Fifty Contemporary One-Act Plays Part 54

ROSAMUND. No, I expressly forbade it.

JAMES. Ah!

ROSAMUND. But still, I have a premonition he may come.

JAMES [_a.s.suming a pugnacious pose_]. If he does, I will attend to him.

ROSAMUND. Gerald was a terrible fighter. [_A resounding knock is heard at the door. Both start violently, and look at each other in silence.

Rosamund goes to the door and opens it._]

ROSAMUND [_with an unsteady laugh of relief_]. Only the postman with a letter. [_She returns to her seat._] No, I don't expect he will come, really. [_Puts letter idly on table. Another knock still louder. Renewed start._]

ROSAMUND. Now that _is_ he, I'm positive. He always knocked like that.

Just fancy. After four years! Jim, just take the chair behind that screen for a bit. I _must_ hide you.

JAMES. No, thanks! The screen dodge is a trifle _too_ frayed at the edges.

ROSAMUND. Only for a minute. It would be _such_ fun.

JAMES. No, thanks. [_Another knock._]

ROSAMUND [_with forced sweetness_]. Oh, very well, then....

JAMES. Oh, well, of course, if you take it in that way--[_He proceeds to a chair behind screen, which does not, however, hide him from the audience._]

ROSAMUND [_smiles his reward_]. I'll explain it all right. [_Loudly._]

Come in! [_Enter Gerald O'Mara._]

GERALD. So you are in! [_Hastens across room to shake hands._]

ROSAMUND. Oh, yes, I am in. Gerald, how are you? I must say you look tolerably well. [_They sit down._]

GERALD. Oh, I'm pretty fit, thanks. Had the most amazing time in spite of the climate. And you? Rosie, you haven't changed a little bit. How's the cookery trade getting along? Are you still showing people how to concoct French dinners out of old bones and a sardine tin?

ROSAMUND. Certainly. Only I can do it without the bones now. You see, the science has progressed while you've been stagnating in Cyprus.

GERALD. Stagnating is the word. You wouldn't believe that climate!

ROSAMUND. What! Not had nice weather? What a shame! I thought it was tremendously sunshiny in Cyprus.

GERALD. Yes, that's just what it is, 97 in the shade when it doesn't happen to be pouring with malarial rain. We started a little golf club at Nicosia, and laid out a nine-hole course. But the b.a.l.l.s used to melt.

So we had to alter the rules, keep the b.a.l.l.s in an ice-box, and take a fresh one at every hole. Think of that!

ROSAMUND. My poor boy! But I suppose there were compensations? You referred to "an amazing time."

GERALD. Yes, there were compensations. And that reminds me, I want you to come out and lunch with me at the Savoy. I've got something awfully important to ask you. In fact, that's what I've come for.

ROSAMUND. Sorry I can't, Gerald. The fact is, I've got something awfully important myself just about lunch time.

GERALD. Oh, yours can wait. Look here, I've ordered the lunch. I made sure you'd come. [_Rosamund shakes her head._] Why can't you? It's not cooking, is it?

ROSAMUND. Only a goose.

GERALD. What goose?

ROSAMUND. Well--my own, and somebody else's. Listen, Gerald. Had you not better ask me this awfully important question now? No time like the present.

GERALD. I can always talk easier, especially on delicate topics, with a pint of something handy. But if you positively won't come, I'll get it off my chest now. The fact is, Rosie, I'm in love.

ROSAMUND. With whom?

GERALD. Ah! That's just what I want you to tell me.

ROSAMUND [_suddenly starting_]. Gerald! what is that dreadful thing sticking out of your pocket, and pointing right at me?

GERALD. That? That's my revolver. Always carry them in Cyprus, you know.

Plenty of sport there.

ROSAMUND [_breathing again_]. Kindly take it out of your pocket and put it on the table. Then if it does go off it will go off into something less valuable than a cookery-lecturer.

GERALD [_laughingly obeying her_]. There. If anything happens it will happen to the screen. Now, Rosie, I'm in love, and I desire that you should tell me whom I'm in love with. There's a magnificent girl in Cyprus, daughter of the Superintendent of Police--

ROSAMUND. Name?

GERALD. Evelyn. Age nineteen. I tell you I was absolutely gone on her.

ROSAMUND. Symptoms?

GERALD. Well--er--whenever her name was mentioned I blushed terrifically. Of course, that was only one symptom.... Then I met a girl on the home steamer--no father or mother. An orphan, you know, awfully interesting.

ROSAMUND. Name?

GERALD. Madge. Nice name, isn't it? [_Rosamund nods._] I don't mind telling you, I was considerably struck by her--still am, in fact.

ROSAMUND. Symptoms?

GERALD. Oh!... Let me see, I never think of her without turning absolutely pale. I suppose it's what they call "pale with pa.s.sion."

Notice it?

ROSAMUND [_somewhat coldly_]. It seems to me the situation amounts to this. There are two girls. One is named Evelyn, and the thought of her makes you blush. The other is named Madge, and the thought of her makes you turn pale. You fancy yourself in love, and you wish me to decide for you whether it is Madge or Evelyn who agitates your breast the more deeply.

GERALD. That's not exactly the way to put it, Rosie. You take a fellow up too soon. Of course I must tell you lots more yet. You should hear Evelyn play the "Moonlight Sonata." It's the most marvelous thing....

And then Madge's eyes! The way that girl can look at a fellow.... I'm telling you all these things, you know, Rosie, because I've always looked up to you as an elder sister.

ROSAMUND [_after a pause, during which she gazes into his face_]. I suppose it was in my character of your elder sister, that you put a certain question to me four years ago last night?

GERALD [_staggered; pulls himself together for a great resolve; after a long pause_]. Rosie! I never thought afterwards you'd take it seriously.

I forgot it all. I was only a boy then. [_Speaking quicker and quicker._] But I see clearly now. I never _could_ withstand you. It's all rot about Evelyn and Madge. It's you I'm in love with; and I never guessed it! Rosie!... [_Rushes to her and impetuously flings his arms around her neck._]