Short Plays

of course I shouldn’t have spoken to you if I had thought that. I thought you liked me, but that you knew, and would be good. Gregory Stretching his hands towards her breast. I thought the burden of being good had fallen from my soul at last. I saw nothing there but a bosom to rest on: the bosom of a lovely woman of whom I could dream without guilt. What do I see now? Mrs. Juno Just what you saw before. Gregory Despairingly. No, no. Mrs. Juno What else? Gregory Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted: Trespassers Will Be Prosecuted. Mrs. Juno They won’t if they hold their tongues. Don’t be such a coward. My husband won’t eat you. Gregory I’m not afraid of your husband. I’m afraid of my conscience. Mrs. Juno Losing patience. Well! I don’t consider myself at all a badly behaved woman; for nothing has passed between us that was not perfectly nice and friendly; but really! to hear a grown-up man talking about promises to his mother!⁠— Gregory Interrupting her. Yes, yes: I know all about that. It’s not romantic: it’s not Don Juan: it’s not advanced; but we feel it all the same. It’s far deeper in our blood and bones than all the romantic stuff. My father got into a scandal once: that was why my mother made me promise never to make love to a married woman. And now I’ve done it I can’t feel honest. Don’t pretend to despise me or laugh at me. You feel it too. You said just now that your own conscience was uneasy when you thought of your husband. What must it be when you think of my wife? Mrs. Juno Rising aghast. Your wife!!! You don’t dare sit there and tell me coolly that you’re a married man! Gregory I never led you to believe I was unmarried. Mrs. Juno Oh! You never gave me the faintest hint that you had a wife. Gregory I did indeed. I discussed things with you that only married people really understand. Mrs. Juno Oh!! Gregory I thought it the most delicate way of letting you know. Mrs. Juno Well, you are a daisy, I must say. I suppose that’s vulgar; but really! really!! You and your goodness! However, now we’ve found one another out there’s only one thing to be done. Will you please go. Gregory Rising slowly. I ought to go. Mrs. Juno Well, go. Gregory Yes. Er⁠—He tries to go. I⁠—I somehow can’t. He sits down again helplessly. My conscience is active: my will is paralyzed. This is really dreadful. Would you mind ringing the bell and asking them to throw me out? You ought to, you know. Mrs. Juno What! make a scandal in the face of the whole hotel! Certainly not. Don’t be a fool. Gregory Yes; but I can’t go. Mrs. Juno Then I can. Goodbye. Gregory Clinging to her hand. Can you really? Mrs. Juno Of course I⁠—She wavers. Oh, dear! They contemplate one another helplessly. I can’t. She sinks on the lounge, hand in hand with him. Gregory For heaven’s sake pull yourself together. It’s a question of self-control. Mrs. Juno Dragging her hand away and retreating to the end of the chesterfield. No: it’s a question of distance. Self-control is all very well two or three yards off, or on a ship, with everybody looking on. Don’t come any nearer. Gregory This is a ghastly business. I want to go away; and I can’t. Mrs. Juno I think you ought to go he makes an effort; and she adds quickly but if you try I shall grab you round the neck and disgrace myself. I implore you to sit still and be nice. Gregory I implore you to run away. I believe I can trust myself to let you go for your own sake. But it will break my heart. Mrs. Juno I don’t want to break your heart. I can’t bear to think of your sitting here alone. I can’t bear to think of sitting alone myself somewhere else. It’s so senseless⁠—so ridiculous⁠—when we might be so happy. I don’t want to be wicked, or coarse. But I like you very much; and I do want to be affectionate and human. Gregory I ought to draw a line. Mrs. Juno So you shall, dear. Tell me: do you really like me? I don’t mean love me: you might love the housemaid⁠— Gregory Vehemently. No! Mrs. Juno Oh, yes you might; and what does that matter, anyhow? Are you really fond of me? Are we friends⁠—comrades? Would you be sorry if I died? Gregory Shrinking. Oh, don’t. Mrs. Juno Or was it the usual aimless man’s lark: a mere shipboard flirtation? Gregory Oh, no, no: nothing half so bad, so vulgar, so wrong. I assure you I only meant to be agreeable. It grew on me before I noticed it. Mrs. Juno And you were glad to let it grow? Gregory I let it grow because the board was not up. Mrs. Juno Bother the board! I am just as fond of Sibthorpe as⁠— Gregory Sibthorpe! Mrs. Juno Sibthorpe is my husband’s Christian name. I oughtn’t to call him Tops to you now. Gregory Chuckling. It sounded like something to drink. But I have no right to laugh at him. My Christian name is Gregory, which sounds like a powder. Mrs. Juno Chilled. That is so like a man! I offer you my heart’s warmest friendliest feeling; and you think of nothing but a silly joke. A quip like that makes you forget me. Gregory Forget you! Oh, if I only could! Mrs. Juno If you could, would you? Gregory Burying his shamed face in his hands. No: I’d die first. Oh, I hate myself. Mrs. Juno I glory in myself. It’s so jolly to be reckless. Can a man be reckless, I wonder? Gregory Straightening himself desperately. No. I’m not reckless. I know what I’m doing: my conscience is awake. Oh, where is the intoxication of love? the delirium? the madness that makes a man think the world well lost for the woman he adores? I don’t think anything