Heartbreak House

hall. Is anyone at home? Hesione! Nurse! Papa! Do come, somebody; and take in my luggage. Thumping heard, as of an umbrella, on the wainscot. Nurse Guinness My gracious! It’s Miss Addy, Lady Utterword, Mrs. Hushabye’s sister: the one I told the Captain about. Calling. Coming, miss, coming. She carries the table back to its place by the door and is hurrying out when she is intercepted by Lady Utterword, who bursts in much flustered. Lady Utterword, a blonde, is very handsome, very well dressed, and so precipitate in speech and action that the first impression (erroneous) is one of comic silliness. Lady Utterword Oh, is that you, Nurse? How are you? You don’t look a day older. Is nobody at home? Where is Hesione? Doesn’t she expect me? Where are the servants? Whose luggage is that on the steps? Where’s Papa? Is everybody asleep? Seeing Ellie. Oh! I beg your pardon. I suppose you are one of my nieces. Approaching her with outstretched arms. Come and kiss your aunt, darling. Ellie I’m only a visitor. It is my luggage on the steps. Nurse Guinness I’ll go get you some fresh tea, ducky. She takes up the tray. Ellie But the old gentleman said he would make some himself. Nurse Guinness Bless you! he’s forgotten what he went for already. His mind wanders from one thing to another. Lady Utterword Papa, I suppose? Nurse Guinness Yes, miss. Lady Utterword Vehemently. Don’t be silly, Nurse. Don’t call me “miss.” Nurse Guinness Placidly. No, lovey. She goes out with the tea-tray. Lady Utterword Sitting down with a flounce on the sofa. I know what you must feel. Oh, this house, this house! I come back to it after twenty-three years; and it is just the same: the luggage lying on the steps, the servants spoilt and impossible, nobody at home to receive anybody, no regular meals, nobody ever hungry because they are always gnawing bread and butter or munching apples, and, what is worse, the same disorder in ideas, in talk, in feeling. When I was a child I was used to it: I had never known anything better, though I was unhappy, and longed all the time⁠—oh, how I longed!⁠—to be respectable, to be a lady, to live as others did, not to have to think of everything for myself. I married at nineteen to escape from it. My husband is Sir Hastings Utterword, who has been governor of all the crown colonies in succession. I have always been the mistress of Government House. I have been so happy: I had forgotten that people could live like this. I wanted to see my father, my sister, my nephews and nieces (one ought to, you know), and I was looking forward to it. And now the state of the house! the way I’m received! the casual impudence of that woman Guinness, our old nurse! really Hesione might at least have been here: some preparation might have been made for me. You must excuse my going on in this way; but I am really very much hurt and annoyed and disillusioned: and if I had realized it was to be like this, I wouldn’t have come. I have a great mind to go away without another word. She is on the point of weeping. Ellie Also very miserable. Nobody has been here to receive me either. I thought I ought to go away too. But how can I, Lady Utterword? My luggage is on the steps; and the station fly has gone. The Captain emerges from the pantry with a tray of Chinese lacquer and a very fine tea-set on it. He rests it provisionally on the end of the table; snatches away the drawing board, which he stands on the floor against table legs; and puts the tray in the space thus cleared. Ellie pours out a cup greedily. The Captain Your tea, young lady. What! another lady! I must fetch another cup. He makes for the pantry. Lady Utterword Rising from the sofa, suffused with emotion. Papa! Don’t you know me? I’m your daughter. The Captain Nonsense! my daughter’s upstairs asleep. He vanishes through the half door. Lady Utterword retires to the window to conceal her tears. Ellie Going to her with the cup. Don’t be so distressed. Have this cup of tea. He is very old and very strange: he has been just like that to me. I know how dreadful it must be: my own father is all the world to me. Oh, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. The Captain returns with another cup. The Captain Now we are complete. He places it on the tray. Lady Utterword Hysterically. Papa, you can’t have forgotten me. I am Ariadne. I’m little Paddy Patkins. Won’t you kiss me? She goes to him and throws her arms round his neck. The Captain Woodenly enduring her embrace. How can you be Ariadne? You are a middle-aged woman: well preserved, madam, but no longer young. Lady Utterword But think of all the years and years I have been away, Papa. I have had to grow old, like other people. The Captain Disengaging himself. You should grow out of kissing strange men: they may be striving to attain the seventh degree of concentration. Lady Utterword But I’m your daughter. You haven’t seen me for years. The Captain So much the worse! When our relatives are at home, we have to think of all their good points or it would be impossible to endure them. But when they are away, we console ourselves for their absence by dwelling on their vices. That is how I have come to think my absent daughter Ariadne a perfect fiend; so do not try to ingratiate yourself here by impersonating her. He walks firmly away to the other side of the room. Lady Utterword Ingratiating myself indeed! With dignity. Very well, Papa. She sits down at the drawing table and pours out tea for