them at the club.
CRAVEN (not much attracted by this). True.
CUTHBERTSON. Besides, if you don’t want to dine with them, you needn’t.
CRAVEN (convinced). True, very true. But don’t they carry on here, rather?
CUTHBERTSON. Oh, no, they don’t exactly carry on. Of course the usual tone of the club is low, because the women smoke and earn their own living and all that; but still there’s nothing actually to complain of. And it’s convenient, certainly. (Charteris comes in, looking round for them.)
CRAVEN (rising). Do you know, I’ve a great mind to join, just to see what it’s like. Would you mind putting me up?
CUTHBERTSON. Delighted, Dan, delighted. (He grasps Craven’s hand.)
CHARTERIS (putting one hand on Craven’s shoulder and the other on Cuthbertson’s). Bless you, my children! (Cuthbertson, a little wounded in his dignity, moves away. The Colonel takes the jest in the utmost good humor.)
CRAVEN (cordially). Hallo!
CHARTERIS (to Craven). Hope I haven’t disturbed your chat by coming too soon.
CRAVEN. Not at all. Welcome, dear boy. (Shakes his hand.)
CHARTERIS. That’s right. I’m earlier than I intended. The fact is, I have something rather pressing to say to Cuthbertson.
CRAVEN. Private!
CHARTERIS. Not particularly. (To Cuthbertson.) Only what we were speaking of last night.
CUTHBERTSON. Well, Charteris, I think that is private, or ought to be.
CRAVEN (going up towards the table). I’ll just take a look at the Times —
CHARTERIS (stopping him). Oh, it’s no secret: everybody in the club guesses it. (To Cuthbertson.) Has Grace never mentioned to you that she wants to marry me?
CUTHBERTSON (indignantly). She has mentioned that you want to marry her.
CHARTERIS. Ah; but then it’s not what I want, but what Grace wants, that will weigh with you.
CRAVEN (a little shocked). Excuse me Charteris: this is private. I’ll leave you to yourselves. (Again moves towards the table.)
CHARTERIS. Wait a bit, Craven: you’re concerned in this. Julia wants to marry me too.
CRAVEN (in a tone of the strongest remonstrance). Now really! Now upon my life and soul!
CHARTERIS. It’s a fact, I assure you. Didn’t it strike you as rather odd, our being up there last night and Mrs. Tranfield not with us?
CRAVEN. Well, yes it did. But you explained it. And now really, Charteris, I must say your explanation was in shocking bad taste before Julia.
CHARTERIS. Never mind. It was a good, fat, healthy, bouncing lie.
CRAVEN and CUTHBERTSON. Lie!
CHARTERIS. Didn’t you suspect that?
CRAVEN. Certainly not. Did you, Jo?
CUTHBERTSON. No, most emphatically.
CRAVEN. What’s more, I don’t believe you. I’m sorry to have to say such a thing; but you forget that Julia was present and didn’t contradict you.
CHARTERIS. She didn’t want to.
CRAVEN. Do you mean to say that my daughter deceived me?
CHARTERIS. Delicacy towards me compelled her to, Craven.
CRAVEN (taking a very serious tone). Now look here, Charteris: have you any proper sense of the fact that you’re standing between two fathers?
CUTHBERTSON. Quite right, Dan, quite right. I repeat the question on my own account.
CHARTERIS. Well, I’m a little dazed still by standing for so long between two daughters; but I think I grasp the situation. (Cuthbertson flings away with an exclamation of disgust.)
CRAVEN. Then I’m sorry for your manners, Charteris: that’s all. (He turns away sulkily; then suddenly fires up and turns on Charteris.) How dare you tell me my daughter wants to marry you. Who are you, pray, that she should have any such ambition?
CHARTERIS. Just so; she couldn’t have made a worse choice. But she won’t listen to reason. I’ve talked to her like a father myself — I assure you, my dear Craven, I’ve said everything that you could have said; but it’s no use: she won’t give me up. And if she won’t listen to me, what likelihood is there of her listening to you?
CRAVEN (in angry bewilderment). Cuthbertson: did you ever hear anything like this?
CUTHBERTSON. Never! Never!
CHARTERIS. Oh, bother? Come, don’t behave like a couple of conventional old fathers: this is a serious affair. Look at these letters (producing a letter and a letter-card.) This (showing the card) is from Grace — by the way, Cuthbertson, I wish you’d ask her not to write on letter-cards: the blue colour makes it so easy for Julia to pick the bits out of my waste paper basket and piece them together. Now listen. “My dear Leonard: Nothing could make it worth my while to be exposed to such scenes as last night’s. You had much better go back to Julia and forget me. Yours sincerely, Grace Tranfield.”
CUTHBERTSON (infuriated). Damnation!
CHARTERIS (turning to Craven and preparing to read the letter). Now for Julia. (The Colonel turns away to hide his face from Charteris, anticipating a shock, and puts his hand on a chair to steady himself.) “My dearest boy. Nothing will make me believe that this odious woman can take my place in your heart. I send some of the letters you wrote me when we first met; and I ask you to read them. They will recall what you felt when you wrote them. You cannot have changed so much as to be indifferent to me: whoever may have struck your fancy for the moment, your heart is still mine” — and so on: you know the sort of thing— “Ever and always your loving Julia.” (The Colonel sinks on the chair and covers his face with his hand.) You don’t suppose she’s serious, do you: that’s the sort of thing she writes me three times a day. (To Cuthbertson) Grace is in earnest though, confound it. (He holds out Grace’s letter.) A blue card as usual! This time I shall not trust the waste paper basket. (He goes to the fire, and throws the letters into it.)
CUTHBERTSON (facing him with folded arms as he comes down again). May I ask, Mr. Charteris, is this the New Humour?
CHARTERIS (still too preoccupied with his own difficulty to have any sense of the effect he is producing on the others). Oh, stuff! Do you suppose it’s a joke to be situated as I am? You’ve got your head so stuffed with the New Humour and the New Woman and the New This, That and the Other, all mixed up with your own old Adam, that you’ve lost your senses.
CUTHBERTSON (strenuously). Do you see that old man, grown grey in the honoured service of his country, whose last days you have blighted?
CHARTERIS (surprised, looking at Craven and realizing his distress with genuine concern). I’m very sorry. Come, Craven; don’t take it to heart. (Craven shakes his head.) I assure you it means nothing: it happens to me constantly.
CUTHBERTSON.
