Fanny’s First Play

drawing-room. You should not have kept him here. Fanny I know. Don’t scold me: I had something important to say to him. The Count I shall ask him to take you in to dinner. Fanny Yes, papa. Oh, I hope it will go off well. The Count Yes, love, of course it will. Come along. Fanny Just one thing, papa, whilst we’re alone. Who was the Stagirite? The Count The Stagirite? Do you mean to say you don’t know? Fanny Haven’t the least notion. The Count The Stagirite was Aristotle. By the way, don’t mention him to Mr. Trotter. They go to the dining-room.

The Play

Act I

In the dining room of a house in Denmark Hill, an elderly lady sits at breakfast reading the newspaper. Her chair is at the end of the oblong dining table furthest from the fire. There is an empty chair at the other end. The fireplace is behind this chair; and the door is next the fireplace, between it and the corner. An armchair stands beside the coal scuttle. In the middle of the back wall is the sideboard, parallel to the table. The rest of the furniture is mostly dining room chairs, ranged against the walls, and including a baby rocking chair on the lady’s side of the room. The lady is a placid person. Her husband, Mr. Robin Gilbey, not at all placid, bursts violently into the room with a letter in his hand.

Gilbey	Grinding his teeth. This is a nice thing. This is a b⁠⸺⁠
Mrs. Gilbey	Cutting him short. Leave it at that, please. Whatever it is, bad language won’t make it better.
Gilbey	Bitterly. Yes, put me in the wrong as usual. Take your boy’s part against me. He flings himself into the empty chair opposite her.
Mrs. Gilbey	When he does anything right, he’s your son. When he does anything wrong he’s mine. Have you any news of him?
Gilbey	I’ve a good mind not to tell you.
Mrs. Gilbey	Then don’t. I suppose he’s been found. That’s a comfort, at all events.
Gilbey	No, he hasn’t been found. The boy may be at the bottom of the river for all you care. Too agitated to sit quietly, he rises and paces the room distractedly.
Mrs. Gilbey	Then what have you got in your hand?
Gilbey	I’ve a letter from the Monsignor Grenfell. From New York. Dropping us. Cutting us. Turning fiercely on her. That’s a nice thing, isn’t it?
Mrs. Gilbey	What for?
Gilbey	Flinging away towards his chair. How do I know what for?
Mrs. Gilbey	What does he say?
Gilbey	Sitting down and grumblingly adjusting his spectacles. This is what he says. “My dear Mr. Gilbey: The news about Bobby had to follow me across the Atlantic: it did not reach me until today. I am afraid he is incorrigible. My brother, as you may imagine, feels that this last escapade has gone beyond the bounds; and I think, myself, that Bobby ought to be made to feel that such scrapes involve a certain degree of reprobation.” “As you may imagine”! And we know no more about it than the babe unborn.
Mrs. Gilbey	What else does he say?
Gilbey	“I think my brother must have been just a little to blame himself; so, between ourselves, I shall, with due and impressive formality, forgive Bobby later on; but for the present I think it had better be understood that he is in disgrace, and that we are no longer on visiting terms. As ever, yours sincerely.” His agitation masters him again. That’s a nice slap in the face to get from a man in his position! This is what your son has brought on me.
Mrs. Gilbey	Well, I think it’s rather a nice letter. He as good as tells you he’s only letting on to be offended for Bobby’s good.
Gilbey	Oh, very well: have the letter framed and hang it up over the mantelpiece as a testimonial.
Mrs. Gilbey	Don’t talk nonsense, Rob. You ought to be thankful to know that the boy is alive after his disappearing like that for nearly a week.
Gilbey	Nearly a week! A fortnight, you mean. Where’s your feelings, woman? It was fourteen days yesterday.
Mrs. Gilbey	Oh, don’t call it fourteen days, Rob, as if the boy was in prison.
Gilbey	How do you know he’s not in prison? It’s got on my nerves so, that I’d believe even that.
Mrs. Gilbey	Don’t talk silly, Rob. Bobby might get into a scrape like any other lad; but he’d never do anything low.
	Juggins, the footman, comes in with a card on a salver. He is a rather low-spirited man of thirty-five or more, of good appearance and address, and iron self-command.
Juggins	Presenting the salver to Mr. Gilbey. Lady wishes to see Mr. Bobby’s parents, sir.
Gilbey	Pointing to Mrs. Gilbey. There’s Mr. Bobby’s parent. I disown him.
Juggins	Yes, sir. He presents the salver to Mrs. Gilbey.
Mrs. Gilbey	You mustn’t mind what your master says, Juggins: he doesn’t mean it. She takes the card and reads it. Well, I never!
Gilbey	What’s up now?
Mrs. Gilbey	Reading. “Miss D. Delaney. Darling Dora.” Just like that⁠—in brackets. What sort of person, Juggins?
Gilbey	What’s her address?
Mrs. Gilbey	The West Circular Road. Is that a respectable address, Juggins?
Juggins	A great many most respectable people live in the West Circular Road, madam; but the address is not a guarantee of respectability.
Gilbey	So it’s come to that with him, has it?
Mrs. Gilbey	Don’t jump to conclusions, Rob. How do you know? To Juggins. Is she a lady, Juggins? You know what I mean.
Juggins	In the sense in which you are using the word, no, madam.
Mrs. Gilbey	I’d better try what I can get out of her. To Juggins. Show her up. You don’t mind, do you, Rob?
Gilbey	So long as you don’t flounce out and leave me alone with her. He rises and plants himself on the hearthrug.
	Juggins