigars. It is about three o'clock in the afternoon._
~George~ (_dreamily, helping himself to a stiff soda_). Henry, do you remember that evening at Christ Church College, five years ago, when we opened our hearts to each other?...
~Henry~ (_lighting a cigar and hiding it in a fern-pot_). That moonlight evening on the Backs, George, when I had failed in my Matriculation examination?
~George.~ Yes; and we promised that when either of us fell in love the other should be the first to hear of it? (_Rising solemnly._) Henry, the moment has come. (_With shining eyes._) I am in love.
~Henry~ (_jumping up and grasping him by both hands_). George! My dear old George! (_In a voice broken with emotion._) Bless you, George!
(_He pats him thoughtfully on the back three times, nods his own head twice, gives him a final grip of the hand, and returns to his chair._)
~George~ (_more moved by this than he cares to show_). Thank you, Henry. (_Hoarsely._) You're a good fellow.
~Henry~ (_airily, with a typically British desire to conceal his emotion_). Who is the lucky little lady?
~George~ (_taking out a picture postcard of the British Museum and kissing it passionately_). Isobel Barley!
(_If_ Henry _is not careful he will probably give a start of surprise here, with the idea of suggesting to the audience that he_ (1) _knows something about the lady's past, or_ (2) _is in love with her himself. He is, however, thinking of a different play. We shall come to that one in a moment._)
~Henry~ (_in a slightly dashing manner_). Little Isobel? Lucky dog!
~George.~ I wish I could think so. (_Sighs._) But I have yet to approach her, and she may be another's. (_Fiercely._) Heavens, Henry, if she should be another's!
_Enter_ Isobel.
~Isobel~ (_brightly_). So I've run you to earth at last. Now what have you got to say for yourselves?
~Henry~ (_like a man_). By Jove! (_Looking at his watch._) I had no idea--is it really--poor old Joe--waiting----
(_Dashes out tactfully in a state of incoherence._)
~George~ (_rising and leading_ Isobel _to the front of the stage_). Miss Barley, now that we are alone I have something I want to say to you.
~Isobel~ (_looking at her watch_). Well, you must be quick. Because I'm engaged.
(_George drops her hand and staggers away from her._)
~Isobel.~ Why, what's the matter?
~George~ (_to the audience, in a voice expressing the very deeps of emotion_). Engaged! She is engaged! I am too late!
(_He sinks into a chair, and covers his face with his hands._)
~Isobel~ (_surprised_). Mr. Turnbull! What has happened?
~George~ (_waving her away with one hand_). Go! Leave me! I can bear this best alone. (_Exit Isobel._) Merciful heavens, she is plighted to another.
_Enter_ Henry.
~Henry~ (_eagerly_). Well, old man?
~George~ (_raising a face white with misery--that is to say, if he has remembered to put the French chalk in the palms of his hands_). Henry, I am too late! She is another's!
~Henry~ (_in surprise_). Whose?
~George~ (_with dignity_). I did not ask her. It is nothing to me. Good-bye, Henry. Be kind to her.
~Henry.~ Why, where are you going?
~George~ (_firmly_). To the Rocky Mountains. I shall shoot some bears.
