Behind the Beyond | Page 2

a breathless hush. Then he takes off his gloves, one by one, not two
or three at a time, and lays them in his hat. The expectancy is almost
painful. If he had thrown his gloves into the mica fire it would have
been a relief. But he doesn't.
[Illustration: The Curtain rises.]
The man on the stage picks up a pile of letters from the letter
department of the hat table. There are a great many of these letters,
because all his business correspondence, as well as his private letters,
are sent here by the General Post Office. Getting his letters in this way
at night, he is able to read them like lightning. Some of them he merely
holds upside down for a fraction of a second.
Then at last he speaks. It has become absolutely necessary or he
wouldn't do it. "So--Sao Paolo risen two--hum--Rio Tinto down
again--Moreby anxious, 'better sell for half a million sterling'--hum . . ."
(Did you hear that? Half a million sterling and he takes it just as quietly
as that. And it isn't really in the play either. Sao Paolo and Rio Tinto

just come in to let you know the sort of man you're dealing with.)
"Lady Gathorne--dinner--Thursday the ninth--lunch with the
Ambassador--Friday the tenth."
(And mind you even this is just patter. The Ambassador doesn't come
into the play either. He and Lady Gathorne are just put in to let the
people in the cheaper seats know the kind of thing they're up against.)
Then the man steps across the stage and presses a button. A bell rings.
Even before it has finished ringing, nay, just before it begins to ring, a
cardboard door swings aside and a valet enters. You can tell he is a
valet because he is dressed in the usual home dress of a stage valet.
He says, "Did you ring, Sir John?"
There is a rustle of programs all over the house. You can hear a buzz of
voices say, "He's Sir John Trevor." They're all on to him.
When the valet says, "Did you ring, Sir John," he ought to answer, "No,
I merely knocked the bell over to see how it would sound," but he
misses it and doesn't say it.
"Has her ladyship come home?"
"Yes, Sir John."
"Has any one been here?"
"Mr. Harding, Sir John."
"Any one else?"
"No, Sir John."
"Very good."
The valet bows and goes out of the cardboard door, and everybody in
the theater, or at least everybody in the seats worth over a dollar, knows

that there's something strange in the relations of Lady Cicely Trevor
and Mr. Harding. You notice--Mr. Harding was there and no one else
was there. That's enough in a problem play.
The double door at the back of the stage, used only by the principal
characters, is opened and Lady Cicely Trevor enters. She is young and
very beautiful, and wears a droopy hat and long slinky clothes which
she drags across the stage. She throws down her feather hat and her
crêpe de what-you-call-it boa on the boa stand. Later on the valet
comes in and gathers them up. He is always gathering up things like
this on the stage--hats and boas and walking sticks thrown away by the
actors,--but nobody notices him. They are his perquisites.
Sir John says to Lady Cicely, "Shall I ring for tea?"
And Lady Cicely says, "Thanks. No," in a weary tone.
This shows that they are the kind of people who can have tea at any
time. All through a problem play it is understood that any of the
characters may ring for tea and get it. Tea in a problem play is the same
as whisky in a melodrama.
Then there ensues a dialogue to this effect: Sir John asks Lady Cicely if
she has been out. He might almost have guessed it from her coming in
in a hat and cloak, but Sir John is an English baronet.
Lady Cicely says, "Yes, the usual round," and distributes a few details
about Duchesses and Princesses, for the general good of the audience.
Then Lady Cicely says to Sir John, "You are going out?"
"Yes, immediately."
"To the House, I suppose."
This is very impressive. It doesn't mean, as you might think, the
Workhouse, or the White House, or the Station House, or the Bon
Marché. It is the name given by people of Lady Cicely's class to the

House of Commons.
"Yes. I am extremely sorry. I had hoped I might ask to go with you to
the opera. I fear it is impossible--an important sitting--the Ministers
will bring down the papers--the Kafoonistan business. The House will
probably divide in committee. Gatherson will ask a question. We must
stop it at all costs.