Soldiers Three

MISS THREEGAN. (Extracting long lavender silk stocking from the rubbish.) You know him better than I do.

MISS D. Oh, do be sympathetic, Minnie! I’m sure he does. At least I would be sure if he wasn’t always riding with that odious Mrs. Hagan.

MISS T. I suppose so. How does one manage to dance through one’s heels first? Look at this – isn’t it shameful? (Spreads stocking-heel on open hand for inspection)

MISS D. Never mind that! You can’t mend it. Help me with this hateful bodice, I’ve run the string so, and I’ve run the string so, and I can’t make the fulness come right. Where would you put this? (Waves lilies of the valley.)

MISS T. As high up on the shoulder as possible.

MISS D. Am I quite tall enough? I know it makes May Olger look lop-sided.

MISS T. Yes, but May hasn’t your shoulders. Hers are like a hock-bottle.

BEARER. (Rapping at door.) Captain Sahib aya.

MISS D. (Jumping up wildly, and hunting for body, which she has discarded owing to the heat of the day.) Captain Sahib! What Captain Sahib? Oh, good gracious, and I’m only half dressed! Well, I shan’t bother.

MISS T. (Calmly.) You needn’t. It isn’t for us. That’s Captain Gadsby. He is going for a ride with Mamma. He generally comes five days out of the seven.

AGONISED VOICE. (From an inner apartment.) Minnie, run out and give Captain Gadsby some tea, and tell him I shall be ready in ten minutes; and, O Minnie, come to me an instant, there’s a dear girl!

MISS T. Oh, bother! (Aloud.) Very well, Mamma.

Exit, and reappears, after five minutes, flushed, and rubbing her fingers.

MISS D. You look pink. What has happened?

MISS T. (In a stage whisper.) A twenty-four-inch waist, and she won’t let it out. Where are my bangles? (Rummages on the toilet-table, and dabs at her hair with a brush in the interval.)

MISS D. Who is this Captain Gadsby? I don’t think I’ve met him.

MISS T. You must have. He belongs to the Harrar set. I’ve danced with him, but I’ve never talked to him. He’s a big yellow man, just like a newly-hatched chicken, with an e-normous moustache. He walks like this (imitates Cavalry swagger), and he goes ‘Ha-Hmmm!’ deep down in his throat when he can’t think of anything to say. Mamma likes him. I don’t.

MISS D. (Abstractedly.) Does he wax his moustache?

MISS T. (Busy with powder-puff.) Yes, I think so. Why?

MISS D. (Bending oner the bodice and sewing furiously.) Oh, nothing – only —

MISS T. (Sternly.) Only what? Out with it, Emma.

MISS D. Well, May Olger – she’s engaged to Mr. Charteris, you know – said – Promise you won’t repeat this?

MISS T. Yes, I promise. What did she say?

MISS D. That – that being kissed (with a rush) by a man who didn’t wax his moustache was – like eating an egg without salt.

MISS T. (At her full height, with crushing scorn.) May Olger is a horrid, nasty Thing, and you can tell her I said so. I’m glad she doesn’t belong to my set – I must go and feed this man! Do I look presentable?

MISS D. Yes, perfectly. Be quick and hand him over to your Mother, and then we can talk. I shall listen at the door to hear what you say to him.

MISS T. ‘Sure I don’t care. I’m not afraid of Captain Gadsby.

In proof of this swings into drawing-room with a mannish stride followed by two short steps, which produces the effect of a restive horse entering. Misses CAPTAIN GADSBY, who is sitting in the shadow of the window-curtain, and gazes round helplessly.

CAPTAIN GADSBY. (Aside.) The filly, by Jove! ‘Must ha’ picked up that action from the sire. (Aloud, rising.) Good evening, Miss Threegan.

MISS T. (Conscious that she is flushing.) Good evening, Captain Gadsby. Mamma told me to say that she will be ready in a few minutes. Won’t you have some tea? (Aside.) I hope Mamma will be quick. What am I to say to the creature? (Aloud and abruptly.) Milk and sugar?

CAPT. G. No sugar, tha-anks, and very little milk. Ha-Hmmm.

MISS T. (Aside.) If he’s going to do that, I’m lost. I shall laugh. I know I shall!

CAPT. G. (Pulling at his moustache and watching it sideways down his nose.) Ha-Hmmm. (Aside.) ‘Wonder what the little beast can talk about. ‘Must make a shot at it.

MISS T. (Aside.) Oh, this is agonising. I must say something.

BOTH TOGETHER. Have you been —

CAPT. G. I beg your pardon. You were going to say —

MISS T. (Who has been watching the moustache with awed fascination.) Won’t you have some eggs?

CAPT. G. (Looking bewilderedly at the tea-table.) Eggs! (A side.) O Hades! She must have a nursery-tea at this hour. S’pose they’ve wiped her mouth and sent her to me while the Mother is getting on her duds. (Aloud.) No, thanks.

MISS T. (Crimson with confusion.) Oh! I didn’t mean that. I wasn’t thinking of mou – eggs for an instant. I mean salt. Won’t you have some sa – sweets? (Aside.) He’ll think me a raving lunatic. I wish Mamma would come.

CAPT. G. (Aside.) It was a nursery-tea and she’s ashamed of it. By Jove! She doesn’t look half bad when she colours up like that. (Aloud, helping himself from the dish.) Have you seen those new chocolates at Peliti’s?

MISS T. No, I made these myself. What are they like?

CAPT. G. These! De-licious. (Aside.) And that’s a fact.

MISS T. (Aside.) Oh, bother! he’ll think I’m fishing for compliments. (Aloud.) No, Peliti’s of course.

CAPT. G. (Enthusiastically.) Not to compare with these. How d’you make them? I can’t get my khansamah to understand the simplest thing beyond mutton and fowl.

MISS T. Yes? I’m not a khansamah, you know. Perhaps you frighten him. You should never frighten a servant. He loses his head. It’s very bad policy.

CAPT. G. He’s so awf’ly stupid.

MISS T. (Folding her hands in her lap.) You should call him quietly and say: ‘O khansamah jee!’

CAPT. G. (Getting interested.) Yes? (Aside.) Fancy that little featherweight saying, ‘O khansamah jee’ to my bloodthirsty Mir Khan!

MISS T. Then you should explain the dinner, dish by dish.

CAPT. G. But I can’t speak the vernacular.