Mrs. Warren’s Profession

does not share Praed’s incredulity. Vivie utters an exclamation of impatience. Praed’s chivalry droops before their conviction. He adds, slowly: If there is anything worse⁠—that is, anything else⁠—are you sure you are right to tell us, Miss Warren? Vivie I am sure that if I had the courage I should spend the rest of my life in telling it to everybody⁠—in stamping and branding it into them until they all felt their share in its shame and horror as I feel mine. There is nothing I despise more than the wicked convention that protects these things by forbidding a woman to mention them. And yet I can’t tell you. The two infamous words that describe what my mother is are ringing in my ears and struggling on my tongue; but I can’t utter them: the shame of them is too horrible for me. She buries her face in her hands. The two men, astonished, stare at one another and then at her. She raises her head again desperately and snatches a sheet of paper and a pen. Here: let me draft you a prospectus. Frank Oh, she’s mad. Do you hear, Viv? mad. Come: pull yourself together. Vivie You shall see. She writes. “Paid up capital: not less than forty thousand pounds standing in the name of Sir George Crofts, Baronet, the chief shareholder.” What comes next?⁠—I forget. Oh, yes: “Premises at Brussels, Berlin, Vienna, and Budapest. Managing director: Mrs. Warren;” and now don’t let us forget her qualifications: the two words. There! She pushes the paper to them. Oh, no: don’t read it: don’t! She snatches it back and tears it to pieces; then seizes her head in her hands and hides her face on the table. Frank, who has watched the writing over her shoulder, and opened his eyes very widely at it, takes a card from his pocket; scribbles a couple of words; and silently hands it to Praed, who looks at it with amazement. Frank then remorsefully stoops over Vivie. Frank Whispering tenderly. Viv, dear: that’s all right. I read what you wrote: so did Praddy. We understand. And we remain, as this leaves us at present, yours ever so devotedly. Vivie slowly raises her head. Praed We do indeed, Miss Warren. I declare you are the most splendidly courageous woman I ever met. This sentimental compliment braces Vivie. She throws it away from her with an impatient shake, and forces herself to stand up, though not without some support from the table. Frank Don’t stir, Viv, if you don’t want to. Take it easy. Vivie Thank you. You an always depend on me for two things, not to cry and not to faint. She moves a few steps towards the door of the inner room, and stops close to Praed to say: I shall need much more courage than that when I tell my mother that we have come to the parting of the ways. Now I must go into the next room for a moment to make myself neat again, if you don’t mind. Praed Shall we go away? Vivie No: I’ll be back presently. Only for a moment. She goes into the other room, Praed opening the door for her. Praed What an amazing revelation! I’m extremely disappointed in Crofts: I am indeed. Frank I’m not in the least. I feel he’s perfectly accounted for at last. But what a facer for me, Praddy! I can’t marry her now. Praed Sternly. Frank! The two look at one another, Frank unruffled, Praed deeply indignant. Let me tell you, Gardner, that if you desert her now you will behave very despicably. Frank Good old Praddy! Ever chivalrous! But you mistake: it’s not the moral aspect of the case: it’s the money aspect. I really can’t bring myself to touch the old woman’s money now? Praed And was that what you were going to marry on? Frank What else? I haven’t any money, nor the smallest turn for making it. If I married Viv now she would have to support me; and I should cost her more than I am worth. Praed But surely a clever bright fellow like you can make something by your own brains. Frank Oh, yes, a little. He takes out his money again. I made all that yesterday⁠—in an hour and a half. But I made it in a highly speculative business. No, dear Praddy: even if Jessie and Georgina marry millionaires and the governor dies after cutting them off with a shilling, I shall have only four hundred a year. And he won’t die until he’s three score and ten: he hasn’t originality enough. I shall be on short allowance for the next twenty years. No short allowance for Viv, if I can help it. I withdraw gracefully and leave the field to the gilded youth of England. So that’s settled. I shan’t worry her about it: I’ll just send her a little note after we’re gone. She’ll understand. Praed Grasping his hand. Good fellow, Frank! I heartily beg your pardon. But must you never see her again? Frank Never see her again! Hang it all, be reasonable. I shall come along as often as possible, and be her brother. I can not understand the absurd consequences you romantic people expect from the most ordinary transactions. A knock at the door. I wonder who this is. Would you mind opening the door? If it’s a client it will look more respectable than if I appeared. Praed Certainly. He goes to the door and opens it. Frank sits down in Vivie’s chair to scribble a note. My dear Kitty: come in, come in. Mrs. Warren comes in, looking apprehensively around for Vivie. She has done her best to make herself matronly and dignified. The brilliant hat is replaced by a sober bonnet, and the gay blouse covered by a costly black silk mantle. She is pitiably anxious and ill at ease⁠—evidently panic-stricken.