Tales of two people

For an instant the passenger, resting as lightly as he could on the spar, watched Johnny’s face.

“You’ve kept afloat some time,” he observed, with an approving air. He liked pluck in boys – even ugly whimpering boys. His end went under, and he came up gurgling and spitting. He felt now as if he had no legs at all.

Johnny had stopped swearing, but was blubbering worse than ever.

“Damn it,” said the passenger, “haven’t I made enough people do that?” And he added, “Ta-ta, Johnny,” and let go the spar.

His legs were there, after all, and they let him know it. For time unmeasured he battled for the life he was weary of, and would not let himself be pushed through the open door. But at last he crossed its threshold.

Johnny was drowned too. But then the passenger had always protested against his acts being judged by their consequences; and it doesn’t seem fair to take it against him both ways.

LOVE’S LOGIC[1 - Dramatic Rights are reserved and protected as required by law.]

The Scene is a hall or corridor, lying between two conservatories, one on the right, the other on the left. Besides plants and other ornaments, the corridor is furnished with a couch and a small round table with an arm-chair by it. The time is between eleven and twelve in the evening.

Mr Marchesson’s back is visible in the doorway leading to the conservatory on the right.

MR M. (Speaking to unseen person in the conservatory.) So awfully sorry, but I absolutely promised to meet a man at the club. (Pause.) Beg pardon? Oh, a fellow named Smith – you don’t know him. (Pause.) Yes, I hope we shall meet soon, but I’m rather afraid I may have to go out of town. (Pause.) Good-night. (Backs a little further into the corridor.) Phew!

Miss Grainger’s back appears in the doorway leading to the conservatory on the left

Miss G. (Speaking to unseen person in the conservatory.) Yes, of course we shall be friends. What? (Pause.) Oh yes, great friends, What? (Pause.) I don’t know – I may be going out of town. Good-night. (She backs into the corridor, throws her eyes upwards, and draws in her breath with a long sigh.)

Mr M. meanwhile has taken out a cigarette, and is just about to light it when they turn and see one another. Both start, smile, and then become grave and rather formal in manner.

Mr M. (Putting his hands – with the cigarette and the match-box – behind him.) Oh, I beg pardon! I didn’t think anybody – (He turns as if to retreat into the conservatory.)

Miss G. Please don’t go – and please do smoke. It’s so nice and cool here, isn’t it? (She sits down on the couch and fans herself gently.)

Mr M. May I really? (He comes forward a little, holding up his cigarette.) You’re sure you don’t mind?

(She nods. He lights the cigarette.)

Miss G. It’s so warm in that conservatory. (Pointing to the left.)

Mr M. (With feeling.) So it was in that one. (Pointing to the right. He wipes his brow, she fans herself assiduously.) Ouf!

Miss G. You do look rather – flustered.

Mr M. Well – in fact – so do you.

(They look at one another, trying to remain grave, but presently both give a short embarrassed laugh. Mr M. comes a step nearer, placing his hand on the back of the chair.)

I’ve got it! I know the signs!

(She looks at him inquiringly and with amusement. He nods towards the conservatory on the left.) You’ve been refusing some fellow in there.

Miss G. Have I? (Pointing to the conservatory on the right.) And what have you been doing in there?

Mr M. (After a careful glance over his shoulder.) As you didn’t see the lady, I don’t mind admitting that I’ve been doing the same thing.

Miss G. (Raising her brows.) Refusing?

Mr M. Refusing – to ask.

Miss G. Oh!

Mr M. (He smokes vigorously, then throws his cigarette into a receptacle.) It’s a precious lot easier for you than for us, though. I say, I must sound like a conceited idiot, I know, but – well, you see, the fact is —

Miss G. That you’re Mr Marchesson – ?

Mr M. (Pleased.) You know my name?

Miss G. Oh yes. Mine’s Grainger.

Mr M. Yes. I – I know your name, Miss Grainger.

Miss G. You’re diamonds? (She touches some that she is wearing as she speaks. He nods gloomily.)

I’m soap. (He glances for a brief instant at his hand.) So, of course – ! (She shrugs her shoulders and closes her fan. A moment’s pause.)

Mr M. Beastly, isn’t it?

Miss G. Well, it’s – monotonous.

Mr M. It’s worse than that. It’s degrading, it’s heart-breaking, it’s ruin to the character. It saps my faith in humanity, it trammels my actions, it confines my affections, it cuts me off from friendship, from the pleasant and innocent companionships which my nature longs for. I alone mayn’t look with the eye of honest admiration on a pretty girl, I alone mayn’t —

Miss G. Sit in a conservatory?

Mr M. (With a shudder.) Above all – not that! I tell you it’s kept me single for years! And you for —

Miss G. Years?

Mr M. (Smiling.) Months! All last season and most of this! Take your case now —

Miss G. (Eagerly leaning forward.) Oh yes, let’s!

Mr M. You’d naturally enjoy men’s society, you’d like their friendship, their company, their admiration. You’d enjoy an innocent but piquant flirtation.

Miss G. Should I?

Mr M. (Looking at her.) Well, yes, I think you would. You daren’t venture on it!

Miss G. It is generally fatal, I admit.

Mr M. The plain truth is that the thing’s intolerable. I shall stick a placard on my waistcoat – “Not for sale.”

Miss G. And I’d better become a hospital nurse!