The scene is the same as in Act I. Admiral Carlisle is sleeping in an armchair with a handkerchief over his face. Rose is sitting on a grandfather's chair, and Gerald is leaning over the back.
Isn't papa a perfectly adorable chaperon?
[The Admiral snores.
Perfectly.
[A pause.
I've started fifteen topics of conversation in the last quarter of an hour, Gerald.
[Smiling.] Have you?
You always agree with me, and there's an end of it. So I have to rack my brains again.
All you say is so very wise and sensible. Of course I agree.
I wonder if you'll think me sensible and wise in ten years.
I'm quite sure I shall.
Why, then, I'm afraid we shan't cultivate any great brilliancy of repartee.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever.
Oh, don't say that. When a man's in love, he at once makes a pedestal of the Ten Commandments and stands on the top of them with his arms akimbo. When a woman's in love she doesn't care two straws for Thou Shalt and Thou Shalt Not.
When a woman's in love she can put her heart on the slide of a microscope and examine how it beats. When a man's in love, what do you think he cares for science and philosophy and all the rest of it!
When a man's in love he can only write sonnets to the moon. When a woman's in love she can still cook his dinner and darn her own stockings.
I wish you wouldn't cap all my observations.
[She lifts up her face, and he kisses her lips.
I'm beginning to think you're rather nice, you know.
That's reassuring, at all events.
But no one could accuse you of being a scintillating talker.
Have you ever watched the lovers in the Park sitting on the benches hour after hour without saying a word?
Why?
Because I've always thought that they must be bored to the verge of tears. Now I know they're only happy.
You're certainly my soldier, so I suppose I'm your nursery-maid.
You know, when I was at Trinity College, Dublin —
[Interrupting.] Were you there? I thought you went to Oxford.
No, why?
Only all my people go to Magdalen.
Yes.
And I've decided that if I ever have a son he shall go there too.
[The Admiral starts and pulls the handkerchief off his face. The others do not notice him. He is aghast and astounded at the conversation. Lady Frederick comes in later and stands smiling as she listens.
My darling, you know I hate to thwart you in any way, but I've quite made up my mind that my son shall go to Dublin as I did.
I'm awfully sorry, Gerald, but the boy must be educated like a gentleman.
There I quite agree, Rose, but first of all he's an Irishman, and it's right that he should be educated in Ireland.
Darling Gerald, a mother's love is naturally the safest guide in these things.
Dearest Rose, a father's wisdom is always the most reliable.
Pardon my interfering, but – aren't you just a little previous?
[Bursting out.] Did you ever hear such a conversation in your life between a young unmarried couple?
My dear papa, we must be prepared for everything.
In my youth young ladies did not refer to things of that sort.
Well, I don't suppose they're any the worse for having an elementary knowledge of natural history. Personally I doubt whether ignorance is quite the same thing as virtue, and I'm not quite sure that a girl makes a better wife because she's been brought up like a perfect fool.
I am old-fashioned, Lady Frederick; and my idea of a modest girl is that when certain topics are mentioned she should swoon. Swoon, madam, swoon. They always did it when I was a lad.
Well, father, I've often tried to faint when I wanted something that you wouldn't give me, and I've never been able to manage it. So I'm sure I couldn't swoon.
And with regard to this ridiculous discussion as to which University your son is to be sent, you seem to forget that I have the right to be consulted.
My dear Admiral, I don't see how it can possibly matter to you.
And before we go any further I should like you to know that the very day Rose was born I determined that her son should go to Cambridge.
My dear papa, I think Gerald and I are far and away the best judges of our son's welfare.
The boy must work, Rose. I will have no good-for-nothing as my grandson.
Exactly. And that is why I'm resolved he shall go to Dublin.
The important thing is that he should have really nice manners, and that they teach at Oxford if they teach nothing else.
Well, don't you think you'd better wait another twenty years or so before you discuss this?
There are some matters which must be settled at once, Lady Frederick.
You know, young things are fairly independent nowadays. I don't know what they'll be in twenty years' time.
The first thing the boy shall learn is obedience.
Rose. Certainly. There's nothing so hateful as a disobedient child.
I can't see my grandson venturing to disobey me.
Then you're all agreed. So that's settled. I came to tell you your carriage was ready.
Go and put on your bonnet, Rose. [To Lady Frederick.] Are you coming with us?
I'm afraid I can't. Au revoir.
A tout à l'heure.
[He and Rose go out.
Have you ever seen in your life any one so entirely delightful as Rose?
[Laughing.] Only when I've looked in the glass.
My dear Elizabeth, how vain you are.
You're very happy, my Gerald.
It's such a relief to have got over all the difficulties. I thought it never would come right. You are a brick, Elizabeth.
I really think I am rather.
The moment you promised to arrange things I felt as safe as a house.
I said I'd do my best, didn't I? And I told you not to worry.
[Turning round suddenly.] Isn't it all right?
No, it's about as wrong as it can possibly be. I knew Cohen was staying here, and I thought I could get him to hold the bills over for a few days.
And won't he?
He hasn't got them any more.
[Startled.] What!
They've been negotiated, and he swears he doesn't know who has them.
But who could have been such a fool?
I don't know, that's just the awful part of it. It was bad enough before. I knew the worst Cohen could do, but now… It couldn't be Paradine.
And then there's Montgomerie.
I shall see him to-day.
What are you going to say to him?
I haven't an idea. I'm rather frightened of him.
You know, dear, if the worst comes to the worst…
Whatever happens you shall marry Rose. I promise you that.
[Paradine Fouldes appears.
May I come in?
[Gaily.] It's a public room. I don't see how we can possibly prevent you.
I'm just going to take a stroll.
Do.
[He goes out.
Well? How are things going?
Quite well, thank you.
I've left Charlie with his mother. I hope you can spare him for a couple of hours.
I told him he must spend the afternoon with her. I don't approve of his neglecting his filial duty.
Ah!.. I saw Dick Cohen this morning.
[Quickly.] Did you?
It seems to interest you?
Not at all. Why should it?
[Smiling.] Nice little man, isn't he?
[Good humouredly.] I wish I had something to throw at you.
[With a laugh.] Well, I haven't got the confounded bills. I was too late.
Did you try?
Oh – yes, I thought it would interest Charlie to know how extremely needful it was for you to marry him.
Then who on earth has got them?
I haven't an idea, but they must make you very uncomfortable. Three thousand five hundred, eh?
Don't say it all at once. It sounds so much.
You wouldn't like to exchange those letters of Mereston's for seven thousand pounds, would you?
[Laughing.] No.
Ah… By the way, d'you mind if I tell Charlie the full story of your – relations with me?
Why should I? It's not I who'll look ridiculous.
Thanks. I may avail myself of your permission.
I daresay you've noticed that Charlie has a very keen sense of humour.
If you're going to be disagreeable to me I shall go. [He stops.] I say, are you quite sure there's nothing else that can be brought up against you?
[Laughing.] Quite sure, thanks.
My sister's very jubilant to-day. What about the Bellingham affair?
Merely scandal, my friend.
Well, look out. She's a woman, and she'll stick at nothing.
I wonder why you warn me.
For the sake of old times, my dear.
You're growing sentimental, Paradine. It's the punishment which the gods inflict on a cynic when he grows old.
It may be, but for the life of me I can't forget that once —
[Interrupting.] My dear friend, don't rake up my lamentable past.
I don't think I've met any one so entirely devoid of sentiment as you are.
Let us agree that I have every vice under the sun and have done with it.
[A Servant comes in.]
Madame Claude wishes to see your ladyship.
Oh, my dressmaker.
Another bill?
That's the worst of Monte. One meets as many creditors as in Bond Street. Say I'm engaged.
Madame Claude says she will wait till miladi is free.
You make a mistake. One should always be polite to people whose bills one can't pay.
Show her in.
Yes, miladi.
[Exit Servant.
Is it a big one?
Oh, no; only seven hundred pounds.
By Jove.
My dear friend, one must dress. I can't go about in fig-leaves.
One can dress simply.
I do. That's why it costs so much.
You know, you're devilish extravagant.
I'm not. I'm content with the barest necessities of existence.
You've got a maid.
Of course I've got a maid. I was never taught to dress myself.
And you've got a footman.
I've always had a footman. And my mother always had a footman. I couldn't live a day without him.
What does he do for you?
He inspires confidence in tradesmen.
And you have the most expensive suite of rooms in the hotel.
I'm in such a dreadful mess. If I hadn't got nice rooms I should brood over it.
Then, as if that weren't enough, you fling your money away at the tables.
When you're as poor as I am, a few louis more or less can make absolutely no difference.
[With a laugh.] You're quite incorrigible.
It's really not my fault. I do try to be economical, but money slips through my fingers like water. I can't help it.
You want a sensible sort of a man to look after you.
I want a very rich sort of a man to look after me.
If you were my wife, I should advertise in the papers that I wasn't responsible for your debts.
If you were my husband, I'd advertise immediately underneath that I wasn't responsible for your manners.
I wonder why you're so reckless.
When my husband was alive I was so utterly wretched. And afterwards, when I looked forward to a little happiness, my boy died. Then I didn't care any more. I did everything I could to stupefy myself. I squandered money as other women take morphia – that's all.
It's the same dear scatter-brained, good-hearted Betsy that I used to know.
You're the only person who calls me Betsy now. To all the others I'm only Elizabeth.
Look here, what are you going to do with this dressmaker?
I don't know. I always trust to the inspiration of the moment.
She'll make a devil of a fuss, won't she?
Oh, no; I shall be quite nice to her.
I daresay. But won't she be very disagreeable to you?
You don't know what a way I have with my creditors.
I know it's not a paying way.
Isn't it? I bet you a hundred louis that I offer her the money and she refuses it.
I'll take that.
Here she is.
[Madame Claude enters, ushered in by the Servant. She is a stout, genteel person, very splendidly gowned, with a Cockney accent. Her face is set to sternness, decision to make a scene, and general sourness.
Madame Claude.
[Exit Servant. Lady Frederick goes up to her enthusiastically and takes both her hands.
Best of women. This is a joyful surprise.
[Drawing herself up.] I 'eard quite by chance that your ladyship was at Monte.
So you came to see me at once. That was nice of you. You're the very person I wanted to see.
[Significantly.] I'm glad of that, my lady, I must confess.
You dear creature. That's one advantage of Monte Carlo, one meets all one's friends. Do you know Mr. Fouldes? This is Madame Claude, an artist, my dear Paradine, a real artist.
[Grimly.] I'm pleased that your ladyship should think so.
How d'you do.
Now, this gown. Look, look, look. In this skirt there's genius, mon cher. In the way it hangs my whole character is expressed. Observe the fullness of it, that indicates those admirable virtues which make me an ornament to Society, while the frill at the bottom just suggests those foibles – you can hardly call them faults – which add a certain grace and interest to my personality. And the flounce. Paradine, I beseech you to look at it carefully. I would sooner have designed this flounce than won the Battle of Waterloo.
Your ladyship is very kind.
Not at all, not at all. You remember that rose chiffon. I wore it the other day, and the dear Archduchess came up to me and said: "My dear, my dear." I thought she was going to have a fit. But when she recovered she kissed me on both cheeks and said: "Lady Frederick, you have a dressmaker worth her weight in gold." You heard her, Paradine, didn't you?
You forget that I only arrived last night.
Of course. How stupid of me. She'll be perfectly delighted to hear that you're in Monte Carlo. But I shall have to break it to her gently.
[Unmoved.] I'm sorry to intrude upon your ladyship.
Now what are you talking about? If you hadn't come to see me I should never have forgiven you.
I wanted to have a little talk with your ladyship.
Oh, but I hope we shall have many little talks. Have you brought your motor down?
Yes.
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