like that, you must take me for a much greater fool than I hope I am.
PRAED. Your worst suspicions! Oh, pray don’t say that. Now don’t.
VIVIE Why won’t my mother’s life bear being talked about?
PRAED. Pray think, Miss Vivie. It is natural that I should have a certain delicacy in talking to my old friend’s daughter about her behind her back. You will have plenty of opportunity of talking to her about it when she comes. [Anxiously.] I wonder what is keeping her.
VIVIE. No: she won’t talk about it either. [Rising.] However, I daresay you have good reasons for telling me nothing. Only, mind this, Mr. Praed, I expect there will be a battle royal when my mother hears of my Chancery Lane project.
PRAED. [Ruefully.] I’m afraid there will.
VIVIE. Well, I shall win because I want nothing but my fare to London to start there to-morrow earning my own living by devilling for Honoria. Besides, I have no mysteries to keep up; and it seems she has. I shall use that advantage over her if necessary.
PRAED. [Greatly shocked.] Oh no! No, pray. You’d not do such a thing.
VIVIE. Then tell me why not.
PRAED. I really cannot. I appeal to your good feeling. [She smiles at his sentimentality.] Besides, you may be too bold. Your mother is not to be trifled with when she’s angry.
VIVIE. You can’t frighten me, Mr. Praed. In that month at Chancery Lane I had opportunities of taking the measure of one or two women very like my mother. You may back me to win. But if I hit harder in my ignorance than I need, remember it is you who refuse to enlighten me. Now, let us drop the subject. [She takes her chair and replaces it near the hammock with the same vigorous swing as before.]
PRAED. [Taking a desperate resolution.] One word, Miss Warren. I had better tell you. It’s very difficult; but—[Mrs. Warren and Sir George Crofts arrive at the gate. Mrs. Warren is between 40 and 50, formerly pretty, showily dressed in a brilliant hat and a gay blouse fitting tightly over her bust and flanked by fashionable sleeves. Rather spoilt and domineering, and decidedly vulgar, but, on the whole, a genial and fairly presentable old blackguard of a woman.
CROFTS is a tall powerfully-built man of about 50, fashionably dressed in the style of a young man. Nasal voice, reedier than might be expected from his strong frame. Clean-shaven bulldog jaws, large flat ears, and thick neck: gentlemanly combination of the most brutal types of city man, sporting man, and man about town.]
VIVIE. Here they are. [Coming to them as they enter the garden.] How do, mater? Mr. Praed’s been here this half hour, waiting for you.
MRS. WARREN. Well, if you’ve been waiting, Praddy, it’s your own fault: I thought you’d have had the gumption to know I was coming by the 3.10 train. Vivie: put your hat on, dear: you’ll get sunburnt. Oh, I forgot to introduce you. Sir George Crofts: my little Vivie. [Crofts advances to Vivie with his most courtly manner. She nods, but makes no motion to shake hands.]
CROFTS. May I shake hands with a young lady whom I have known by reputation very long as the daughter of one of my oldest friends?
VIVIE. [Who has been looking him up and down sharply.] If you like. [She takes his tenderly proffered hand and gives it a squeeze that makes him open his eyes; then turns away, and says to her mother.] Will you come in, or shall I get a couple more chairs? [She goes into the porch for the chairs.]
MRS. WARREN. Well, George, what do you think of her?
CROFTS. [Ruefully.] She has a powerful fist. Did you shake hands with her, Praed?
PRAED. Yes: it will pass off presently.
CROFTS. I hope so. [Vivie reappears with two more chairs. He hurries to her assistance.] Allow me.
MRS. WARREN. [Patronizingly.] Let Sir George help you with the chairs, dear.
VIVIE. [Pitching them into his arms.] Here you are. [She dusts her hands and turns to Mrs. Warren.] You’d like some tea, wouldn’t you?
MRS. WARREN. [Sitting in Praed’s chair and fanning herself.] I’m dying for a drop to drink.
VIVIE. I’ll see about it. [She goes into the cottage. Sir George has by this time managed to unfold a chair and plant it by Mrs. Warren, on her left. He throws the other on the grass and sits down, looking dejected and rather foolish, with the handle of his stick in his mouth. Praed, still very uneasy, fidgets around the garden on their right.]
MRS. WARREN. [To Praed, looking at Crofts.] Just look at him, Praddy: he looks cheerful, don’t he? He’s been worrying my life out these three years to have that little girl of mine shewn to him; and now that I’ve done it, he’s quite out of countenance. [Briskly.] Come! sit up, George; and take your stick out of your mouth. [Crofts sulkily obeys.]
PRAED. I think, you know—if you don’t mind my saying so—that we had better get out of the habit of thinking of her as a little girl. You see she has really distinguished herself; and I’m not sure, from what I have seen of her, that she is not older than any of us.
MRS. WARREN. [Greatly amused.] Only listen to him, George! Older than any of us! Well she has been stuffing you nicely with her importance.
PRAED. But young people are particularly sensitive about being treated in that way.
MRS. WARREN. Yes; and young people have to get all that nonsense taken out of them, and good deal more besides. Don’t you interfere, Praddy: I know how to treat my own child as well as you do. [Praed, with a grave shake of his head, walks up the garden with his hands behind his back. Mrs. Warren pretends to laugh, but looks after him with perceptible concern. Then, she whispers to Crofts.] Whats the matter with him? What does he take it like that for?
CROFTS. [Morosely.] You’re afraid of Praed.
MRS. WARREN. What! Me! Afraid of dear old Praddy! Why, a fly wouldn’t be afraid of him.
CROFTS. You’re afraid of him.
MRS. WARREN. [Angry.] I’ll trouble you to mind your own business, and not try any of your sulks on me. I’m not afraid of you, anyhow. If you can’t make yourself agreeable, you’d better go home. [She gets up, and, turning her back on him, finds herself face to face with Praed.] Come, Praddy, I know it was only your tender-heartedness. You’re afraid I’ll bully her.
PRAED. My dear Kitty: you think I’m offended. Don’t imagine that: pray don’t. But you know I often notice things that escape you; and though you never take my advice, you sometimes admit afterwards that you ought to have taken it.
MRS. WARREN. Well, what do you notice now?
PRAED. Only that Vivie is a grown woman. Pray, Kitty, treat her with every respect.
MRS. WARREN. [With genuine amazement.] Respect! Treat my own daughter with respect! What next, pray!
VIVIE. [Appearing at the cottage door and calling to Mrs. Warren.] Mother: will you come to my room before tea?
MRS. WARREN. Yes, dearie. [She laughs indulgently at Praed’s gravity, and pats him on the cheek as she passes him on her way to the porch.] Don’t be cross, Praddy. [She follows Vivie into the cottage.]
CROFTS.
