Second Plays Part 55

[She goes to it.

MRS. KNOWLE (in a different voice). Ah! . . . Well, Mr. Coote?

BOBBY (turning back to her with a start). Oh--er--yes?

MRS. KNOWLE. No, I think I must call you Bobby. I may call you Bobby, mayn't I?

BOBBY. Oh, please do, Mrs. Knowle.

MRS. KNOWLE (archly). Not Mrs. Knowle! Can't you think of a better name?

BOBBY (wondering if he ought to call her MARY). Er--I'm--I'm afraid I don't quite--

MRS. KNOWLE. Mother.

BOBBY. Oh, but I say--

MRS. KNOWLE (giving him her hand). And now come and sit on the sofa with me, and tell me all about it.

(They go to the sofa together.)

BOBBY. But I say, Mrs. Knowle--

MRS. KNOWLE (shaking a finger playfully at him). Not Mrs. Knowle, Bobby.

BOBBY. But I say, you mustn't think--I mean Sandy and I--we aren't--

MRS. KNOWLE. You don't mean to tell me, Mr. Coote, that she has refused you again.

BOBBY. Yes. I say, I'd much rather not talk about it.

MRS. KNOWLE. Well, it just shows you that what I said the other day was true. Girls don't know their own minds.

BOBBY (ruefully). I think Sandy knows hers--about me, anyhow.

MRS. KNOWLE. Mr. Coote, you are forgetting what the poet said--Shakespeare, or was it the other man?--"Faint heart never won fair lady." If Mr. Knowle had had a faint heart, he would never have won me. Seven times I refused him, and seven times he came again--like Jacob. The eighth time he drew out a revolver, and threatened to shoot himself. I was shaking like an aspen leaf. Suddenly I realised that I loved him. "Henry," I said, "I am yours." He took me in his arms--putting down the revolver first, of course. I have never regretted my surrender, Mr. Coote. (With a sigh) Ah, me! We women are strange creatures.

BOBBY. I don't believe Sandy would mind if I did shoot myself.

MRS. KNOWLE. Oh, don't say that, Mr. Coote. She is very warm-hearted.

I'm sure it would upset her a good deal. Oh no, you are taking too gloomy a view of the situation, I am sure of it.

BOBBY. Well, I shan't shoot myself, but I shan't propose to her again.

I know when I'm not wanted.

MRS. KNOWLE. But we do want you, Mr. Coote. Both my husband and I--

BOBBY. I say, I'd much rather not talk about it, if you don't mind. I practically promised her that I wouldn't say anything to you this time.

MRS. KNOWLE. What, not say anything to her only mother? But how should I know if I were to call you "Bobby," or not?

BOBBY. Well, of course--I mean I haven't really said anything, have I?

Nothing she'd really mind. She's so funny about things.

MRS. KNOWLE. She is indeed, Mr. Coote. I don't know where she gets it from. Neither Henry nor I are in the least funny. It was all the result of being christened in that irreligious way--I quite thought he said Millicent--and reading all those books, instead of visiting the sick as I used to do. I was quite a little Red Riding Hood until Henry sprang at me so fiercely. (MR. KNOWLE and JANE come in by the window, and she turns round towards them.) Ah, there you both are. I was wondering where you had got to. Mr. Coote has been telling me all about his prospects in the city. So comforting. Jane, you didn't get your feet wet, I hope.

JANE. It's quite dry, Aunt Mary.

MR. KNOWLE. It's a most beautiful night, my dear. We've been talking to the fairies--haven't we, Jane?

MRS. KNOWLE. Well, as long as you didn't get cold. Did you see Sandy?

MR. KNOWLE. We didn't see any one but t.i.tania--and Peters. He had an appointment, apparently--but not with t.i.tania.

JANE. He is walking out with Alice, I think.

MRS. KNOWLE. Well, Melisande will have to talk to Alice in the morning. I always warned you, Henry, about the danger of having an unmarried chauffeur on the premises. I always felt it was a mistake.

MR. KNOWLE. Apparently, my dear, Peters feels as strongly about it as you. He is doing his best to remedy the error.

MRS. KNOWLE (getting up). Well, I must be going to bed. I have been through a good deal to-night; more than any of you know about.

MR. KNOWLE (cheerfully). What's the matter, my love? Indigestion?

MRS. KNOWLE. Beyond saying that it is not indigestion, Henry, my lips are sealed. I shall suffer my cross--my mental cross--in silence.

JANE. Shall I come with you, Aunt Mary?

MRS. KNOWLE. In five minutes, dear. (To Heaven) My only daughter has left me, and gone into the night. Fortunately my niece has offered to help me out of my--to help me. (Holding out her hand) Good-night, Mr.

Coote.

BOBBY. Good-night, Mrs. Knowle.

MRS. KNOWLE. Good-night! And remember (in a loud whisper) what Shakespeare said. (She presses his hand and holds it) Good-night!

Good-night! . . . Good-night!

MR. KNOWLE. Shakespeare said so many things. Among others, he said, "Good-night, good-night, parting is such sweet sorrow, that I could say good-night till it be morrow." (MRS. KNOWLE looks at him severely, and then, without saying anything, goes over to him and holds up her cheek.) Good-night, my dear. Sleep well.

MRS. KNOWLE. In five minutes, Jane.

JANE. Yes, Aunt Mary.

(MRS. KNOWLE goes to the door, BOBBY hurrying in front to open it for her.)

MRS. KNOWLE (at the door). I shall _not_ sleep well. I shall lie awake all night. Dr. Anderson will be very much distressed. "Dr. Anderson,"

I shall say, "it is not your fault. I lay awake all night, thinking of my loved ones." In five minutes, Jane.

[She goes out.