menu_book Chapter 4

are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org. The fourth act. The scene represents a room in a flat at the west end of London. The decorations are in delicate tints of pink and green touched with silver and the furniture is correspondingly light and dainty. The fireplace where a fire is burning is in the centre of the wall furthest from the spectator. On one side of the fireplace, the left, is a door

admitting to a bedroom. On the other side a door opening from the hall. A silken portier hangs over the bedroom door. In the wall on the right there is a deep recess in which is fitted a luxurious divan and beyond this recess is a third door leading to another apartment. On the left hand side of the room a bow window provided with cushioned seats gives a view of the houses on the opposite side of the street. A writing table chair and waste paper basket

stand near the window. On either side of the fireplace is an armchair and in the centre of the room there is a circular table on which breakfast is laid tastefully for one person. On the left of the breakfast table is a chair and on the right a settee with a little table behind it. Other articles of furniture, all pretty and fragile, are arranged about the room. The light is that of a clear morning in winter. Iris, dressed in a handsome morning robe,

is seated at the table in the centre, a book propped up before her, neglecting her breakfast. Her beauty has matured, become severer, more majestic, and her face has somewhat hardened. A grey lock, however, upon her brow, from which the hair is now taken back, gives a softening note. The door on the right of the fireplace, the door admitting from the hall, opens, and Maldonado enters with the air of a man who is thoroughly at home.

He is without his hat but is still gloved. He comes to the right of the table and looks down upon her. Morning. She barely raises her eyes from her book. With a shrug, he seats himself in the chair on the right of the fireplace and pulls off his gloves.

Devilish cold. A pause. Your breakfast gets later. and lighter, the hours you waste. Iris mechanically stirring her tea. I have nothing to do. You do nothing. Having taken a cigarette from his case, he searches for matches upon the mantelpiece.

Not finding them, he goes to the writing table. There he comes upon a match stand and lights his cigarette. Maldonado at the writing table. The matches are never in the same place, two days running. Frederick. Eh? I wish you would make it a practice to send your name in instead of using a latch key. Why? It would appear a little more respectful to me in the eyes of the servants, would it not? It's of no consequence. After some hesitation, he produces a bunch of keys

and removes from it a latch key. Weighing the key in his hand meditatively, he walks towards the settee. Then he turns and tosses the key upon the table. Thanks. Maldonado sitting upon the settee. Anything to satisfy you, my dear. She picks up the key and rising, drops it into a vase which stands upon the mantelpiece. The key strikes the bottom of the vase with a sharp sound. Having done this, she resumes her seat and sips her tea. Maldonado examining his nails.

I particularly hoped to find you in an agreeable humour this morning. I wonder whether I can put you in one. Don't read. She lays her book aside. Iris? Will? I was turning matters over in my mind last week in Paris. Honestly, I am no more content with the present condition of affairs than you are. Than I am? I am not aware that I have expressed any special discontent.

Ha! Upon my soul, you have the knack of freezing a man. What is it you have to propose, Frederick? Maldonado leaning forward, his elbows on his knees. Iris, I want to invite you to come round the corner, to Mount Street. To Mount Street?

To my house, in a settled position. Oh? Do you remember our talk of two years ago, last summer, on the occasion of that dinner party at your place, when you declared your willingness to do your duty as my wife, as mistress of my establishment, squarely and faithfully? You sold me, then, a subject we won't enlarge on.

Well, there hangs the old Velasquith still, and the Raphael, and the Murillo. And once more, I offer to frame you gorgeously, and to place you along with them, making you permanently, what was my phrase, mine to gaze at, mine to keep from others. What do you say? Iris, after a pause.

Why now? Why now? Yes, why now? I, I've treated you a bit roughly, you mean? She rises with an eloquent gesture and goes to the chair on the left of the fireplace, where she sits.

Oh, I own up. I intended to have my revenge, if I could get. And I've had it. Yes, I meant it. Oh? I repeat, I own up. I make a clean breast of it, you see, as an inducement to you to wipe the slate.

It was deliberate then, from the very first. Cruelly deliberate? Maldonado with a nod. I'll even beg pardon if it would please you. Your arrival at Cadernabia from X.

I'd heard you were travelling with that pup dog at your heels. Of whom are you speaking? Sorry, Trenwith. And I wanted to be sure I couldn't credit it. You, to throw me over when I'd won you honourably,

shove me aside after my long waiting, at the moment of my success, for a lover? It kept me awake. I wasn't sleeping. That brought me to Cadenaabia.

I've often wondered. I believe I came by the same train that carried the newspapers, containing the account of canes bolting. There was an opening at once. To play the friend, the consoling friend.

Ah. Maldonado after a pause. Anything more? What would you have done if events had not shaped themselves in your favour? if Mr. Trenwith and I had not parted.

I don't know, frankly. It gives me the shivers sometimes, the mere conjecture. There were days at X when I felt mad. Ah. Eh?

I wish you had been merciful and had taken me out onto the lake and drowned me. Ugh. That checkbook. You were sure I'd avail myself of it? I was pretty certain you couldn't drag on for long

Upon a few pounds a week You couldn't How mad you were And as your careering about abroad With a young gentleman in attendance

Had alienated the friends who could have aided you I calculated the chances were all my way The chances of your being able to destroy me utterly The chances of crying quits with Chenwith Iris clenching her hands.

Oh, don't. Don't. Maldonado after another pause. Anything more? She is silent. He rises and goes to the fireplace, where he stands his back to the fire, contemplating her. You're not over-keen about my suggestion, apparently.

I? I fancied you'd be glad. Upon my soul, I imagine you'd be rather gratified. Iris rising and standing beside him, composedly. I am sorry if you are disappointed. I'm afraid I have no longer the capacity for being gratified at anything. I haven't it. It's gone. It's odd that, somehow, whenever the question of marriage has arisen between us,

you've always contrived to make me look an ass in my own eyes. Need you regard it in that way? Look here, Iris. You must at least see that I desire to make it up to you, desire to make amends. Surely that flatters you, if ever so slightly.

You used the word respect a minute ago. Does this look as if I entertained no respect for you? Between his teeth. I am... I mean I can't understand you. Amends? What amends can you make me?

Isn't marriage amends? Iris trifling with the flowers on the breakfast table. It's too late, I tell you. I'm down, beyond recovery I've lost heart

I no longer care I'm shunned like poison Maldonado behind her shoulder People cut you? You mustn't blame me wholly for that

I don't, I'm not unfair And it isn't that which hurts me most even now Closing her eyes But to shun oneself To cut oneself

No, no, it's all over with me. Everything's over. Marriage? A farce. She passes him and walks away to the head of the settee. He follows her. At any rate, in talking, in this fashion, you take only one point of view. There's another. Yours? Oh, yes, there's your point of view. But why on earth should you wish to marry me? Is it a novel wish on my part?

No, but bruised fruit. Maldonado seizing her hands. Can't you be less bitter? Listen to me, listen to me. Iris freeing herself and leaning against the head of the settee, facing him. I am doing so.

You'll laugh at me. No, that's not your way. You'll stab me with those steel grey eyes of yours Tighten your lips Till the sight of their thin red line Stings me like whipcord

All the same, you've got to hear it I love you I love you more than ever, my dear What's in you? You're extraordinary

By the common rule of life I ought to be chafing to be rid of you The fizz should have gone entirely out of what remains of the liquor by this time But it's not so I say it's wonderful

Considering what's behind us That we should stand here as we do I again entreating you to be my wife Still entreating you as I did two years back For a soft word

A spark of warmth just a little tenderness. Gripping her shoulders and looking into her face so closely that she shrinks back. I shall never be able to do without you, Iris. You grow on a man, never be able to spare you. The idea of your wanting to break away from me one day is insupportable. What did I ask you to call me that night in Kensington, beloved? Fool. And yet, this morning, notwithstanding all

that has passed since then, I'd give half of everything I have in the world if you'd speak that word. I will give it. I lay it at your feet. Iris. Drawing her to him. Iris, you devil in marble. There is a silence between them for a moment or two, neither stirring. Then she gently disengages herself and moves away to the writing table. Maldonado following her with his eyes.

Well? I... I will think about it. Maldonado passing his hand across his brow. Think about it. Think about it. Going towards her.

Oh, yes. You haven't heard from that fellow lately, have you? Mr. Trenwith? Mr. Trenwith? No. Nor written to him?

She shakes her head. When did you last write? It doesn't matter. When? Four months ago, or five.

Sitting in the chair by the writing table. I forget exactly. And he? He continued his letters for a time, reproaching me for forgetting him. They have ceased. Seized.

You are sure? Sure? Quite sure. She breaks down and cries. He watches her for a while, then turns from her and sits at the breakfast table. Maldonado, digging a fork into the tablecloth viciously. Will you come to theatre tonight?

Iris wiping her eyes. If you wish it. Dine somewhere beforehand? As you please. Where?

Anywhere. What theatre? A pause. What theatre? There are some unopened newspapers upon the little table behind the settee.

She crosses over to the table and picks up one of them. She is unfolding it when he comes to her. Maldonado at her side. How long will it take you to make up your mind? About the theatre?

No, no, about our marriage. A week. Let me have a week. Sitting upon the settee. There can be no necessity for haste. A week? Pish!

Leaning against the breakfast table. However, we'll say a week. Iris gazing listlessly before her, the paper falling to the floor. If we do, Mary, you must promise not to insist upon my continuing to live in England. Why?

There would be a revival of interest in me as your wife. Heaps of those who have dropped me, half-forgotten me, who wouldn't touch me as I am, with gloves on, would rally round me because of your wealth. I couldn't suffer that.

I shouldn't ask you to. What? You and I alone then in that great house in Mount Street? No, no, not England, if we marry. All right, so be it. With a shrug.

We can easily take down the Velasquez and hang him elsewhere. After all, England is a paradise only for the Puritan and the hypocrite. His spirit's rising. Ha, ha, farewell England Land of lean women and smug men

And of the drooping eyelid and the sanctimonious drawl Land of money worship, of cant and pharisaism Of false sentiment and namby-pamby ideals In every department of life The suburb of the universe

Ha, ha, ha England, farewell Advancing to her Paris The women there are so terrible

The women who would claim equality with me One must live somewhere That's it, that's it And yet, why reside anywhere? Who so at home everywhere has the homeless rich

We'll be cosmopolitans of the First Order, shall we? Bending over her Why, I'd carry Velasquith and his companions on my back From city to city if you'd walk beside me with your hand in mine Holding out his hand

Ah, sweetest Iris looking up at him with an expressionless face and laying her hand in his You are not all bad, Maldonado. There is a knock at the door and Iris rises. They separate.

She goes to the writing table, he to the fireplace. Come. A woman servant enters from the hall. Mr. Harrington. Iris seated at the writing table.

I'll see him. The servant withdraws, closing the door. Maldonado with a wry face. You don't mind being bored? He's become too sour and grumpy for words, this chap. You know they've kicked him out of the secretaryship of that club? How the devil he lives!

The servant returns, showing in Croker Harrington. Croker has lost his smartness, is almost shabby, and has aged out of proportion to the time that has elapsed. He stands regarding Maldonado, with an expression approaching a scowl. The servant retires. Maldonado with a nod.

Good morning. Good morning. He comes to Iris and shakes hands with her silently. Maldonado leaving the fire. You were at the wedding yesterday, I suppose, my dear Croker?

Yes. And you come fully charged with all the delightful details, eh? I hope so. Miss Sylvain, a tolerably mature bride. I sent her a wedding present, which she had the impudence to return.

To Iris, as he moves towards the door on the right. May I write two or three letters here while you chat to our friend? Why do you ask me? Maldonado at the door. Do decide about that theatre.

He goes, leaving the door ajar. Iris crosses over to the door and peeps into the adjoining room. Iris closing the door softly. He has gone into the further room. We can talk freely.

She motions Croker to sit upon the settee. He obeys her. Then she brings the chair from the left of the breakfast table and sits facing him eagerly. How did she look?

Well Sweet Croker nodding Hmm The bridesmaids?

Were there many? Four Four? Evelyn Littledale Of course

Margot Cowley She? Her niece Oriya? Oh yes, the girl I was rather fond of

And a sister of the bridegroom Was the church well filled? The winnings, were they present? The Chadwick's, the Saddington's, the Vanes, the Glensmith's. He nods in response to each inquiry.

Oh, I knew them all. She weeps again, then recovers herself and dries her eyes. Well, exit Fanny. I passed her the other day in Davies Street. I saw her first in the distance and put back my veil so that she should notice my white lock.

Sorrow and remorse have their egotism, as ease and joy have, and I am proud of my grey hair. But she purposely kept her eyes down. Perhaps, in time... Never, with a husband.

That hope's gone. You're the last. And you've altered towards me. Altered? What do you expect? Iris, with her habitual pathetic little twist of her mouth.

No, I must have disappointed you, sadly. Do you recollect describing to me once in the Kensington days your ideal of woman? It was at that time you were. Perfectly. You said you asked nothing more of a woman. What? Then that she should be beautiful to the eye and gentle to the ear, that her face should brighten when I entered, her hand linger in mine when I departed, that she should never allow me to hear her speak slightingly of any honest man, thereby assuring me she indulged in no contemptuous criticism of me when I was out of her company, That she should be bountiful to the poor, unafraid of the sick and unsightly, fond of dumb animals and strange children, and tearful in the presence of fine pictures and at the sound of rich music.

And I inspired that. You did. How vain I felt And yet by chance I suppose Never anticipating

You left out something Something essential That goes to the making of a perfect woman To the making of a good woman Yes

Iris wincing Shhh Shhh Bending forward she lays her head upon his knees So she remains for a few moments

Both silent he looking down upon her. Iris? She sobs. There is one other item of news I have to give you.

Not connected with Franny's wedding? Yes? You will have no difficulty in guessing it, I fancy. Eh? The inevitable has happened.

I've always warned you. She raises her head slowly and stares at him. Reading his news in his face, she rises. "'Bag?' He answers her with his eyes.

She sways and he catches her by the arm and assists her to the settee. "'It occurred late last night. I turned into a little restaurant in Soho, an old resort of his, it appears, for my supper. He came in.

We stared at one another for a moment. Then he rushed at me. His ship had docked at Liverpool earlier in the day, and he had just driven from Euston. I pretended that I had finished eating, and, after a brief talk, got away.

Iris, her eyes closed. How does he bear it? He's mystified, believes someone has come between you and him, and is here to find out the facts. She opens her eyes and looks at him dully. Then she suddenly sits upright.

He... he doesn't know, then? No. She struggles to her feet. and I was careful that he should extract nothing from me. He has not heard. Not heard.

She moves about the room in an agitated, aimless way, sitting in one place only to rise immediately and transfer herself to another. An uttering brief, half-articulate comments as Croker proceeds. I allowed him to understand that your friendship for me had somewhat cooled. Cooled?

"'in order that he shouldn't be puzzled by my unusual ignorance concerning you.' "'Ah, yes.' "'That's it, Harrington,' he said. "'She is being drawn away from her friends. "'By whom?'

"'Ah.' "'He wanted information, naturally, as to your whereabouts. "'You had returned to London, I told him, but how stupid of me. "'I couldn't recall the name of the street in which you are lodging. "'Ah.'

"'Well?' "'He has gone to an hotel in Villers Street. "'I have undertaken to hunt up your address.' "'Refering to his watch.' "'And to let him have it during the morning.'

"'Iris pausing confusedly. "'And—and will you?' "'Not without your authority to do so. "'My object was simply to stop him, for a few hours, "'from busying himself in making inquiries.'

Iris nodding faintly. Inquiries. Thinking you might wish to be before others with your story. Iris coming to him and grasping his hands. Ah, ah, ah.

In the meantime, he is occupied feverishly at his tailors and haberdashers, I expect. What shall I do, Croaker? What course shall I adopt? Quick! We shall be interrupted directly.

Oh, help me, please. Excuse me, the rest is with you. I regret I don't feel able to advise you. He turns from her and walks away to the fireplace, where he stands looking into the fire.

Ah, that's unkind, unkind. She drops into the chair before the writing table and sits for a time, her elbows on the table, tightly holding her brows. Then she seizes a pen and writes rapidly upon a sheet of notepaper. Iris, while she writes.

Croker, Croker. He returns to her slowly. When she has finished her note, she scrawls a name upon an envelope and rises. Croker is at her side. She holds the note before him.

Croker as he reads it. You will see him tonight at nine o'clock. Yes. If he can come to you with pity in his heart. Iris folding the note with trembling hands.

You will take this to him? Croker between his teeth. I? Oh, yes. Iris enclosing the note. At once, at once.

Oh, certainly, at once. Iris looking at him in surprise. Croker! Having lied for you, plentifully, to one. With a glance in Maldonado's direction.

I am now employed to deceive the other. Have you any further degradation for me? How much lower is my insane devotion to bring me? Tell me that. Tell me that. Dear friend.

Degradation, yes. A hanger-on. A complacent hanger-on. And today, the common go-between. Ugh, you have crushed the life, the spirit, the manhood out of me. Oh, Croker holding out his hand for the letter.

But give it to me. Iris after a pause. No, I'll not. Come, I dare say I'm brutal, and perhaps a little jealous. Jealous, there.

What an admission. What a depth for a man to touch. still holding out his hand come give it to me this is the first time I've protested at any rate

you are right I ought not to have asked you tearing up the note I beg your pardon she throws the pieces into the waste paper basket

and passing croaker seats herself upon the settee he sinks into the chair by the writing table burying his head in his hands iris staring at the carpet besides it would be a dreadful confession to make to him personally

with a look under her brows round the room here too you haven't told me the name of the hotel in villiers street did you say i'll do what you urged me to do at first i'll endeavor to put it all on paper, to put everything on paper. A door slams in the distance. Croker raising his head. Maldonado. She collects herself and picks up the newspaper. Croker rising and going over to her quickly. Iris, forget my boorishness. He shall be with you tonight at nine. She grasps at his arm as

leaves her. He is at the door leading to the hall, when Maldonado returns carrying some freshly written letters. Maldonado to Croker. Hello, you going? Yes. Ta-ta. Croker disappears, closing the door behind him. Maldonado at the fireplace. Where is he off to in such a hurry? The workhouse? There's a man who knew half London Now he hasn't a friend in the world, excepting yourself

Except myself Eh? Advancing to her Still hunting for that theatre? Theatre?

The theatre, tonight? Iris with a catch in her breath Tonight? Didn't we arrange? Aren't you well, my dear?

Iris rising Maldonado, the week that I am to be allowed, the week Week? The week in which to consider your proposal Oh yes

I wish you would leave me entirely alone in the meanwhile Not see me, not come near me Maldonado, his eyes blazing Have you been consulting Harrington? No, no, no

Haven't you? I have not mentioned the matter to him, not given him a hint. Maldonado after a pause. What? Are you afraid that my fascinating presence would unduly influence your decision? She is silent, her hands twitching at the newspaper.

There is a further pause. Oh, very well. You shall have a perfectly quiet time if you desire it. I shall go down then this afternoon to Rubenstein's at Breem Park for a few days. Thanks. Thanks. She walks away to the divan and throws herself upon it,

settling herself in its cushions with her back towards him and making a show of reading the newspaper. Have you any postage stamps? Iris, as she arranges herself upon the divan. you will find them in my stamp box he seats himself at the writing table discovers the stamp box

and proceeds to affix stamps to his letters while he is thus occupied his eye is attracted by the writing upon certain scraps of paper lying near the waste paper basket they are fragments of irises note, some of which have fallen into the basket, others upon the floor. He picks up two or three of these pieces and examines them. Then he turns his head sharply and looks at Iris. Seeing that she is not observing him, he hurriedly collects the pieces remaining upon the floor and also those

in the basket. Humming an air to disguise his proceedings, he hastily fits the scraps together upon the table, after which he sweeps them into a heap and thrusts them into his waistcoat pocket. Maldonado rising. Papers are dull this morning. Very. Resuming his humming, he puts his letters away in the tail of his coat and moves stealthily towards the mantelpiece. There he takes down a vase, shakes it against his ear and replaces it. He repeats the process with another vase,

this time with success. Whereupon, first pulling up his coat sleeve and shirt cuff, he inserts his hand and arm into the vase and regains possession of his latch key. Pocketing the key, he breaks off from his singing and with an evil look upon his face comes to Iris. This day, weak? Iris, giving him a hand without turning.

Yes. He leaves her as the curtain falls. End of the fourth act.