The Tyranny of Tears Part 2

Mrs. Parbury.

To send Miss Woodward to you, since you prefer her society to mine.

Parbury.

But I tell you I'm scarcely conscious of the girl's existence; anyway, it was you who brought her here. You may remember I proposed having a male secretary.

Mrs. Parbury.

Yes; to make a companion of at my expense. You were always a man's man! If I had had more experience I would have known that by the host of men friends you had when we married.

Parbury.

[Cheerily.] I haven't them now, dear.

Mrs. Parbury.

You mean-that I- [Struggling to release her hands.] You are most brutal. Let me go!

Parbury.

Not while you are angry, dear.

[Gently forces her into a chair, R.C.

[There is another slight pause. She is certainly angry, but she doesn't attempt to leave the chair. He looks down at her, and lays a hand lightly on her hair.

Mrs. Parbury.

[Brushing his hand away.] Please don't do that. I am not a child! [Parbury takes a chair and sits next to her. Pause.] Perhaps you will tell me why you have used your superior strength to keep me here against my will?

Parbury.

[Taking her hand.] Do you know that I'm very much in love with you?

Mrs. Parbury.

You in love with me! You don't know what love is! All you feel at this moment is the sort of insolent pity the strong have for the weak.

Parbury.

You weak, darling! Oh, come! You know better than that! You can't be unconscious of your power!

Mrs. Parbury.

I really don't understand you.

Parbury.

I only meant to remind you that after all you do always get your own way. I'm really very glad, for I'm sure your way must always be the best way. Oh, the power and determination of this little hand! [Holding her hand.] Do let me, with the deepest submission, kiss "The Mailed Fist."

[He kisses her hand.

Mrs. Parbury.

As it pleases you to be rude to me I shall try to bear it patiently.

Parbury.

I don't mean to be rude. It's my unfortunate way of putting things. I kissed your hand because of the real tender love my heart holds for you, and for the same reason I put back this dear, rebellious little lock of hair which has escaped from over your ear. And what a perfect ear! It's as delicate and fragile as a sh.e.l.l, and it's just the daintiest pink possible.

Mrs. Parbury.

[Mollified.] I know my ears are all right, though I think you are making fun of me.

Parbury.

I think I'm making love to you.

Mrs. Parbury.

[Suddenly taking one of his hands in hers.] Oh, if you only loved me in the way I love you!

Parbury.

I love you in a most excellent way.

Mrs. Parbury.

But it's different-you don't understand. I love to breathe the air you breathe, to hear your voice even when it's dictating a dry article, to listen to your footsteps, to watch the changing expressions on your face. I live by the warmth your life gives me; you don't grudge me that, do you?

Parbury.

Why, of course not, darling!

Mrs. Parbury.

I love this room because it is yours, the surroundings are yours, the atmosphere is yours. When you are out-- Parbury.

[Gently patting her hand.] Which is not often, dear.

Mrs. Parbury.

When you are out I always stay here, because here I get most of you; even the thin odour of cigarette smoke is dear to me. Smoke now.

Parbury.

Shall I?

Mrs. Parbury.

[Gives him a cigarette from his case on table, and lights it.] That's delightful! [Sniffs the smoke.] But only because it's you! I used to detest tobacco.

Parbury.

[Smiling.] You dear!

[Puts his arm around her.

Mrs. Parbury.

You understand a little now, don't you?

[Putting her head on his shoulder.

Parbury.

Perfectly!

Mrs. Parbury.

[Rising.] And you are not angry any more?

Parbury.

Was I angry?

[Rises.

Mrs. Parbury.

Horribly!

Parbury.

I'm sorry.

Mrs. Parbury.

Not vexed about the article?

Parbury.

Bother the article. I knew it hadn't a million to one chance!

Mrs. Parbury.

And it doesn't matter?

Parbury.

Not in the least!

Mrs. Parbury.

Then we may have tea in here?

Parbury.

Rather! Let's go the pace.

Mrs. Parbury.

[Goes to him, standing before him, her hands by her sides.] Kiss me! [He kisses her. She throws her arms round him and whispers to him. He whispers a word in reply. They both laugh slightly, and he playfully pinches her cheek.] Brute! [She smooths her hair and goes to door, L.; turns at door and blows him a kiss, to which he responds.]

[Exit Mrs. Parbury, L.

Parbury.

[Standing for moment, C., a whimsical look on his face.] Dear little woman! What a pity she cries so much! [Puts chair up, R.; goes to desk and turns over pages of magazine, still continuing his thought.] What a pity! What a pity!

Enter Miss Woodward carrying loose type-written MS. Parbury glances up from his magazine as she places the leaves on the desk.

Oh, thanks!

Miss Woodward.

Do you wish to finish the article now?

Parbury.

Impossible! Tea will be taken here in a few minutes.

Miss Woodward.

[With a touch of indignant surprise.] Here? . . . Oh, I beg your pardon!

Parbury.

Not at all! I said here! [Throws down magazine, goes up to fireplace, C. Miss Woodward permits a slight groan to escape her.] Eh?

Miss Woodward.

Nothing, I didn't speak!

[Sits and bends over desk.

[Parbury looks at her suddenly and keenly as though he had never noticed her before. Slight pause. She arranges papers at desk. He is leaning against the mantelpiece.