Читать книгу The Barretts of Wimpole Street. A Comedy in Five Acts - Rudolph Besier - Страница 4

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Elizabeth Barrett's bed-sitting-room at 50, Wimpole Street, London. A window overlooking the street at the back. A door on the left. Fireplace on the right. It is best to give a description of the room in Elizabeth's own words from a letter to a friend:

". . . The bed like a sofa and no bed: the large table placed out in the room, towards the wardrobe end of it; the sofa rolled where a sofa should be rolled—opposite the armchair: the drawers crowned with a coronal of shelves (of paper, deal, and crimson merino) to carry my books; the washing-table opposite turned into a cabinet with another coronal of shelves; and Chaucer's and Homer's busts on guard over their two departments of English and Greek poetry; three more busts consecrate the wardrobe. . . . In the window is fixed a deep box full of soil, where are springing up my scarlet-runners, nasturtiums, and convolvuluses, although they were disturbed a few days ago by the revolutionary insertion among them of a great ivy root with trailing branches so long and wide that the top tendrils are fastened to Henrietta's window of the higher storey, while the lower ones cover all my panes. . . ."

It is evening; blinds and curtains are drawn; the fire glows dully; lamplight.

Elizabeth lies on her sofa, her feet covered with a couvre-pied. Seated beside her is Doctor Chambers, an elderly, white-whiskered man. He is feeling her pulse, watch in hand. Flush—Elizabeth's dog—lies asleep in his basket. On the table is a tray with the remains of a meal, and a pewter tankard.

Chambers (dropping her wrist and pocketing his watch): Hm—yes. It's this increasingly low vitality of yours that worries me. No life in you—none. . . . What are we going to do about it?

Elizabeth (lightly): Well, Doctor, if you shut a person up in one room for years on end, you can't very well expect to find her bursting with life and vigour! Why not prescribe something really exciting for a change?

Chambers: Exciting, eh?

Elizabeth: A gallop three times round the Park every morning—dumb-bell exercises—a course of callisthenics—a long sea-voyage . . .

Chambers: How I wish I could, my dear!

Elizabeth: It's funny to think of it now—but you know, Doctor, as a child I was a regular tom-boy!

Chambers: Yes, I've heard all about that—and, mentally, you're a tom-boy still! To tell you the truth, Miss Ba—oh forgive me, my dear Miss Elizabeth, that quaint nickname of yours slipped out unawares! I'm always hearing it from your brothers and sisters. . . .

Elizabeth (smiling): Oh, please . . .

Chambers: To tell you the truth, I'm not sure that brain of yours isn't altogether too active. The trouble with you is that you never will do anything in moderation—not even playing the invalid! Seriously, aren't we, perhaps, overdoing our studies?

Elizabeth: Of course not.

Chambers: Still hard at Greek?

Elizabeth: Oh, not more than two or three hours a day.

Chambers: Hm. Are you engaged on any literary work at the moment?

Elizabeth: Only a few articles for the Athenæum and other papers.

Chambers: The Athenæum—dear, dear! . . . Now why not give all these heavy labours a rest, and turn your mind to something light and easy for a change? . . . Poetry! You're not neglecting your poetry, I hope?

Elizabeth: Meaning something—light and easy! (Laughs.) Oh Doctor, I must remember to tell that to Mr. Robert Browning when I see him to-morrow!

Chambers: Robert Browning? A brother bard, eh?

Elizabeth: Don't tell me you've never heard of him!

Chambers: Well, my dear, poetry isn't much in my line, you know.

Elizabeth: That's evident! All the same, read Mr. Browning's "Sordello"—and then come back and tell me that poetry's—light and easy!

Chambers: I'll make a note of it. . . . Well, well, I suppose we mustn't rob you of your mental exercises if they keep you contented.

Elizabeth: Contented! Oh Doctor, I shudder to think what my life would be like if I hadn't a turn for scribbling and study!

Chambers: Hm, yes. Quite so. Yes. . . . And this isn't the liveliest house for anyone to live in—let alone an invalid.

Elizabeth: No, I suppose not. . . . I wish dear Papa were a happier man! It would make such a world of difference to all of us. . . .

Chambers: Happier, eh? It's no business of mine, but when a man has good health, plenty of money, and a jolly family of boys and girls, I can't see why he should make life a burden to himself and others! . . . It's amazing—incredible, and—well, as I said, it's no concern of mine. But you are, my dear—and a very worrying concern too! Of course, the winter has been abominable, and these spring months are always trying. The fact is you oughtn't to live in England at all. Italy's the place for you.

Elizabeth: Italy! Oh Doctor, what a heavenly dream!

Chambers: Yes—and must remain a dream, I fear. . . . But if only I could prescribe some sort of change for you—something—anything—to get you out of these dismal surroundings for a time. . . . Tell me now, Miss Elizabeth, have you ventured on your feet at all lately?

Elizabeth: No, hardly at all. I rather lost my nerve after that fall I had last Christmas.

Chambers: I remember.

Elizabeth: Papa, as you know, or one of my brothers, carries me from my bed to the sofa in the morning, and back to bed again at night. Sometimes, when I'm feeling venturesome, my maid supports me across the room.

Chambers: Feeling venturesome at the moment?

Elizabeth: Not particularly. . . .

Chambers: All the same, I think we'll try a step or two. (Rising, he takes both of her hands.) Quietly now—slowly—there's no hurry. (With his assistance she gets on to her feet.) There we are.

[She sways a little. He supports her.

Feeling giddy, eh?

Elizabeth: A little. . . .

Chambers: Close your eyes and lean against me. It will pass in a minute. . . . Better?

Elizabeth: Yes. . . . Oh, yes. . . .

Chambers: Take your time now, and step carefully. Don't be nervous; I won't let go your hands. . . . (She takes a couple of faltering steps, he walking backwards holding her hands.) No—don't look at the floor. Look straight ahead. . . . That's first rate—that's fine—splendid—splendid. . . .

[After taking half a dozen steps she falters and sways.

Elizabeth: Oh Doctor! . . . (He quickly catches her in his arms and carries her back to the sofa.)

Chambers: Feeling faint?

Elizabeth: No, no, I'm all right. . . . I—I am really. . . . It's only my knees—they don't seem able to—to support me.

Chambers: Well, if they can't do that, they're a pretty useless pair! Why, there's no more to you than to a five-year-old! . . . How's the appetite? Just peck at your food, I suppose?

Elizabeth: I always try to eat what I'm given. But I'm never very hungry. (With sudden animation) Doctor, that reminds me! Do you remember Papa suggesting to you that a kind of beer—called porter—might do me good?

Chambers: Yes—and an excellent suggestion too!

Elizabeth: Oh, but forgive me, it was nothing of the kind! I have to drink it twice a day out of a pewter tankard—and my life, in consequence, has become one long misery!

Chambers: God bless my soul!

Elizabeth: I am not exaggerating—one long misery ...!

Chambers: But, my dear child, quite apart from its invaluable blood-making properties, porter is generally considered a most palatable beverage. There's nothing I enjoy more than a pint of porter with my steak or chops at breakfast.

Elizabeth (in a shocked whisper): With your breakfast! . . . All I can say is that to me porter is entirely horrible. . . . Horrible to look at, more horrible to smell, and most horrible to drink. Surely something one abominates so intensely can't possibly do one any good! It's no use my appealing to Papa—especially as the dreadful idea originated with him. But if you, dear, dear Doctor Chambers, were to suggest to him that something else—anything—I don't mind what it is—might be equally efficacious . . .

Chambers (laughing): You poor little lady! But of course I will!

Elizabeth: Oh, thank you a thousand times!

Chambers: What do you say to a couple of glasses of hot milk as a substitute?

Elizabeth: I dislike milk—but I'll drink it all day long, if only you'll rescue me from porter!

[A knock at the door.

Come in.

[Wilson, Elizabeth's maid, enters. She is a fine, capable-looking girl in the middle twenties.

Yes, Wilson?

Wilson: Begging your pardon, Miss, but (turning to the Doctor) the Master wishes most particularly to see you before you leave, sir.

Chambers: Of course, of course. . . . (Looks at his watch) And high time I were off! Is your Master in his study?

Wilson: Yes, sir.

Chambers: Well, good-bye, Miss Elizabeth, good-bye. (Takes her hand.)

Elizabeth: Good-bye, Doctor. (In a low voice) And you won't forget?

Chambers: Eh?

Elizabeth (spelling the word): P-O-R-T-E-R.

Chambers (laughing): I'll speak to him about it now.

Elizabeth: Oh, thank you! thank you!

Chambers (still laughing): Good-night. (To Wilson, as he goes to the door) You needn't see me downstairs. I know my way.

Wilson: Thank you, sir.

[Doctor Chambers goes out.

I'm just going to post your letters, Miss Ba. Shall I take Flush with me?

Elizabeth (excitedly): Quick, Wilson—away with it! (Points at the tankard of porter.)

Wilson (bewildered): What, Miss? . . .

Elizabeth: I hadn't the courage to drink it at dinner. I was putting off the dreadful moment as long as I could. . . .

Wilson: Your porter, Miss?

Elizabeth: And now dear Doctor Chambers tells me I needn't drink it any longer. Take it away! Quick! Quick! And never mention the word porter to me again!

Wilson: Lor', Miss! Very good, Miss. But since you haven't had your porter, won't you——

Elizabeth (covering her ears): I told you never to mention the word again! Take it away! Please! Please!

Wilson: Very good, Miss Ba. Come, Flush. (She picks up the dog and puts him out of the room; then returns for the tray, with a rather concerned glance at Elizabeth, who starts laughing.)

[Henrietta enters suddenly. She is a beautiful, high-spirited, blooming girl.

Henrietta: What are you laughing at, Ba?

Elizabeth: Wilson thinks I've gone mad.

Wilson: Mad, Miss? What things you do say!

Elizabeth (still laughing): Will you, or won't you, take away that—that black beer?

Wilson: Very good, Miss.

[Wilson goes out.

Henrietta: I don't know why you're laughing, Ba, and you needn't tell me. Only don't stop! I'll tickle you if you think you can't keep it up without being helped! . . . Oh, dinner was awful!

Elizabeth: But, Henrietta——

Henrietta: Awful! Awful!

Elizabeth: Was Papa——

Henrietta: Yes, he was. It was awful. He was in one of his moods—the worst kind. The nagging mood is bad enough, the shouting mood is worse—but don't you think the dumb mood is the worst of all?

Elizabeth: Yes, perhaps, but——

Henrietta: I don't believe there were more than a dozen remarks all through dinner—and most of them were frozen off at the tips! Papa would just turn his glassy eyes on the speaker. . . . You know? For the last twenty minutes or so the only sound in the room was the discreet clatter of knives and forks. Directly dinner was over he ordered his port to be taken to the study—and, thank Heaven! he followed it almost at once.

Elizabeth: Doctor Chambers is with him now.

Henrietta: Oh Ba, I do hope, for all our sakes, his report of you isn't too good.

Elizabeth: But, Henrietta . . .

Henrietta (all sudden contrition, kneeling at the sofa and putting her arms round Elizabeth): Forgive me, dearest! It was odious of me to say that! You know I didn't mean it, don't you? Nothing in the whole world matters to me if only you get better. You know that, don't you?

Elizabeth: Of course I do, you silly child. But what you said makes Papa an inhuman monster. And that's wickedly untrue. In his own way—he cares for all his children.

Henrietta: In his own way ...! No dear, what I meant was that good news of any kind would be certain to aggravate him in his present mood. I don't know why it should, but it does. (With sudden anxiety) Ba, Doctor Chambers isn't dissatisfied with you? You're not worse?

Elizabeth: No, no, dear; I am just the same—neither better nor worse. . . .

[Arabel enters. She is a tall, dark, serious woman.

Arabel: Oh, you're here, Henrietta! I've been looking for you everywhere. Papa has just sent you this note from his study.

Henrietta: Me? Oh dear! When he starts sending out notes from his study look out for squalls! (Opens the note and reads) "I have heard this morning that your Aunt and Uncle Hedley, and your Cousin Bella, have arrived in London earlier than was expected. They are staying at Fenton's Hotel. Your cousin Bella and her fiancé, Mr. Bevan, propose to call on you to-morrow at 3 o'clock. You and Arabel will, of course, be here to receive them, and if Elizabeth is well enough, you will bring them upstairs to see her. I have written to invite your Uncle and Aunt and Cousin to dinner next Thursday.—Papa." Well!

Arabel: I understand now why Papa seemed so—so displeased at dinner.

Henrietta: Vile-tempered you mean.

Arabel: Is it necessary always to use the ugliest word?

Henrietta: Yes, Arabel—when you're describing the ugliest thing. Oh, but Papa is quite impossible! He got that letter from the Hedleys at breakfast. Why couldn't he have spoken then? Why couldn't he have spoken at dinner? Heaven knows he had opportunity enough!

Arabel: I'm afraid he was too displeased.

Henrietta (with a grimace): Displeased. . . . Oh, of course, we all know that he hates being ordinarily polite to anyone—and now he's simply bound to show some kind of hospitality to the Hedleys! No wonder he was—displeased.

Elizabeth: Are you quite fair, dear? Papa seldom objects to us receiving our friends here.

Henrietta: For a cup of tea and a bun—and so long as the house is clear of them before he's back from the City! Has anyone of us ever been allowed to ask anyone to dinner? or even to luncheon? But that's an old story! What enrages me is that I was expecting a friend to-morrow at three—and now I shall have to put him off somehow.

Arabel (archly): Why?

Henrietta: Why what?

Arabel (as before): Why must you put your friend off? Bella and her fiancé won't eat—your friend.

Henrietta (angrily): What—what business is that of yours?

Arabel (dismayed): But, Henrietta——

Henrietta: I hate people prying into my affairs! . . .

[She goes quickly out of the room, slamming the door behind her.

Arabel (distressed): Oh dear! Oh dear! What can be the matter with her to-night? Usually she quite enjoys being quizzed about Captain Surtees Cook.

Elizabeth: Perhaps she may have begun to take his attentions seriously.

Arabel: Oh Ba, I hope not! You remember when young Mr. Palfrey wanted to marry her two years ago—those dreadful scenes with Papa?

Elizabeth: I should rather forget them.

Arabel: Oh, why can't Henrietta realise that if there's one thing Papa will never, never permit, it's a marriage in the family? It doesn't worry me at all, as gentlemen never attracted me in that way. Nor you, dear . . .

Elizabeth (with a laugh): Me!

Arabel: Of course, my poor darling, to-day anything of that kind is quite out of the question—Papa or no Papa. But even when you were younger and stronger, I don't ever remember your having had . . . little affairs with gentlemen.

Elizabeth (whimsically): Perhaps the gentlemen never gave me the chance.

Arabel: Oh, but you were quite pretty as a young girl.

Elizabeth: What is Captain Surtees Cook like? Is he nice?

Arabel: Yes, I think so. Yes, quite nice. But he never says much. He just sits and looks at Henrietta.

Elizabeth: She's very lovely. . . .

Arabel: But Papa would never countenance any kind of understanding between them. Captain Cook would be forbidden the house at the least mention of such a thing—and it's dreadful to think what would happen to Henrietta! Even if he came offering her a coronet, instead of being an officer with a small allowance in addition to his pay, it would make no difference. You know that as well as I do.

Elizabeth: Poor Henrietta. . . .

[Henrietta re-enters. She goes quickly up to Arabel and kisses her.

Henrietta: I'm sorry.

Arabel: Oh, my dear, I never meant to annoy you.

Henrietta: You didn't—you displeased me! (With a laugh) Oh, I'm Papa's daughter all right!

Elizabeth: When Bella and her fiancé call to-morrow, Arabel will bring them up here to see me—and you can entertain Captain Cook in the drawing-room.

[Arabel looks distressed.

Henrietta: What a thing it is to be a genius! You darling! (Embraces Elizabeth.)

Elizabeth: But I must have the room to myself at half-past three, as Mr. Robert Browning is calling then.

Henrietta (excitedly): No!

Arabel: But I thought——

Henrietta: Of course, I know you've been corresponding with Mr. Browning for months as I've posted any number of your letters to him. But then you write to so many literary people whom you absolutely refuse to see, and——

Arabel: Has Papa given his permission?

Elizabeth: Of course.

Henrietta: But why—why have you made an exception of Mr. Browning? I've heard he's wonderfully handsome, but——

Elizabeth (laughing): Oh, Henrietta, you're incorrigible!

Arabel: I know he's been most anxious to call. Mr. Kenyon told me so.

Henrietta: But you said yourself, only a short time ago, that you didn't intend to receive him!

Elizabeth: I didn't—and I don't particularly want to now.

Henrietta: But why?

Elizabeth (lightly): Because, my dear, at heart I'm as vain as a peacock! . . . You see, when people admire my work they are quite likely to picture the poetess as stately and beautiful as her verses. At least, that's what I always tell myself. . . . And it's dreadfully humiliating to disillusion them!

Henrietta: Don't be silly, Ba. You're very interesting and picturesque.

Elizabeth (laughing): Isn't that how guidebooks usually describe a ruin?

Henrietta: Oh Ba, I didn't mean——

Elizabeth: Of course not, dear! . . . As a matter of fact, Mr. Browning has been so insistent that, out of sheer weariness, I've given way. But I don't want an audience to witness the tragedy of his disillusionment! So mind, Arabel—Bella and her Mr. Bevan must have left the room before he arrives.

[A knock at the door.

Come in.

[Octavius Barrett enters. He is about eighteen, and he stammers slightly.

Come in, Occy.

Octavius: I've j-just come to see how you are, and to wish you g-good-night. (Bends down and kisses her.) Doctor satisfied?

Elizabeth: Oh yes, I think so.

Henrietta (handing Octavius Barrett's note): Read that, Octavius.

Arabel (while Octavius reads): Oh dear! I quite forgot that I was to attend a lecture on the Chinese Wesleyan Mission at Exeter Hall to-morrow afternoon!

Octavius: Well, you can't attend it. (Flourishes Barrett's letter.) This is undoubtedly a Royal D-decree!

Henrietta (dramatically): Given at Our study at 50, Wimpole Street, on this 19th day of May, 1845. God save Papa!

Arabel (reprovingly): Henrietta dear!

[A knock at the door.

Elizabeth: Come in.

[Septimus Barrett enters. He is a year older than Octavius. Like Octavius and the other Barrett brothers who subsequently appear, he is in evening dress.

Well, Septimus?

Septimus: How are you, Ba? (Kisses her.) I hope the Doctor is satisfied with you?

Elizabeth: Oh yes, I think so.

Octavius: I say, Septimus, the Hedleys are d-dining here in force next Thursday.

Septimus: Bai Jove! Not really?

[A knock at the door.

Elizabeth: Come in.

[Alfred Barrett enters. He is older than Septimus.

Come in, Alfred.

Alfred: And how's our dear Ba to-night? I hope the Doctor was happy about you?

Elizabeth: Oh yes, I think so.

[A knock at the door.

Come in.

[Charles Barrett enters. He is somewhat older than Alfred.

Come in, Charles.

Charles: How are you feeling to-night, Ba? (Kisses her.) I hope Doctor Chambers' report was good?

Elizabeth: Oh yes, I think so.

[A knock at the door.

Come in.

[Henry Barrett enters. He is slightly older than Charles.

Come in, Henry.

Henry: Well, Ba? How are you, my dear? (Kisses her.) Was the Doctor pleased with his patient?

Elizabeth: Oh yes, I think so.

Henry: That's good. I must say I think you are looking a little better. What d'you say, Charles?

Charles: Eh?

Henry: Looking better, don't you know. More herself, what?

[A knock at the door.

Elizabeth: Come in.

[George Barrett enters. He is slightly older than Henry.

Come in, George.

George: Well, and how's Ba to-night? (Kisses her.) The Doctor's just been, hasn't he? I'm afraid he wasn't too pleased with you.

Elizabeth: Oh yes, I think so. . . . I mean—why?

George: You're not looking so well. Is she, Henry?

Henry: On the contrary, I think she's looking considerably better. So does Charles. Don't you, Charles?

Charles: Eh?

Octavius: I say, George, the Hedleys have arrived unexpectedly in town. Bella and her swain are c-calling on the girls to-morrow afternoon. And on Thursday she and her parents are d-dining here in state.

Alfred, Henry, Septimus (simultaneously): Dining here!

George: Well, I hope they'll enjoy their dinner as much as we did to-night!

Henry: You have met this Mr. Bevan, haven't you?

George: I have.

Henry: What is he like?

George: Pompous ass. But warm—a very warm man. Ten thousand pounds a year, if he has a penny.

Henrietta: No!

George: And ten thousand more when his grandmother dies.

Arabel: Oh!

Henrietta: It's grossly unfair! What has Bella done to deserve such luck?

Octavius: George says he's a p-pompous ass.

Henrietta: Oh, that's jealousy! No man with ten thousand a year can be (imitating his stammer) a—p-p-p-p-pompous ass!

George: I think it's just possible that you'll all be interested to hear that Papa is going to Plymouth on business next week, and——

[Excited exclamations from all except Elizabeth.

Henrietta: Go on, George, go on! And——?

George: And that he's not expected to return—for at least a fortnight.

[Murmurs of satisfaction and smiling faces.

Henrietta: Oh, George! (She flings her arms round his neck.) How wonderful! How glorious! Do you polk, George?

George: Don't be childish.

Henrietta: Well, I polk!

[She dances the polka round the room, humming a polka measure. The others look on amused. Octavius claps his hands. The door is opened quietly and Edward Moulton-Barrett enters. He is a well-set-up handsome man of sixty.

Elizabeth: Papa . . .

[An uneasy silence falls. Henrietta, in the middle of the room, stops dead. Barrett stands for a moment just beyond the threshold looking before him with a perfectly expressionless face.

Good evening, Papa. . . .

[Without replying, Barrett crosses the room and takes his stand with his back to the fireplace. A pause. No one moves.

Barrett (in a cold, measured voice): I am most displeased. (A pause.) It is quite in order that you should visit your sister of an evening and have a few quiet words with her. But I think I have pointed out, not once, but several times, that, in her very precarious state of health, it is inadvisable for more than three of you to be in her room at the same time. My wishes in this matter have been disregarded—as usual. (A pause.) You all know very well that your sister must avoid any kind of excitement. Absolute quiet is essential, especially before she retires for the night. And yet I find you romping around her like a lot of disorderly children. . . . I am gravely displeased.

[Henrietta gives a nervous little giggle.

I am not aware that I have said anything amusing, Henrietta?

Henrietta: I—I beg your pardon, Papa.

Barrett: And may I ask what you were doing as I came into the room?

Henrietta: I was showing Ba how to polk.

Barrett: To . . . polk?

Henrietta: How to dance the polka.

Barrett: I see.

[A pause.

Octavius (nervously): Well, B-Ba, I think I'll say g-good-night, and——

Barrett: I should be grateful if you would kindly allow me to finish speaking.

Octavius: Sorry, sir. I—I thought you'd d-done.

Barrett (with frigid anger): Are you being insolent, sir?

Octavius: N-no indeed, sir—I assure you, I——

Barrett: Very well. Now——

Elizabeth (quickly, nervously): As I am really the cause of your displeasure, Papa, I ought to tell you that I like nothing better than a—a little noise occasionally. (A slight pause.) It—it's delightful having all the family here together—and can't possibly do me any harm. . . .

Barrett: Perhaps you will forgive my saying, Elizabeth, that you are not the best judge of what is good or bad for you. . . . And that brings me to what I came here to speak to you about. Doctor Chambers told me just now that you had persuaded him to allow you to discontinue drinking porter with your meals.

Elizabeth: It needed very little persuasion, Papa. I said I detested porter, and he agreed at once that I should take milk instead.

Barrett: I questioned him closely as to the comparative strength-giving values of porter and milk, and he was forced to admit that porter came decidedly first.

Elizabeth: That may be, Papa. But when you dislike a thing to loathing, I don't see how it can do you any good.

Barrett: I said just now that you are not the best judge of what is good or bad for you, my child. May I add that self-discipline is always beneficial, and self-indulgence invariably harmful?

Elizabeth: If you think my drinking milk shows reckless self-indulgence, Papa, you're quite wrong. I dislike it only less than porter.

Barrett: Your likes and dislikes are quite beside the point in a case like this.

Elizabeth: But Papa——

Barrett: Believe me, Elizabeth, I have nothing but your welfare at heart when I warn you that if you decide to discontinue drinking porter, you will incur my grave displeasure.

Elizabeth (indignantly): But—but when Doctor Chambers himself——

Barrett: I have told you what Doctor Chambers said.

Elizabeth: Yes, but——

Barrett: Did you drink your porter at dinner?

Elizabeth: No.

Barrett: Then I hope you will do so before you go to bed.

Elizabeth: No, Papa, that's really asking too much! I—I can't drink the horrible stuff in cold blood.

Barrett: Very well. Of course, I have no means of coercing you. You are no longer a child. But I intend to give your better nature every chance of asserting itself. A tankard of porter will be left at your bedside. And I hope that to-morrow you will be able to tell me that—you have obeyed your Father.

Elizabeth: I am sorry, Papa—but I shan't drink it.

Barrett (to Henrietta): Go down to the kitchen and fetch a tankard of porter.

Henrietta: No.

Barrett: I beg your pardon?

Henrietta (her voice trembling with anger and agitation): It's—it's sheer cruelty. You know how Ba hates the stuff. The Doctor has let her off. You're just torturing her because you—you like torturing.

Barrett: I have told you to fetch a tankard of porter from the kitchen.

Henrietta: I won't do it.

Barrett: Must I ask you a third time? (Suddenly shouting) Obey me this instant!

Elizabeth (sharply): Papa . . . Go and fetch it, Henrietta! Go at once! I can't stand this. . . .

Henrietta: No, I——

Elizabeth: Please—please . . .

[After a moment's indecision, Henrietta turns and goes out.

Barrett (quietly, after a pause): You had all better say good-night to your sister.

Arabel (in a whisper): Good-night, dearest. (She kisses Elizabeth on the cheek.)

Elizabeth (receiving the kiss impassively): Good-night.

[Arabel leaves the room. Then each of the brothers in turn goes to Elizabeth and kisses her cheek.

George: Good-night, Ba.

Elizabeth: Good-night.

[George goes out.

Alfred: Good-night, Ba.

Elizabeth: Good-night.

[Alfred goes out.

Henry: Good-night, Ba.

Elizabeth: Good-night.

[Henry goes out.

Charles: Good-night, Ba.

Elizabeth: Good-night.

[Charles goes out.

Septimus: Good-night, Ba.

Elizabeth: Good-night.

[Septimus goes out.

Octavius: G-good-night, Ba.

Elizabeth: Good-night.

[Octavius goes out.

Barrett, standing before the fireplace, and Elizabeth on her sofa, look before them with expressionless faces. A pause. Henrietta enters with a tankard on a small tray. She stands a little beyond the threshold glaring at her father and breathing quickly.

Elizabeth: Give it to me, please.

[Henrietta goes to her. Elizabeth takes the tankard, and is putting it to her lips, when Barrett suddenly, but quietly, intervenes.

Barrett: No. (Putting Henrietta aside, he takes the tankard from Elizabeth. To Henrietta) You may go.

Henrietta: Good-night, Ba darling. (She moves forward to Elizabeth, but Barrett waves her back.)

Barrett: You may go.

Elizabeth: Good-night.

[Henrietta, with a defiant look at her father, goes out.

Barrett puts the tankard on the mantelpiece; then goes to the sofa and stands looking down at Elizabeth. She stares up at him with wide, fearful eyes.

Barrett (in a gentle voice): Elizabeth.

Elizabeth (in a whisper): Yes?

Barrett (placing his hand on her head and bending it slightly back): Why do you look at me like that, child? . . . Are you frightened?

Elizabeth (as before): No.

Barrett: You're trembling. . . . Why?

Elizabeth: I—I don't know.

Barrett: You're not frightened of me? (Elizabeth is about to speak—he goes on quickly) No, no. You mustn't say it. I couldn't bear to think that. (He seats himself on the side of the sofa and takes her hands.) You're everything in the world to me—you know that. Without you I should be quite alone—you know that too. And you—if you love me, you can't be afraid of me. For love casts out fear. . . . You love me, my darling? You love your father?

Elizabeth (in a whisper): Yes.

Barrett (eagerly): And you'll prove your love by doing as I wish?

Elizabeth: I don't understand. I was going to drink——

Barrett (quickly): Yes—out of fear, not love. Listen, dear. I told you just now that if you disobeyed me you would incur my displeasure. I take that back. I shall never, in any way, reproach you. You shall never know by deed or word, or hint, of mine how much you have grieved and wounded your father by refusing to do the little thing he asked. . . .

Elizabeth: Oh please, please, don't say any more. It's all so petty and sordid. Please give me the tankard.

Barrett (rising): You are acting of your own free will, and not——

Elizabeth: Oh, Papa, let us get this over and forget it! I can't forgive myself for having made the whole house miserable over a tankard of porter. (He gives her the tankard.)

[She drinks the porter straight off. Barrett places the tankard back on the mantelpiece; then returns to the sofa and looks yearningly down at Elizabeth.

Barrett: You're not feeling worse to-night, my darling?

Elizabeth (listlessly): No, Papa.

Barrett: Just tired?

Elizabeth: Yes . . . just tired.

Barrett: I'd better leave you now. . . . Shall I say a little prayer with you before I go?

Elizabeth: Please, Papa.

[Barrett kneels down beside the sofa, clasps his hands, lifts his face, and shuts his eyes. Elizabeth clasps her hands, but keeps her eyes wide open.

Barrett: Almighty and merciful God, hear me, I beseech Thee, and grant my humble prayer. In Thine inscrutable wisdom Thou hast seen good to lay on Thy daughter Elizabeth grievous and heavy afflictions. For years she hath languished in sickness; and for years, unless in Thy mercy Thou take her to Thyself, she may languish on. Give her to realise the blessed word that Thou chastisest those whom Thou lovest. Give her to bear her sufferings in patience. Give her to fix her heart and soul on Thee and on that Heavenly Eternity which may at any moment open out before her. Take her into Thy loving care to-night; purge her mind of all bitter and selfish and unkind thoughts; guard her and comfort her. These things I beseech Thee for the sake of Thy dear Son, Jesus Christ. Amen.

Elizabeth: Amen.

Barrett (rising to his feet, and kissing her forehead): Good-night, my child.

Elizabeth (receiving his kiss impassively): Good-night, Papa.

[Barrett goes out.

Elizabeth lies motionless staring before her for a moment or two. A knock at the door.

Come in.

[Wilson enters carrying Flush.

Wilson (putting Flush in his basket): Are you ready for your bed now, Miss Ba?

Elizabeth: Oh, Wilson, I'm so tired—tired—tired of it all. . . . Will it never end?

Wilson: End, Miss?

Elizabeth: This long, long, grey death in life.

Wilson: Oh, Miss Ba, you shouldn't say such things!

Elizabeth: No, I suppose I shouldn't. . . . Did Flush enjoy his run?

Wilson: Oh yes, Miss. (A short pause.)

Elizabeth: Is it a fine night, Wilson?

Wilson: Yes, Miss, and quite warm, and there's such a lovely moon.

Elizabeth (eagerly): A moon! Oh, do you think I can see it from here?

Wilson: I don't know, I'm sure.

Elizabeth: Draw back the curtains and raise the blind.

[Wilson does so; and moonlight, tempered by the lamplight, streams on Elizabeth's face.

Wilson: There you are, Miss! The moon's right above the chimleys. You can see it lovely!

Elizabeth (dreamily): Yes. . . . Yes. . . . Please put out the lamp and leave me for a little. I don't want to go to bed quite yet.

Wilson: Very well, Miss Ba.

[Wilson extinguishes the lamp and goes out.

Elizabeth is bathed in strong moonlight. She stares, for a while, with wide eyes at the moon. Then her quickened breathing becomes audible, and her whole body is shaken with sobs. She turns over on her side and buries her face in her arms. The only sound is her strangled weeping as the Scene closes.