Misalliance

little live cells that Adam christened in the Garden of Eden. But if big things like us didn’t die, we’d crowd one another off the face of the globe. Nothing survived, sir, except the sort of people that had the sense and good manners to die and make room for the fresh supplies. And so death was introduced by Natural Selection. You get it out of your head, my lad, that I’m going to die because I’m wearing out or decaying. There’s no such thing as decay to a vital man. I shall clear out; but I shan’t decay. Bentley And what about the wrinkles and the almond tree and the grasshopper that becomes a burden and the desire that fails? Tarleton Does it? by George! No, sir: it spiritualizes. As to your grasshopper, I can carry an elephant. Mrs. Tarleton You do say such things, Bunny! What does he mean by the almond tree? Tarleton He means my white hairs: the repulsive mask. That, my boy, is another invention of Natural Selection to disgust young women with me, and give the lads a turn. Mrs. Tarleton John: I won’t have it. That’s a forbidden subject. Tarleton They talk of the wickedness and vanity of women painting their faces and wearing auburn wigs at fifty. But why shouldn’t they? Why should a woman allow Nature to put a false mask of age on her when she knows that she’s as young as ever? Why should she look in the glass and see a wrinkled lie when a touch of fine art will show her a glorious truth? The wrinkles are a dodge to repel young men. Suppose she doesn’t want to repel young men! Suppose she likes them! Mrs. Tarleton Bunny: take Hypatia out into the grounds for a walk: there’s a good boy. John has got one of his naughty fits this evening. Hypatia Oh, never mind me. I’m used to him. Bentley I’m not. I never heard such conversation: I can’t believe my ears. And mind you, this is the man who objected to my marrying his daughter on the ground that a marriage between a member of the great and good middle class with one of the vicious and corrupt aristocracy would be a misalliance. A misalliance, if you please! This is the man I’ve adopted as a father! Tarleton Eh! What’s that? Adopted me as a father, have you? Bentley Yes. That’s an idea of mine. I knew a chap named Joey Percival at Oxford (you know I was two months at Balliol before I was sent down for telling the old woman who was head of that silly college what I jolly well thought of him. He would have been glad to have me back, too, at the end of six months; but I wouldn’t go: I just let him want; and serve him right!) Well, Joey was a most awfully clever fellow, and so nice! I asked him what made such a difference between him and all the other pups⁠—they were pups, if you like. He told me it was very simple: they had only one father apiece; and he had three. Mrs. Tarleton Don’t talk nonsense, child. How could that be? Bentley Oh, very simple. His father⁠— Tarleton Which father? Bentley The first one: the regulation natural chap. He kept a tame philosopher in the house: a sort of Coleridge or Herbert Spencer kind of card, you know. That was the second father. Then his mother was an Italian princess; and she had an Italian priest always about. He was supposed to take charge of her conscience; but from what I could make out, she jolly well took charge of his. The whole three of them took charge of Joey’s conscience. He used to hear them arguing like mad about everything. You see, the philosopher was a freethinker, and always believed the latest thing. The priest didn’t believe anything, because it was sure to get him into trouble with someone or another. And the natural father kept an open mind and believed whatever paid him best. Between the lot of them Joey got cultivated no end. He said if he could only have had three mothers as well, he’d have backed himself against Napoleon. Tarleton Impressed. That’s an idea. That’s a most interesting idea: a most important idea. Mrs. Tarleton You always were one for ideas, John. Tarleton You’re right, Chickabiddy. What do I tell Johnny when he brags about Tarleton’s Underwear? It’s not the underwear. The underwear be hanged! Anybody can make underwear. Anybody can sell underwear. Tarleton’s Ideas: that’s what’s done it. I’ve often thought of putting that up over the shop. Bentley Take me into partnership when you do, old man. I’m wasted on the underwear; but I shall come in strong on the ideas. Tarleton You be a good boy; and perhaps I will. Mrs. Tarleton Scenting a plot against her beloved Johnny. Now, John: you promised⁠— Tarleton Yes, yes. All right, Chickabiddy: don’t fuss. Your precious Johnny shan’t be interfered with. Bouncing up, too energetic to sit still. But I’m getting sick of that old shop. Thirty-five years I’ve had of it: same blessed old stairs to go up and down every day: same old lot: same old game: sorry I ever started it now. I’ll chuck it and try something else: something that will give a scope to all my faculties. Hypatia There’s money in underwear: there’s none in wildcat ideas. Tarleton There’s money in me, madam, no matter what I go into. Mrs. Tarleton Don’t boast, John. Don’t tempt Providence. Tarleton Rats! You don’t understand Providence. Providence likes to be tempted. That’s the secret of the successful man. Read Browning. Natural theology on an island, eh? Caliban was afraid to tempt Providence: that was why he was never able to get even with Prospero. What did Prospero do? Prospero didn’t even tempt Providence: he was Providence. That’s one of Tarleton’s ideas; and don’t you forget it. Bentley You are full of beef today, old man. Tarleton Beef be blowed! Joy of life. Read Ibsen. He goes into the pavilion