Mrs. Warren’s Profession

who refuse to enlighten me. Now, let us drop the subject. She takes her chair and replaces it near the hammock with the same vigorous swing as before. Praed Taking a desperate resolution. One word, Miss Warren. I had better tell you. It’s very difficult; but⁠— Mrs. Warren and Sir George Crofts arrive at the gate. Mrs. Warren is between forty and fifty, formerly pretty, showily dressed in a brilliant hat and a gay blouse fitting tightly over her bust and flanked by fashionable sleeves. Rather spoilt and domineering, and decidedly vulgar, but, on the whole, a genial and fairly presentable old blackguard of a woman. Crofts is a tall powerfully-built man of about fifty, fashionably dressed in the style of a young man. Nasal voice, reedier than might be expected from his strong frame. Clean-shaven bulldog jaws, large flat ears, and thick neck: gentlemanly combination of the most brutal types of city man, sporting man, and man about town. Vivie Here they are. Coming to them as they enter the garden. How do, mater? Mr. Praed’s been here this half hour, waiting for you. Mrs. Warren Well, if you’ve been waiting, Praddy, it’s your own fault: I thought you’d have had the gumption to know I was coming by the 3.10 train. Vivie: put your hat on, dear: you’ll get sunburnt. Oh, I forgot to introduce you. Sir George Crofts: my little Vivie. Crofts advances to Vivie with his most courtly manner. She nods, but makes no motion to shake hands. Crofts May I shake hands with a young lady whom I have known by reputation very long as the daughter of one of my oldest friends? Vivie Who has been looking him up and down sharply. If you like. She takes his tenderly proferred hand and gives it a squeeze that makes him open his eyes; then turns away, and says to her mother: Will you come in, or shall I get a couple more chairs? She goes into the porch for the chairs. Mrs. Warren Well, George, what do you think of her? Crofts Ruefully. She has a powerful fist. Did you shake hands with her, Praed? Praed Yes: it will pass off presently. Crofts I hope so. Vivie reappears with two more chairs. He hurries to her assistance. Allow me. Mrs. Warren Patronizingly. Let Sir George help you with the chairs, dear. Vivie Almost pitching two into his arms. Here you are. She dusts her hands and turns to Mrs. Warren. You’d like some tea, wouldn’t you? Mrs. Warren Sitting in Praed’s chair and fanning herself. I’m dying for a drop to drink. Vivie I’ll see about it. She goes into the cottage. Sir George has by this time managed to unfold a chair and plant it by Mrs. Warren, on her left. He throws the other on the grass and sits down, looking dejected and rather foolish, with the handle of his stick in his mouth. Praed, still very uneasy, fidgets around the garden on their right. Mrs. Warren To Praed, looking at Crofts. Just look at him, Praddy: he looks cheerful, don’t he? He’s been worrying my life out these three years to have that little girl of mine shown to him; and now that I’ve done it, he’s quite out of countenance. Briskly. Come! sit up, George; and take your stick out of your mouth. Crofts sulkily obeys. Praed I think, you know⁠—if you don’t mind my saying so⁠—that we had better get out of the habit of thinking of her as a little girl. You see she has really distinguished herself; and I’m not sure, from what I have seen of her, that she is not older than any of us. Mrs. Warren Greatly amused. Only listen to him, George! Older than any of us! Well, she has been stuffing you nicely with her importance. Praed But young people are particularly sensitive about being treated in that way. Mrs. Warren Yes; and young people have to get all that nonsense taken out of them, and good deal more besides. Don’t you interfere, Praddy: I know how to treat my own child as well as you do. Praed, with a grave shake of his head, walks up the garden with his hands behind his back. Mrs. Warren pretends to laugh, but looks after him with perceptible concern. Then she whispers to Crofts: Whats the matter with him? What does he take it like that for? Crofts Morosely. You’re afraid of Praed. Mrs. Warren What! Me! Afraid of dear old Praddy! Why, a fly wouldn’t be afraid of him. Crofts You’re afraid of him. Mrs. Warren Angry. I’ll trouble you to mind your own business, and not try any of your sulks on me. I’m not afraid of you, anyhow. If you can’t make yourself agreeable, you’d better go home. She gets up, and, turning her back on him, finds herself face to face with Praed. Come, Praddy, I know it was only your tenderheartedness. You’re afraid I’ll bully her. Praed My dear Kitty: you think I’m offended. Don’t imagine that: pray don’t. But you know I often notice things that escape you; and though you never take my advice, you sometimes admit afterwards that you ought to have taken it. Mrs. Warren Well, what do you notice now? Praed Only that Vivie is a grown woman. Pray, Kitty, treat her with every respect. Mrs. Warren With genuine amazement. Respect! Treat my own daughter with respect! What next, pray! Vivie Appearing at the cottage door and calling to Mrs. Warren. Mother: will you come to my room before tea? Mrs. Warren Yes, dearie. She laughs indulgently at Praed’s gravity, and pats him on the cheek as she passes him on her way to the porch. Don’t be cross, Praddy. She follows Vivie into the cottage. Crofts Furtively. I say, Praed. Praed Yes. Crofts I want to ask