The Second Mrs. Tanqueray Part 17

AUBREY.

[_Sarcastically._] That's good news.

PAULA.

Why are you always so cutting about Mabel? She's a kind-hearted girl. Every thing's altered; she even thinks of letting her hair go back to brown. She's Lady Orreyed. She's married to George. What's the matter with her?

AUBREY.

[_Turning away._] Oh!

PAULA.

You drive me mad sometimes with the tone you take about things!

Great goodness, if you come to that, George Orreyed's wife isn't a bit worse than yours! [_He faces her suddenly._] I suppose I needn't have made that observation.

AUBREY.

No, there was scarcely a necessity.

[_He throws the letter on to the table, and takes up the newspaper._

PAULA.

I am very sorry.

AUBREY.

All right, dear.

PAULA.

[_Trifling with the letter._] I--I'd better tell you what I've written. I meant to do so, of course. I--I've asked the Orreyeds to come and stay with us. [_He looks at her and lets the paper fall to the ground in a helpless way._] George was a great friend of Cayley's; I'm sure _he_ would be delighted to meet them here.

AUBREY.

[_Laughing mirthlessly._] Ha, ha, ha! They say Orreyed has taken to tippling at dinner. Heavens above!

PAULA.

Oh! I've no patience with you! You'll kill me with this life! [_She selects some flowers from a vase on the table, cuts and arranges them, and fastens them in her bodice._] What is my existence, Sunday to Sat.u.r.day? In the morning, a drive down to the village, with the groom, to give my orders to the tradespeople. At lunch, you and Ellean. In the afternoon, a novel, the newspapers; if fine, another drive--_if_ fine! Tea--you and Ellean. Then two hours of dusk; then dinner--you and Ellean. Then a game of Besique, you and I, while Ellean reads a religious book in a dull corner. Then a yawn from me, another from you, a sigh from Ellean; three figures suddenly rise--"Good-night, good-night, good-night!" [_Imitating a kiss._]

"G.o.d bless you!" Ah!

AUBREY.

Yes, yes, Paula--yes, dearest--that's what it is _now_. But, by-and-by, if people begin to come round us----

PAULA.

Hah! That's where we've made the mistake, my friend Aubrey!

[_Pointing to the window._] Do you believe these people will _ever_ come round us? Your former crony, Mrs. Cortelyon? Or the grim old vicar, or that wife of his whose huge nose is positively indecent?

Or the Ullathornes, or the Gollans, or Lady William Petres? I know better! And when the young ones gradually take the place of the old, there will still remain the sacred tradition that the dreadful person who lives at the top of the hill is never, under any circ.u.mstances, to be called upon! And so we shall go on here, year in and year out, until the sap is run out of our lives, and we're stale and dry and withered from sheer, solitary respectability. Upon my word, I wonder we didn't see that we should have been far happier if we'd gone in for the devil-may-care, _cafe_-living sort of life in town! After all, _I_ have a set and you might have joined it.

It's true I did want, dearly, dearly, to be a married woman, but where's the pride in being a married woman among married women who are--married! If---- [_Seeing that_ AUBREY'S _head has sunk into his hands._] Aubrey! My dear boy! You're not--crying?

[_He looks up, with a flushed face._ ELLEAN _enters, dressed very simply for walking. She is a low voiced, grave girl of about nineteen, with a face somewhat resembling a Madonna. Towards_ PAULA _her manner is cold and distant._

AUBREY.

[_In an undertone._] Ellean!

ELLEAN.

Good-morning, papa. Good-morning, Paula.

[PAULA _puts her arms round_ ELLEAN _and kisses her._ ELLEAN _makes little response._

PAULA.

Good-morning. [_Brightly._] We've been breakfasting this side of the house, to get the sun.

[_She sits at the piano and rattles at a gay melody.

Seeing that_ PAULA'S _back is turned to them,_ ELLEAN _goes to_ AUBREY _and kisses him; he returns the kiss almost furtively. As they separate, the servants re-enter, and proceed to carry out the breakfast-table._

AUBREY.

[_To_ ELLEAN.] I guess where you've been: there's some gorse clinging to your frock.

ELLEAN.

[_Removing a sprig of gorse from her skirt._] Rover and I walked nearly as far as Black Moor. The poor fellow has a thorn in his pad; I am going upstairs for my tweezers.

AUBREY.

Ellean! [_She returns to him._] Paula is a little depressed--out of sorts. She complains that she has no companion.

ELLEAN.

I am with Paula nearly all the day, papa.

AUBREY.

Ah, but you're such a little mouse. Paula likes cheerful people about her.

ELLEAN.

I'm afraid I am naturally rather silent; and it's so difficult to seem to be what one is not.

AUBREY.