The Second Mrs. Tanqueray

don’t let your thoughts run on such things! Paula Laughing. Ha, ha, how scared you look! There, think of the time! Dearest, what will my coachman say! My cloak! She runs off, gaily, by the upper door. Aubrey looks after her for a moment, then he walks up to the fire and stands warming his feet at the bars. As he does so he raises his head and observes the letters upon the mantelpiece. He takes one down quickly. Aubrey Ah! Ellean! Opening the letter and reading. “My dear father⁠—A great change has come over me. I believe my mother in Heaven has spoken to me, and counselled me to turn to you in your loneliness. At any rate, your words have reached my heart, and I no longer feel fitted for this solemn life. I am ready to take my place by you. Dear father, will you receive me?⁠—Ellean.” Paula re-enters, dressed in a handsome cloak. He stares at her as if he hardly realised her presence. Paula What are you staring at? Don’t you admire my cloak? Aubrey Yes. Paula Couldn’t you wait till I’d gone before reading your letters? Aubrey Putting the letter away. I beg your pardon. Paula Take me downstairs to the carriage. Slipping her arm through his. How I tease you! Tomorrow! I’m so happy! They go out.

Act II

A morning-room in Aubrey Tanqueray’s house, “Highercoombe,” near Willowmere, Surrey⁠—a bright and prettily furnished apartment of irregular shape, with double doors opening into a small hall at the back, another door on the left, and a large recessed window through which is obtained a view of extensive grounds. Everything about the room is charming and graceful. The fire is burning in the grate, and a small table is tastefully laid for breakfast. It is a morning in early Spring, and the sun is streaming in through the window.

	Aubrey and Paula are seated at breakfast, and Aubrey is silently reading his letters. Two servants, a man and a woman, hand dishes and then retire. After a little while Aubrey puts his letters aside and looks across to the window.
Aubrey	Sunshine! Spring!
Paula	Glancing at the clock. Exactly six minutes.
Aubrey	Six minutes?
Paula	Six minutes, Aubrey dear, since you made your last remark.
Aubrey	I beg your pardon; I was reading my letters. Have you seen Ellean this morning?
Paula	Coldly. Your last observation but one was about Ellean.
Aubrey	Dearest, what shall I talk about?
Paula	Ellean breakfasted two hours ago, Morgan tells me, and then went out walking with her dog.
Aubrey	She wraps up warmly, I hope; this sunshine is deceptive.
Paula	I ran about the lawn last night, after dinner, in satin shoes. Were you anxious about me?
Aubrey	Certainly.
Paula	Melting. Really?
Aubrey	You make me wretchedly anxious; you delight in doing incautious things. You are incurable.
Paula	Ah, what a beast I am! Going to him and kissing him, then glancing at the letters by his side. A letter from Cayley?
Aubrey	He is staying very near here, with Mrs.⁠—Very near here.
Paula	With the lady whose chimneys we have the honour of contemplating from our windows?
Aubrey	With Mrs. Cortelyon⁠—yes.
Paula	Mrs. Cortelyon! The woman who might have set the example of calling on me when we first threw out roots in this deadly-lively soil! Deuce take Mrs. Cortelyon!
Aubrey	Hush! my dear girl!
Paula	Returning to her seat. Oh, I know she’s an old acquaintance of yours⁠—and of the first Mrs. Tanqueray. And she joins the rest of ’em in slapping the second Mrs. Tanqueray in the face. However, I have my revenge⁠—she’s six-and-forty, and I wish nothing worse to happen to any woman.
Aubrey	Well, she’s going to town, Cayley says here, and his visit’s at an end. He’s coming over this morning to call on you. Shall we ask him to transfer himself to us? Do say yes.
Paula	Yes.
Aubrey	Gladly. Ah, ha! old Cayley!
Paula	Coldly. He’ll amuse you.
Aubrey	And you too.
Paula	Because you find a companion, shall I be boisterously hilarious?
Aubrey	Come, come! He talks London, and you know you like that.
Paula	London! London or Heaven! which is farther from me!
Aubrey	Paula!
Paula	Oh! Oh, I am so bored, Aubrey!
Aubrey	Gathering up his letters and going to her, leaning over her shoulder. Baby, what can I do for you?
Paula	I suppose, nothing. You have done all you can for me.
Aubrey	What do you mean?
Paula	You have married me.
	He walks away from her thoughtfully, to the writing-table. As he places his letters on the table he sees an addressed letter, stamped for the post, lying on the blotting-book; he picks it up.
Aubrey	In an altered tone. You’ve been writing this morning before breakfast?
Paula	Looking at him quickly, then away again. Er⁠—that letter.
Aubrey	With the letter in his hand. To Lady Orreyed. Why?
Paula	Why not? Mabel’s an old friend of mine.
Aubrey	Are you⁠—corresponding?
Paula	I heard from her yesterday. They’ve just returned from the Riviera. She seems happy.
Aubrey	Sarcastically. That’s good news.
Paula	Why are you always so cutting about Mabel? She’s a kindhearted girl. Everything’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