Mrs. Warren’s Profession

epub:type="z3998:given-name">S. Nonsense, sir. I am Sir George Crofts’ host. I must talk to him about something; and he has only one subject. Where is Mr. Praed now? Frank He is driving my mother and Bessie to the station. Rev. S. Is Crofts up yet? Frank Oh, long ago. He hasn’t turned a hair: he’s in much better practice than you⁠—has kept it up ever since, probably. He’s taken himself off somewhere to smoke. Frank resumes his paper. The Rev. S. turns disconsolately towards the gate; then comes back irresolutely. Rev. S. Er⁠—Frank. Frank Yes. Rev. S. Do you think the Warrens will expect to be asked here after yesterday afternoon? Frank They’ve been asked already. Crofts informed us at breakfast that you told him to bring Mrs. Warren and Vivie over here today, and to invite them to make this house their home. It was after that communication that my mother found she must go to town by the 11.13 train. Rev. S. With despairing vehemence. I never gave any such invitation. I never thought of such a thing. Frank Compassionately. How do you know, gov’nor, what you said and thought last night? Hallo! here’s Praed back again. Praed Coming in through the gate. Good morning. Rev. S. Good morning. I must apologize for not having met you at breakfast. I have a touch of⁠—of⁠— Frank Clergyman’s sore throat, Praed. Fortunately not chronic. Praed Changing the subject. Well, I must say your house is in a charming spot here. Really most charming. Rev. S. Yes: it is indeed. Frank will take you for a walk, Mr. Praed, if you like. I’ll ask you to excuse me: I must take the opportunity to write my sermon while Mrs. Gardner is away and you are all amusing yourselves. You won’t mind, will you? Praed Certainly not. Don’t stand on the slightest ceremony with me. Rev. S. Thank you. I’ll⁠—er⁠—er⁠—He stammers his way to the porch and vanishes into the house. Praed Curious thing it must be writing a sermon every week. Frank Ever so curious, if he did it. He buys ’em. He’s gone for some soda water. Praed My dear boy: I wish you would be more respectful to your father. You know you can be so nice when you like. Frank My dear Praddy: you forget that I have to live with the governor. When two people live together⁠—it don’t matter whether they’re father and son, husband and wife, brother and sister⁠—they can’t keep up the polite humbug which comes so easy for ten minutes on an afternoon call. Now the governor, who unites to many admirable domestic qualities the irresoluteness of a sheep and the pompousness and aggressiveness of a jackass⁠— Praed No, pray, pray, my dear Frank, remember! He is your father. Frank I give him due credit for that. Rising and flinging down his paper. But just imagine his telling Crofts to bring the Warrens over here! He must have been ever so drunk. You know, my dear Praddy, my mother wouldn’t stand Mrs. Warren for a moment. Vivie mustn’t come here until she’s gone back to town. Praed But your mother doesn’t know anything about Mrs. Warren, does she? Frank I don’t know. Her journey to town looks as if she did. Not that my mother would mind in the ordinary way: she has stuck like a brick to lots of women who had got into trouble. But they were all nice women. That’s what makes the real difference. Mrs. Warren, no doubt, has her merits; but she’s ever so rowdy; and my mother simply wouldn’t put up with her. So⁠—hallo! This exclamation is provoked by the reappearance of the clergyman, who comes out of the house in haste and dismay. Rev. S. Frank: Mrs. Warren and her daughter are coming across the heath with Crofts: I saw them from the study windows. What am I to say about your mother? Frank Jumping up energetically. Stick on your hat and go out and say how delighted you are to see them; and that Frank’s in the garden; and that mother and Bessie have been called to the bedside of a sick relative, and were ever so sorry they couldn’t stop; and that you hope Mrs. Warren slept well; and⁠—and⁠—say any blessed thing except the truth, and leave the rest to Providence. Rev. S. But how are we to get rid of them afterwards? Frank There’s no time to think of that now. Here! He bounds into the porch and returns immediately with a clerical felt hat, which he claps on his father’s head. Now: off with you. Rushing him through the gate. Praed and I’ll wait here, to give the thing an unpremeditated air. The clergyman, dazed but obedient, hurries off through the gate. Praed gets up from the turf, and dusts himself. Frank We must get that old lady back to town somehow, Praed. Come! honestly, dear Praddy, do you like seeing them together⁠—Vivie and the old lady? Praed Oh, why not? Frank His teeth on edge. Don’t it make your flesh creep ever so little?⁠—that wicked old devil, up to every villainy under the sun, I’ll swear, and Vivie⁠—ugh! Praed Hush, pray. They’re coming. The clergyman and Crofts are seen coming along the road, followed by Mrs. Warren and Vivie walking affectionately together. Frank Look: she actually has her arm round the old woman’s waist. It’s her right arm: she began it. She’s gone sentimental, by God. Ugh! ugh! Now do you feel the creeps? The clergyman opens the gate: and Mrs. Warren and Vivie pass him and stand in the middle of the garden looking at the house. Frank, in an ecstasy of dissimulation, turns gaily to Mrs. Warren, exclaiming: Ever so delighted to see you, Mrs. Warren. This quiet old rectory garden becomes you perfectly. Mrs. Warren Well, I never! Did you hear that, George? He says I look well in a quiet old rectory garden. Rev. S. Still holding