Candida

the time. Turn your face to the light. She places him facing the window. My boy is not looking well. Has he been overworking? Morell Nothing more than usual. Candida He looks very pale, and grey, and wrinkled, and old. His melancholy deepens; and she attacks it with wilful gaiety. Here pulling him towards the easy chair you’ve done enough writing for today. Leave Prossy to finish it and come and talk to me. Morell But⁠— Candida Yes, I must be talked to sometimes. She makes him sit down, and seats herself on the carpet beside his knee. Now patting his hand you’re beginning to look better already. Why don’t you give up all this tiresome overworking⁠—going out every night lecturing and talking? Of course what you say is all very true and very right; but it does no good: they don’t mind what you say to them one little bit. Of course they agree with you; but what’s the use of people agreeing with you if they go and do just the opposite of what you tell them the moment your back is turned? Look at our congregation at St. Dominic’s! Why do they come to hear you talking about Christianity every Sunday? Why, just because they’ve been so full of business and moneymaking for six days that they want to forget all about it and have a rest on the seventh, so that they can go back fresh and make money harder than ever! You positively help them at it instead of hindering them. Morell With energetic seriousness. You know very well, Candida, that I often blow them up soundly for that. But if there is nothing in their churchgoing but rest and diversion, why don’t they try something more amusing⁠—more self-indulgent? There must be some good in the fact that they prefer St. Dominic’s to worse places on Sundays. Candida Oh, the worst places aren’t open; and even if they were, they daren’t be seen going to them. Besides, James, dear, you preach so splendidly that it’s as good as a play for them. Why do you think the women are so enthusiastic? Morell Shocked. Candida! Candida Oh, I know. You silly boy: you think it’s your Socialism and your religion; but if it was that, they’d do what you tell them instead of only coming to look at you. They all have Prossy’s complaint. Morell Prossy’s complaint! What do you mean, Candida? Candida Yes, Prossy, and all the other secretaries you ever had. Why does Prossy condescend to wash up the things, and to peel potatoes and abase herself in all manner of ways for six shillings a week less than she used to get in a city office? She’s in love with you, James: that’s the reason. They’re all in love with you. And you are in love with preaching because you do it so beautifully. And you think it’s all enthusiasm for the kingdom of Heaven on earth; and so do they. You dear silly! Morell Candida: what dreadful, what soul-destroying cynicism! Are you jesting? Or⁠—can it be?⁠—are you jealous? Candida With curious thoughtfulness. Yes, I feel a little jealous sometimes. Morell Incredulously. What! Of Prossy? Candida Laughing. No, no, no, no. Not jealous of anybody. Jealous for somebody else, who is not loved as he ought to be. Morell Me! Candida You! Why, you’re spoiled with love and worship: you get far more than is good for you. No: I mean Eugene. Morell Startled. Eugene! Candida It seems unfair that all the love should go to you, and none to him, although he needs it so much more than you do. A convulsive movement shakes him in spite of himself. What’s the matter? Am I worrying you? Morell Hastily. Not at all. Looking at her with troubled intensity. You know that I have perfect confidence in you, Candida. Candida You vain thing! Are you so sure of your irresistible attractions? Morell Candida: you are shocking me. I never thought of my attractions. I thought of your goodness⁠—your purity. That is what I confide in. Candida What a nasty, uncomfortable thing to say to me! Oh, you are a clergyman, James⁠—a thorough clergyman. Morell Turning away from her, heart-stricken. So Eugene says. Candida With lively interest, leaning over to him with her arms on his knee. Eugene’s always right. He’s a wonderful boy: I have grown fonder and fonder of him all the time I was away. Do you know, James, that though he has not the least suspicion of it himself, he is ready to fall madly in love with me? Morell Grimly. Oh, he has no suspicion of it himself, hasn’t he? Candida Not a bit. She takes her arms from his knee, and turns thoughtfully, sinking into a more restful attitude with her hands in her lap. Some day he will know when he is grown up and experienced, like you. And he will know that I must have known. I wonder what he will think of me then. Morell No evil, Candida. I hope and trust, no evil. Candida Dubiously. That will depend. Morell Bewildered. Depend! Candida Looking at him. Yes: it will depend on what happens to him. He look vacantly at her. Don’t you see? It will depend on how he comes to learn what love really is. I mean on the sort of woman who will teach it to him. Morell Quite at a loss. Yes. No. I don’t know what you mean. Candida Explaining. If he learns it from a good woman, then it will be all right: he will forgive me. Morell Forgive! Candida But suppose he learns it from a bad woman, as so many men do, especially poetic men, who imagine all women are angels! Suppose he only discovers the value of love when he has thrown it away and degraded himself in his ignorance. Will he forgive me then, do you think? Morell Forgive you for what? Candida Realizing how stupid he is, and a little disappointed, though quite tenderly so. Don’t you understand?