Mrs. Warren’s Profession

good-for-nothing. Vivie Yes: I’m afraid poor Frank is a thorough good-for-nothing. I shall have to get rid of him; but I shall feel sorry for him, though he’s not worth it, poor lad. That man Crofts does not seem to me to be good for much either: is he? Mrs. Warren Galled by Vivie’s cool tone. What do you know of men, child, to talk that way of them? You’ll have to make up your mind to see a good deal of Sir George Crofts, as he’s a friend of mine. Vivie Quite unmoved. Why? Do you expect that we shall be much together⁠—you and I, I mean? Mrs. Warren Staring at her. Of course⁠—until you’re married. You’re not going back to college again. Vivie Do you think my way of life would suit you? I doubt it. Mrs. Warren Your way of life! What do you mean? Vivie Cutting a page of her book with the paper knife on her chatelaine. Has it really never occurred to you, mother, that I have a way of life like other people? Mrs. Warren What nonsense is this you’re trying to talk? Do you want to show your independence, now that you’re a great little person at school? Don’t be a fool, child. Vivie Indulgently. That’s all you have to say on the subject, is it, mother? Mrs. Warren Puzzled, then angry. Don’t you keep on asking me questions like that. Violently. Hold your tongue. Vivie works on, losing no time, and saying nothing. You and your way of life, indeed! What next? She looks at Vivie again. No reply. Your way of life will be what I please, so it will. Another pause. I’ve been noticing these airs in you ever since you got that tripos or whatever you call it. If you think I’m going to put up with them you’re mistaken; and the sooner you find it out, the better. Muttering. All I have to say on the subject, indeed! Again raising her voice angrily. Do you know who you’re speaking to, Miss? Vivie Looking across at her without raising her head from her book. No. Who are you? What are you? Mrs. Warren Rising breathless. You young imp! Vivie Everybody knows my reputation, my social standing, and the profession I intend to pursue. I know nothing about you. What is that way of life which you invite me to share with you and Sir George Crofts, pray? Mrs. Warren Take care. I shall do something I’ll be sorry for after, and you, too. Vivie Putting aside her books with cool decision. Well, let us drop the subject until you are better able to face it. Looking critically at her mother. You want some good walks and a little lawn tennis to set you up. You are shockingly out of condition: you were not able to manage twenty yards uphill today without stopping to pant; and your wrists are mere rolls of fat. Look at mine. She holds out her wrists. Mrs. Warren After looking at her helplessly, begins to whimper. Vivie⁠— Vivie Springing up sharply. Now pray don’t begin to cry. Anything but that. I really cannot stand whimpering. I will go out of the room if you do. Mrs. Warren Piteously. Oh, my darling, how can you be so hard on me? Have I no rights over you as your mother? Vivie Are you my mother? Mrs. Warren Appalled. Am I your mother! Oh, Vivie! Vivie Then where are our relatives⁠—my father⁠—our family friends? You claim the rights of a mother: the right to call me fool and child; to speak to me as no woman in authority over me at college dare speak to me; to dictate my way of life; and to force on me the acquaintance of a brute whom anyone can see to be the most vicious sort of London man about town. Before I give myself the trouble to resist such claims, I may as well find out whether they have any real existence. Mrs. Warren Distracted, throwing herself on her knees. Oh, no, no. Stop, stop. I am your mother: I swear it. Oh, you can’t mean to turn on me⁠—my own child: it’s not natural. You believe me, don’t you? Say you believe me. Vivie Who was my father? Mrs. Warren You don’t know what you’re asking. I can’t tell you. Vivie Determinedly. Oh, yes, you can, if you like. I have a right to know; and you know very well that I have that right. You can refuse to tell me, if you please; but if you do, you will see the last of me tomorrow morning. Mrs. Warren Oh, it’s too horrible to hear you talk like that. You wouldn’t⁠—you couldn’t leave me. Vivie Ruthlessly. Yes, without a moment’s hesitation, if you trifle with me about this. Shivering with disgust. How can I feel sure that I may not have the contaminated blood of that brutal waster in my veins? Mrs. Warren No, no. On my oath it’s not he, nor any of the rest that you have ever met. I’m certain of that, at least. Vivie’s eyes fasten sternly on her mother as the significance of this flashes on her. Vivie Slowly. You are certain of that, at least. Ah! You mean that that is all you are certain of. Thoughtfully. I see. Mrs. Warren buries her face in her hands. Don’t do that, mother: you know you don’t feel it a bit. Mrs. Warren takes down her hands and looks up deplorably at Vivie, who takes out her watch and says: Well, that is enough for tonight. At what hour would you like breakfast? Is half-past eight too early for you? Mrs. Warren Wildly. My God, what sort of woman are you? Vivie Coolly. The sort the world is mostly made of, I should hope. Otherwise I don’t understand how it gets its business done. Come: taking her