The Plays of W. E. Henley and R. L. Stevenson

Barbara. O Mr. Anthony, for shame! Why don’t you ask Miss Foster?

Anthony. Now I wish you to understand: I’m the head of this family. It’s my business to look after my sister’s reputation, and my aunt’s too, begad! That’s what I’m here for: I’m their natural protector. And what I want you, Barbara Ridley, to understand – you whose fathers have served my fathers – is just simply this: if you’ve any common gratitude, you’re bound to help me in the work. Now Barbara, you know me, and you know my Aunt Evelina. She’s a good enough woman; I’m the first to say so. But who is she to take care of a young girl? She’s ignorant of the world to that degree she believes in Beau Austin! Now you and I, Bab, who are not so high and dry, see through and through him; we know that a man like that is no fit company for any inexperienced girl.

Barbara. O Mr. Anthony, don’t say that. (Weeping.)

Anthony. Hullo! what’s wrong?

Barbara. Nothing that I know of. O Mr. Anthony, I don’t think there can be anything.

Anthony. Think? Don’t think? What’s this?

Barbara. O sir! I don’t know, and yet I don’t like it. Here’s my beautiful necklace all broke to bits: she took it off my very neck, and gave me her birthday pearls instead; and I found it afterwards on the table, all smashed to pieces; and all she wanted it for was to take and break it. Why that? It frightens me, Mr. Anthony, it frightens me.

Anthony (with necklace). This? What has this trumpery to do with us?

Barbara. He gave it me: that’s why she broke it.

Anthony. He? who?

Barbara. Mr. Austin did; and I do believe I should not have taken it, Mr. Anthony, but I thought no harm, upon my word of honour. He was always here: that was six months ago; and indeed, indeed, I thought they were to marry. How would I think else with a born lady like Miss Dorothy?

Anthony. Why, Barbara, God help us all, what’s this? You don’t mean to say that there was —

Barbara. Here it is, as true as true: they were going for a jaunt; and Miss Foster had her gout; and I was to go with them; and he told me to make-believe I was ill; and I did; and I stayed at home; and he gave me that necklace; and they went away together; and, oh dear! I wish I’d never been born.

Anthony. Together? he and Dolly? Good Lord! my sister! And since then?

Barbara. We haven’t seen him from that day to this, the wicked villain; and, Mr. Anthony, he hasn’t so much as written the poor dear a word.

Anthony. Bab, Bab, Bab, this is a devil of a bad business; this is a cruel bad business, Baby; cruel upon me, cruel upon all of us; a family like mine. I’m a young man, Barbara, to have this delicate affair to manage; but, thank God, I’m Musgrave to the bone. He bribed a servant-maid, did he? I keep his bribe; it’s mine now; dear bought, by George! He shall have it in his teeth. Shot Colonel Villiers, did he? we’ll see how he faces Anthony Musgrave. You’re a good girl, Barbara; so far you’ve served the family. You leave this to me. And, hark ye, dry your eyes and hold your tongue: I’ll have no scandal raised by you.

Barbara. I do hope, sir, you won’t use me against Miss Dorothy.

Anthony. That’s my affair; your business is to hold your tongue. Miss Dorothy has made her bed and must lie on it. Here’s Jack Fenwick. You can go.

SCENE V

Anthony, Fenwick

Anthony. Jack Fenwick, is that you? Come here, my boy. Jack, you’ve given me many a thrashing, and I deserved ’em; and I’ll not see you made a fool of now. George Austin is a damned villain, and Dorothy Musgrave is no girl for you to marry: God help me that I should have to say it.

Fenwick. Good God, who told you?

Anthony. Ay, Jack; it’s hard on me, Jack. But you’ll stand my friend in spite of this, and you’ll take my message to the man, won’t you? For it’s got to come to blood, Jack: there’s no way out of that. And perhaps your poor friend will fall, Jack; think of that: like Villiers. And all for an unworthy sister.

Fenwick. Now, Anthony Musgrave, I give you fair warning; see you take it: one word more against your sister, and we quarrel.

Anthony. You let it slip yourself, Jack: you know yourself she’s not a virtuous girl.

Fenwick. What do you know of virtue, whose whole boast is to be vicious? How dare you draw conclusions? Dolt and puppy! you can no more comprehend that angel’s excellencies than she can stoop to believe in your vices. And you talk morality? Anthony, I’m a man who has been somewhat roughly tried: take care.

Anthony. You don’t seem able to grasp the situation, Jack. It’s very remarkable; I’m the girl’s natural protector; and you should buckle-to and help, like a friend of the family. And instead of that, begad! you turn on me like all the rest.

Fenwick. Now mark me fairly: Mr. Austin follows at my heels; he comes to offer marriage to your sister – that is all you know, and all you shall know; and if by any misplaced insolence of yours this marriage should miscarry, you have to answer, not to Mr. Austin only, but to me.

Anthony. It’s all a most discreditable business, and I don’t see how you propose to better it by cutting my throat. Of course if he’s going to marry her, it’s a different thing; but I don’t believe he is, or he’d have asked me. You think me a fool? Well see they marry, or they’ll find me a dangerous fool.

SCENE VI

To these, Austin, Barbara announcing

Barbara. Mr. Austin. (She shows Austin in, and retires.)

Austin. You will do me the justice to acknowledge, Mr. Fenwick, that I have been not long delayed by my devotion to the Graces.

Anthony. So, sir, I find you in my house —

Austin. And charmed to meet you again. It went against my conscience to separate so soon. Youth, Mr. Musgrave, is to us older men a perpetual refreshment.

Anthony. You came here, sir, I suppose, upon some errand?

Austin. My errand, Mr. Musgrave, is to your fair sister. Beauty, as you know, comes before valour.

Anthony. In my own house, and about my own sister, I presume I have the right to ask for something more explicit.

Austin. The right, my dear sir, is beyond question; but it is one, as you were going on to observe, on which no gentleman insists.

Fenwick. Anthony, my good fellow, I think we had better go.

Anthony. I have asked a question.

Austin. Which I was charmed to answer, but which, on repetition, might begin to grow distasteful.

Anthony. In my own house —

Fenwick. For God’s sake, Anthony!

Austin. In your aunt’s house, young gentleman, I shall be careful to refrain from criticism. I am come upon a visit to a lady: that visit I shall pay; when you desire (if it be possible that you desire it) to resume this singular conversation, select some fitter place. Mr. Fenwick, this afternoon, may I present you to his Royal Highness?

Anthony. Why, sir, I believe you must have misconceived me. I have no wish to offend: at least at present.

Austin. Enough, sir. I was persuaded I had heard amiss. I trust we shall be friends.

Fenwick. Come, Anthony, come: here is your sister.

(As Fenwick and Anthony go out, C., enter Dorothy, L.)

SCENE VII