Behind the Beyond | Page 7

you had never married----"
* * * * *
Then, as she goes on talking, the audience realize with a thrill that Mrs.
Harding does not know that Sir John married two years ago, that she
has come home, as she thought, to the man who loved her, and, more
than that, they get another thrill when they realize that Lady Cicely is
learning it too. She has pushed the door half open and is standing there
unseen, listening. She wears a hat and cloak; there is a folded letter in
her hand--her eyes are wide. Mrs. Harding continues:
"And now, John, I want your help, only you can help me, you are so
strong--my Jack, I must save him." She looks about the room.
Something seems to overcome her. "Oh, John, this place--his being

here like this--it seems a judgment on us."
The audience are getting it fast now. And when Mrs. Harding speaks of
"our awful moment of folly," "the retribution of our own sins," they
grasp it and shiver with the luxury of it.
After that when Mrs. Harding says: "Our wretched boy, we must save
him,"--they all know why she says "our."
She goes on more calmly. "I realized. I knew--he is not alone here."
Sir John's voice is quiet, almost hollow. "He is not alone."
"But this woman--can you not deal with her--persuade her--beg her for
my sake--bribe her to leave my boy?"
Lady Cicely steps out. "There is no bribe needed. I am going. If I have
wronged him, and you, it shall be atoned."
Sir John has given no sign. He is standing stunned. She turns to him. "I
have heard and know now. I cannot ask for pity. But when I am
gone--when it is over--I want you to give him this letter--and I want
you, you two, to--to be as if I had never lived."
She lays the letter in his hand. Then without a sign, Lady Cicely passes
out. There is a great stillness in the house. Mrs. Harding has watched
Lady Cicely and Sir John in amazement. Sir John has sunk into a chair.
She breaks out, "John, for God's sake what does it mean--this
woman--speak--there is something awful, I must know."
"Yes, you must know. It is fate. Margaret, you do not know all. Two
years ago I married----"
"But this woman, this woman----"
"She is--she was--my wife."
. . . . . . .

And at this moment Harding breaks into the room. "Cicely, Cicely, I
was too late----" He sees the others. "Mother," he says in agony, "and
you----" He looks about. "Where is she? What is happening? I must
know----"
Sir John, as if following a mechanical impulse, has handed Harding the
letter. He tears it open and reads:
"Dearest, I am going away, to die. It cannot be long now. The doctor
told me to-day. That was why I couldn't speak or explain it to you and
was so strange at supper. But I am glad now. Good-by."
Harding turns upon Sir John with the snarl of a wolf. "What have you
done? Why have you driven her away? What right had you to her, you
devil? I loved her--She was mine----"
He had seized a pointed knife from the supper table. His shoulders are
crouched--he is about to spring on Sir John. Mrs. Harding has thrown
herself between them.
"Jack, Jack, you mustn't strike."
"Out of the way, I say, I'll----"
"Jack, Jack, you mustn't strike. Can't you understand? Don't you
see--what it is. . . ."
"What do you mean--stand back from me."
"Jack he--is--your--father."
The knife clatters to the floor. "My God!"
* * * * *
And then the curtain falls--and there's a burst of applause and, in
accordance with all the best traditions of the stage, one moment later,
Lady Cicely and Mr. Harding and Sir John and Mrs. Harding are all
bowing and smiling like anything, and even the little French maid

sneaks on in a corner of the stage and simpers.
Then the orchestra plays and the leopards sneak out and the people in
the boxes are all talking gayly to show that they're not the least affected.
And everybody is wondering how it will come out, or rather how it can
possibly come out at all, because some of them explain that it's all
wrong, and just as they are making it clear that there shouldn't be any
third act, the curtain goes up and it's----

Act III. Three Months Later
THE curtain rises on a drawing-room in Mrs. Harding's house in
London. Mrs. Harding is sitting at a table. She is sorting out parcels.
There is a great air of quiet about the scene. The third act of a problem
play always has to be very quiet.