Candida

epub:type="z3998:persona">Candida Oh, James, you know you’ll have an attack of bad conscience tomorrow; and I shall have to suffer for that. Lexy Intimidated, but urgent. I know, of course, that they make the most unreasonable demands on you. But they have been telegraphing all over the place for another speaker: and they can get nobody but the President of the Agnostic League. Morell Promptly. Well, an excellent man. What better do they want? Lexy But he always insists so powerfully on the divorce of Socialism from Christianity. He will undo all the good we have been doing. Of course you know best; but⁠—He hesitates. Candida Coaxingly. Oh, do go, James. We’ll all go. Burgess Grumbling. Look ’ere, Candy! I say! Let’s stay at home by the fire, comfortable. He won’t need to be more’n a couple-o’-hour away. Candida You’ll be just as comfortable at the meeting. We’ll all sit on the platform and be great people. Marchbanks Terrified. Oh, please don’t let us go on the platform. No⁠—everyone will stare at us⁠—I couldn’t. I’ll sit at the back of the room. Candida Don’t be afraid. They’ll be too busy looking at James to notice you. Morell Turning his head and looking meaningly at her over his shoulder. Prossy’s complaint, Candida! Eh? Candida Gaily. Yes. Burgess Mystified. Prossy’s complaint. Wot are you talking about, James? Morell Not heeding him, rises; goes to the door; and holds it open, shouting in a commanding voice. Miss Garnett. Proserpine In the distance. Yes, Mr. Morell. Coming. They all wait, except Burgess, who goes stealthily to Lexy and draws him aside. Burgess Listen here, Mr. Mill. Wot’s Prossy’s complaint? Wot’s wrong with ’er? Lexy Confidentially. Well, I don’t exactly know; but she spoke very strangely to me this morning. I’m afraid she’s a little out of her mind sometimes. Burgess Overwhelmed. Why, it must be catchin’! Four in the same ’ouse! He goes back to the hearth, quite lost before the instability of the human intellect in a clergyman’s house. Proserpine Appearing on the threshold. What is it, Mr. Morell? Morell Telegraph to the Guild of St. Matthew that I am coming. Proserpine Surprised. Don’t they expect you? Morell Peremptorily. Do as I tell you. Proserpine frightened, sits down at her typewriter, and obeys. Morell goes across to Burgess, Candida watching his movements all the time with growing wonder and misgiving. Morell Burgess: you don’t want to come? Burgess In deprecation. Oh, don’t put it like that, James. It’s only that it ain’t Sunday, you know. Morell I’m sorry. I thought you might like to be introduced to the chairman. He’s on the Works Committee of the County Council and has some influence in the matter of contracts. Burgess wakes up at once. Morell, expecting as much, waits a moment, and says: Will you come? Burgess With enthusiasm. Course I’ll come, James. Ain’ it always a pleasure to ’ear you. Morell Turning from him. I shall want you to take some notes at the meeting, Miss Garnett, if you have no other engagement. She nods, afraid to speak. You are coming, Lexy, I suppose. Lexy Certainly. Candida We are all coming, James. Morell No: you are not coming; and Eugene is not coming. You will stay here and entertain him⁠—to celebrate your return home. Eugene rises, breathless. Candida But James⁠— Morell Authoritatively. I insist. You do not want to come; and he does not want to come. Candida is about to protest. Oh, don’t concern yourselves: I shall have plenty of people without you: your chairs will be wanted by unconverted people who have never heard me before. Candida Troubled. Eugene: wouldn’t you like to come? Morell I should be afraid to let myself go before Eugene: he is so critical of sermons. Looking at him. He knows I am afraid of him: he told me as much this morning. Well, I shall show him how much afraid I am by leaving him here in your custody, Candida. Marchbanks To himself, with vivid feeling. That’s brave. That’s beautiful. He sits down again listening with parted lips. Candida With anxious misgiving. But⁠—but⁠—Is anything the matter, James? Greatly troubled. I can’t understand⁠— Morell Ah, I thought it was I who couldn’t understand, dear. He takes her tenderly in his arms and kisses her on the forehead; then looks round quietly at Marchbanks.

Act III

Late in the evening. Past ten. The curtains are drawn, and the lamps lighted. The typewriter is in its case; the large table has been cleared and tidied; everything indicates that the day’s work is done.

Candida and Marchbanks are seated at the fire. The reading lamp is on the mantelshelf above Marchbanks, who is sitting on the small chair reading aloud from a manuscript. A little pile of manuscripts and a couple of volumes of poetry are on the carpet beside him. Candida is in the easy chair with the poker, a light brass one, upright in her hand. She is leaning back and looking at the point of it curiously, with her feet stretched towards the blaze and her heels resting on the fender, profoundly unconscious of her appearance and surroundings.

Marchbanks	Breaking off in his recitation. Every poet that ever lived has put that thought into a sonnet. He must: he can’t help it. He looks to her for assent, and notices her absorption in the poker. Haven’t you been listening? No response. Mrs. Morell!
Candida	Starting. Eh?
Marchbanks	Haven’t you been listening?
Candida	With a guilty excess of politeness. Oh, yes. It’s very nice. Go on, Eugene. I’m longing to hear what happens to the angel.
Marchbanks	Crushed⁠—the manuscript dropping from his hand to the floor. I beg your pardon for boring you.
Candida	But you are not boring me, I assure you. Please go on. Do, Eugene.
Marchbanks	I finished the poem about the angel quarter of an hour ago. I’ve read you