Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 53

ROSAMUND. Never mind, it is a safe rule for unattached women always to behave as if they had relations, especially female relations whether they have any or not. My remark is, that if I had any relations they would be absolutely scandalized by this atrocious conduct of yours.

JAMES. What have I done?

ROSAMUND. Can you ask? Here are you, and here am I. We are to be married to-day at twelve o'clock. The ceremony has not taken place, and yet you are found on my premises. You must surely be aware that on the day of the wedding the parties--yes, the "parties," that is the word--should on no account see each other till they see each other in church.

JAMES. But since we are to be married at a registry office, does the rule apply?

ROSAMUND. Undoubtedly.

JAMES. Then I must apologize. My excuse is that I am not up in these minute details of circ.u.mspection; you see I have been married so seldom.

ROSAMUND. Evidently. [_A pause, during which James at last ventures to approach the middle of the room._] Now you must go back home, and we'll pretend we haven't seen each other.

JAMES. Never, Rosamund! That would be acting a lie. And I couldn't dream of getting married with a lie on my lips. It would be so unusual. No; we have sinned, or rather I have sinned, on this occasion. I will continue to sin--openly, brazenly. Come here, my dove. A bird in the hand is worth two under a bushel. [_He a.s.sumes an att.i.tude of entreaty, and, leaving her chair, Rosamund goes towards him. They exchange an ardent kiss._]

ROSAMUND [_quietly submissive_]. I'm awfully busy, you know, Jim.

JAMES. I will a.s.sist you in your little duties, dearest, and then I will accompany you to the sacred ed--to the registry office. Now, what were you doing? [_She sits down, and he puts a chair for himself close beside her._]

ROSAMUND. You are singularly unlike yourself this morning, dearest.

JAMES. Nervous tension, my angel. I should have deemed it impossible that an _employe_ of the War Office could experience the marvelous and exquisite sensations now agitating my heart. But tell me, what are you doing with these papers?

ROSAMUND. Well, I was just going to look through them and see if they contained anything of a remarkable or valuable nature. You see, I hadn't anything to occupy myself with.

JAMES. Was 'oo bored, waiting for the timey-pimey to come?

ROSAMUND [_hands caressing_]. 'Iss, little pet was bored, she was. Was Mr. Pet lonely this morning? Couldn't he keep away from his little cooky-lecturer? He should see his little cooky-lecturer.

JAMES. And that reminds me, hadn't we better lunch in the train instead of at Willis's? That will give us more time?

ROSAMUND. Horrid greedy piggywiggy! Perhaps he will be satisfied if Mrs.

Pet agrees to lunch both at Willis's and in the train?

JAMES. Yes. Only piggywiggy doesn't want to trespa.s.s on Mrs. Pet's good nature. Let piggywiggy look at the papers. [_He takes up a paper from the desk._]

ROSAMUND [_a little seriously_]. No, Jimmy. I don't think we'll go through them. Perhaps it wouldn't be wise. Just let's destroy them.

[_Takes papers from his hand and drops them in desk._]

JAMES [_sternly_]. When you have been the wife of a War Office clerk for a week you will know that papers ought never to be destroyed. Now I come to think, it is not only my right but my duty to examine this secret _dossier_. Who knows--[_Takes up at random another doc.u.ment, which proves to be a postcard. Reads._] "Shall come to-morrow night. Thine, Gerald."

ROSAMUND [_after a startled shriek of consternation_]. There! There!

You've done it, first time! [_She begins to think, with knitted brows._]

JAMES. Does this highly suspicious postcard point to some--some episode in your past of which you have deemed it advisable to keep me in ignorance? If so, I seek not to inquire. I forgive you--I take you, Rosamund, as you are!

ROSAMUND [_reflective, not heeding his remark_]. I had absolutely forgotten the whole affair, absolutely. [_Smiles a little. Aside._]

Suppose he should come! [_To James._] Jim, I think I had better tell you all about Gerald. It will interest you. Besides, there is no knowing what may happen.

JAMES. As I have said, I seek not to inquire. [_Stiffly._] Nor do I imagine that this matter, probably some childish entanglement, would interest me.

ROSAMUND. Oh, wouldn't it! Jim, don't be absurd. You know perfectly well you are dying to hear.

JAMES. Very well, save my life, then, at the least expense of words. To begin with, who is this Gerald--"thine," thine own Gerald?

ROSAMUND. Don't you remember Gerald O'Mara? You met him at the Stokes's, I feel sure. You know--the young engineer.

JAMES. Oh! _That_ a.s.s!

ROSAMUND. He isn't an a.s.s. He's a very clever boy.

JAMES. For the sake of argument and dispatch, agreed! Went out to Cyprus or somewhere, didn't he, to build a bridge, or make a dock, or dig a well, or something of that kind?

ROSAMUND [_nodding_]. Now, listen, I'll tell you all about it. [_Settles herself for a long narration._] Four years ago poor, dear Gerald was madly in love with me. He was twenty and I was twenty-four. Keep calm--I felt like his aunt. Don't forget I was awfully pretty in those days.

Well, he was so tremendously in love that in order to keep him from destroying himself--of course, I knew he was going out to Cyprus--I sort of pretended to be sympathetic. I simply _had_ to; Irishmen are so pa.s.sionate. And he was very nice. And I barely knew you then. Well, the time approached for him to leave for Cyprus, and two days before the ship sailed he sent me that very postcard that by pure chance you picked up.

JAMES. He should have written a letter.

ROSAMUND. Oh! I expect he couldn't wait. He was so impulsive. Well, on the night before he left England he came here and proposed to me. I remember I was awfully tired and queer. I had been giving a lecture in the afternoon on "How to Pickle Pork," and the practical demonstration had been rather smelly. However, the proposal braced me up. It was the first I had had--that year. Well, I was so sorry for him that I couldn't say "No" outright. It would have been too brutal. He might have killed himself on the spot, and spoilt this carpet, which, by the way, was new then. So I said, "Look here, Gerald--"

JAMES. You called him "Gerald"?

ROSAMUND. _Rather!_ "Look here, Gerald," I said; "you are going to Cyprus for four years. If your feeling towards me is what you think it is, come back to me at the end of those four years, and I will then give you an answer." Of course I felt absolutely sure that in the intervening period he would fall in and out of love half a dozen times at least.

JAMES. Of course, half a dozen times at least; probably seven. What did he say in reply?

ROSAMUND. He agreed with all the seriousness in the world. "On this day four years hence," he said, standing just there [_pointing_], "I will return for your answer. And in the meantime I will live only for you."

That was what he said--his very words.

JAMES. And a most touching speech, too! And then?

ROSAMUND. We shook hands, and he tore himself away, stifling a sob.

Don't forget, he was a boy.

JAMES. Have the four years expired?

ROSAMUND. What is the date of that postcard? Let me see it. [_s.n.a.t.c.hes it, and smiles at the handwriting pensively._] July 4th--four years ago.

JAMES. Then it's over. He's not coming. To-day is July 5th.

ROSAMUND. But yesterday was Sunday. He wouldn't come on Sunday. He was always very particular and nice.

JAMES. Do you mean to imply that you think he will come to-day and demand from you an affirmative? A moment ago you gave me to understand that in your opinion he would have--er--other affairs to attend to.

ROSAMUND. Yes. I did think so at the time. But now--now I have a kind of idea that he may come, that after all he may have remained faithful. You know I was maddeningly pretty then, and he had my photograph.

JAMES. Tell me, have you corresponded?