Candida

epub:type="z3998:stage-direction">Burgess, whose emotions have subsided sufficiently to be expressed by a dazed grin, is relieved by this concrete proposition. He ponders it for a moment, and then, slowly and very modestly, sits down in the chair Morell has just left. That’s right. Now, out with it. Burgess Chuckling in spite of himself. Well, you are a queer bird, James, and no mistake. But almost enthusiastically one carnt ’elp likin’ you; besides, as I said afore, of course one don’t take all a clorgyman says seriously, or the world couldn’t go on. Could it now? He composes himself for graver discourse, and turning his eyes on Morell proceeds with dull seriousness. Well, I don’t mind tellin’ you, since it’s your wish we should be free with one another, that I did think you a bit of a fool once; but I’m beginnin’ to think that p’r’aps I was be’ind the times a bit. Morell Delighted. Aha! You’re finding that out at last, are you? Burgess Portentously. Yes, times ’as changed mor’n I could a believed. Five yorr (year) ago, no sensible man would a thought o’ takin’ up with your ideas. I hused to wonder you was let preach at all. Why, I know a clorgyman that ’as bin kep’ hout of his job for yorrs by the Bishop of London, although the pore feller’s not a bit more religious than you are. But today, if henyone was to offer to bet me a thousan’ poun’ that you’ll end by bein’ a bishop yourself, I shouldn’t venture to take the bet. You and yore crew are gettin’ hinfluential: I can see that. They’ll ’ave to give you something someday, if it’s only to stop yore mouth. You ’ad the right instinc’ arter all, James: the line you took is the payin’ line in the long run fur a man o’ your sort. Morell Decisively⁠—offering his hand. Shake hands, Burgess. Now you’re talking honestly. I don’t think they’ll make me a bishop; but if they do, I’ll introduce you to the biggest jobbers I can get to come to my dinner parties. Burgess Who has risen with a sheepish grin and accepted the hand of friendship. You will ’ave your joke, James. Our quarrel’s made up now, isn’t it? A Woman’s Voice Say yes, James. Startled, they turn quickly and find that Candida has just come in, and is looking at them with an amused maternal indulgence which is her characteristic expression. She is a woman of 33, well built, well nourished, likely, one guesses, to become matronly later on, but now quite at her best, with the double charm of youth and motherhood. Her ways are those of a woman who has found that she can always manage people by engaging their affection, and who does so frankly and instinctively without the smallest scruple. So far, she is like any other pretty woman who is just clever enough to make the most of her sexual attractions for trivially selfish ends; but Candida’s serene brow, courageous eyes, and well set mouth and chin signify largeness of mind and dignity of character to ennoble her cunning in the affections. A wise-hearted observer, looking at her, would at once guess that whoever had placed the Virgin of the Assumption over her hearth did so because he fancied some spiritual resemblance between them, and yet would not suspect either her husband or herself of any such idea, or indeed of any concern with the art of Titian. Just now she is in bonnet and mantle, laden with a strapped rug with her umbrella stuck through it, a handbag, and a supply of illustrated papers. Morell Shocked at his remissness. Candida! Why⁠—Looks at his watch, and is horrified to find it so late. My darling! Hurrying to her and seizing the rug strap, pouring forth his remorseful regrets all the time. I intended to meet you at the train. I let the time slip. Flinging the rug on the sofa. I was so engrossed by⁠—returning to her⁠—I forgot⁠—oh! He embraces her with penitent emotion. Burgess A little shamefaced and doubtful of his reception. How ors you, Candy? She, still in Morell’s arms, offers him her cheek, which he kisses. James and me is come to a unnerstandin’⁠—a honourable unnerstandin’. Ain’ we, James? Morell Impetuously. Oh, bother your understanding! You’ve kept me late for Candida. With compassionate fervor. My poor love: how did you manage about the luggage?⁠—how⁠— Candida Stopping him and disengaging herself. There, there, there. I wasn’t alone. Eugene came down yesterday; and we traveled up together. Morell Pleased. Eugene! Candida Yes: he’s struggling with my luggage, poor boy. Go out, dear, at once; or he will pay for the cab; and I don’t want that. Morell hurries out. Candida puts down her handbag; then takes off her mantle and bonnet and puts them on the sofa with the rug, chatting meanwhile. Well, papa, how are you getting on at home? Burgess The ’ouse ain’t worth livin’ in since you left it, Candy. I wish you’d come round and give the gurl a talkin’ to. Who’s this Eugene that’s come with you? Candida Oh, Eugene’s one of James’s discoveries. He found him sleeping on the Embankment last June. Haven’t you noticed our new picture? Pointing to the Virgin. He gave us that. Burgess Incredulously. Garn! D’you mean to tell me⁠—your hown father!⁠—that cab touts or suchlike, orf the Embankment, buys pictur’s like that? Severely. Don’t deceive me, Candy: it’s a ’Igh Church pictur; and James chose it hisself. Candida Guess again. Eugene isn’t a cab tout. Burgess Then wot is he? Sarcastically. A nobleman, I ’spose. Candida Delighted⁠—nodding. Yes. His uncle’s a peer⁠—a real live earl. Burgess Not daring to believe such good news. No! Candida Yes. He had a seven day bill for 55 pounds in his pocket when James found him on the Embankment. He thought he couldn’t