You Can Never Tell

the toothache, Dolly? Dolly Cured, thank Heaven. I’ve had it out. She sits down on the step of the operating chair. Mrs. Clandon takes the writing-table chair. Philip Striking in gravely from the hearth. And the dentist, a first-rate professional man of the highest standing, is coming to lunch with us. Mrs. Clandon Looking round apprehensively at the servant. Phil! The Parlor Maid Beg pardon, ma’am. I’m waiting for Mr. Valentine. I have a message for him. Dolly Who from? Mrs. Clandon Shocked. Dolly! Dolly catches her lips with her finger tips, suppressing a little splutter of mirth. The Parlor Maid Only the landlord, ma’am. Valentine, in a blue serge suit, with a straw hat in his hand, comes back in high spirits, out of breath with the haste he has made. Gloria turns from the window and studies him with freezing attention. Philip Let me introduce you, Mr. Valentine. My mother, Mrs. Lanfrey Clandon. Mrs. Clandon bows. Valentine bows, self-possessed and quite equal to the occasion. My sister Gloria. Gloria bows with cold dignity and sits down on the sofa. Valentine falls in love at first sight and is miserably confused. He fingers his hat nervously, and makes her a sneaking bow. Mrs. Clandon I understand that we are to have the pleasure of seeing you at luncheon today, Mr. Valentine. Valentine Thank you⁠—er⁠—if you don’t mind⁠—I mean if you will be so kind⁠—to the parlor maid testily What is it? The Parlor Maid The landlord, sir, wishes to speak to you before you go out. Valentine Oh, tell him I have four patients here. The Clandons look surprised, except Phil, who is imperturbable. If he wouldn’t mind waiting just two minutes, I⁠—I’ll slip down and see him for a moment. Throwing himself confidentially on her sense of the position. Say I’m busy, but that I want to see him. The Parlor Maid Reassuringly. Yes, sir. She goes. Mrs. Clandon On the point of rising. We are detaining you, I am afraid. Valentine Not at all, not at all. Your presence here will be the greatest help to me. The fact is, I owe six week’s rent; and I’ve had no patients until today. My interview with my landlord will be considerably smoothed by the apparent boom in my business. Dolly Vexed. Oh, how tiresome of you to let it all out! And we’ve just been pretending that you were a respectable professional man in a first-rate position. Mrs. Clandon Horrified. Oh, Dolly, Dolly! My dearest, how can you be so rude? To Valentine. Will you excuse these barbarian children of mine, Mr. Valentine? Valentine Thank you, I’m used to them. Would it be too much to ask you to wait five minutes while I get rid of my landlord downstairs? Dolly Don’t be long. We’re hungry. Mrs. Clandon Again remonstrating. Dolly, dear! Valentine To Dolly. All right. To Mrs. Clandon. Thank you: I shan’t be long. He steals a look at Gloria as he turns to go. She is looking gravely at him. He falls into confusion. I⁠—er⁠—er⁠—yes⁠—thank you. He succeeds at last in blundering himself out of the room; but the exhibition is a pitiful one. Philip Did you observe? Pointing to Gloria. Love at first sight. You can add his scalp to your collection, Gloria. Mrs. Clandon Sh⁠—sh, pray, Phil. He may have heard you. Philip Not he. Bracing himself for a scene. And now look here, mamma. He takes the stool from the bench; and seats himself majestically in the middle of the room, taking a leaf out of Valentine’s book. Dolly, feeling that her position on the step of the operating chair is unworthy of the dignity of the occasion, rises, looking important and determined; crosses to the window; and stands with her back to the end of the writing-table, her hands behind her and on the table. Mrs. Clandon looks at them, wondering what is coming. Gloria becomes attentive. Philip straightens his back; places his knuckles symmetrically on his knees; and opens his case. Dolly and I have been talking over things a good deal lately; and I don’t think, judging from my knowledge of human nature⁠—we don’t think that you speaking very staccato, with the words detached quite appreciate the fact⁠— Dolly Seating herself on the end of the table with a spring. That we’ve grown up. Mrs. Clandon Indeed? In what way have I given you any reason to complain? Philip Well, there are certain matters upon which we are beginning to feel that you might take us a little more into your confidence. Mrs. Clandon Rising, with all the placidity of her age suddenly broken up; and a curious hard excitement, dignified but dogged, ladylike but implacable⁠—the manner of the Old Guard of the Women’s Rights movement⁠—coming upon her. Phil: take care. Remember what I have always taught you. There are two sorts of family life, Phil; and your experience of human nature only extends, so far, to one of them. Rhetorically. The sort you know is based on mutual respect, on recognition of the right of every member of the household to independence and privacy her emphasis on “privacy” is intense in their personal concerns. And because you have always enjoyed that, it seems such a matter of course to you that you don’t value it. But with biting acrimony there is another sort of family life: a life in which husbands open their wives’ letters, and call on them to account for every farthing of their expenditure and every moment of their time; in which women do the same to their children; in which no room is private and no hour sacred; in which duty, obedience, affection, home, morality and religion are detestable tyrannies, and life is a vulgar round of punishments and lies, coercion and rebellion, jealousy, suspicion, recrimination⁠—Oh! I cannot describe it to