Happy Days Part 46

--Roger.-- My love!

--Dorothy-- (_opening her eyes_). Roger!

--Roger.-- At last!

(_For the moment they talk in short sentences like this. Then_ Dorothy _puts her hand to her brow as if she is remembering something horrible._)

--Dorothy.-- Roger! Now I remember! It is not safe for you to stay!

--Roger-- (_very brave_). Am I a puling child to be afraid?

--Dorothy.-- My Lord Carey is here. He has read your letter.

--Roger.-- The black-livered dog! Would I had him at my sword's point to teach him manners.

(_He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair._)

--Dorothy.-- Oh, you are wounded!

--Roger.-- Faugh, 'tis but a scratch. Am I a puling----

(_He faints. She binds up his ankle._)

_Enter_ Lord Carey _with two soldiers._

--Carey.-- Arrest this traitor! (_Roger is led away by the soldiers._)

--Dorothy-- (_stretching out her hands to him_). Roger! (_She sinks into a chair._)

--Carey-- (_choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal_). Dorothy, I love you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely 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 pa.s.sage 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. (_Hoa.r.s.ely._) 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 pa.s.sionately_). 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!