Five Little Plays | Page 2

adapted from the
French--well, we know what that means. Husband, wife and mistress.
Or wife, husband, lover. That's what a French play means. And you
make it English, and pass the Censor, by putting the lady in a
mackintosh, and dumping in a curate!

BETTY. [_Coming in, and closing the door leading to the
dining-room._] You ought to be going, Hector.
[_She, stands listening for a moment, then goes through the other door
into the hall._
HECTOR. [_Disregarding her, too intent on his theme._] And I tell you,
of the two, I prefer the home-made stodge. I'm sick of the eternal
triangle. They always do the same thing. Husband strikes
attitudes--sometimes he strikes the lover. The lover never stands up to
him--why shouldn't he? He would--in real life. [BETTY _comes back,
with his overcoat and muffler--she proceeds affectionately to wrap this
round his neck, and helps him on with his coat, he talking all the time._]
He'd say, look here, you go to Hell. _That's_ what he'd say--well, there
you'd have a situation. But not one of the playwriting chaps dares do it.
Why not, I ask you? There you'd have truth, something big. But
no--they're afraid--think the public won't like it. The husband's got to
down the lover--like a big tom-cat with a mouse--or the author'd have
to sell one of his motor-cars! That's just the fact of it!
BETTY. [_Looking at the clock on the mantelpiece._] Twenty-five past,
Hector.
HECTOR. [_Cheerily._] All right, my lass, I'm off. By-bye,
Walter--keep the old woman company for a bit. Good-bye, sweetheart.
[_He kisses her._] Don't wait up. Now for the drama. Oh, the dog's life!
[_He goes._ BETTY _waits till the hall door has banged, then she sits
on the elbow of_ WALTER'S _chair, and rests her head on his
shoulder._
BETTY. [_Softly._] Poor Hector!
WALTER. [_Uncomfortably._] ... Yes ...
BETTY. Doesn't it make you feel dreadful when he talks like that?
[_She kisses him; then puts her arms round his neck, draws his face to
her, and kisses him again, on the cheek._] Doesn't it?
[_She nestles contentedly closer to him._
WALTER. [_Trying to edge away._] Well, it does. Yes.
BETTY. [_Dreamily._] I--like it.
WALTER. Betty!
BETTY. Yes, I like it. I don't know why. I suppose I'm frightfully
wicked. Or the danger perhaps--I don't know.
WALTER. [_Making a futile effort to get up._] Betty--

BETTY. [_Tightening her arms around him._] Stop there, and don't
move. How smooth your chin is--his scrapes. Why don't husbands
shave better? Or is it that the forbidden chin is always smoother? Poor
old Hector! If he could see us! He hasn't a suspicion. I think it's
lovely--really, I do. He leaves us here together, night after night, and
imagines you're teaching me bridge.
WALTER. [_Restlessly._] So I am. Where are the cards?
BETTY. [_Caressing him._] Silly, have you forgotten that this is
Tuesday--Maggie's night out? She's gone--I told her she needn't wait to
clear away. We've arranged master's supper. Master! _You're_ my
master, aren't you?
WALTER. ... I don't know what I am ...
BETTY. Oh yes you do--you're my boy. Whom I love. There. [_She
kisses him again, full on the lips._] That was a nice one, wasn't it? Poor
old Hector, sitting in his stall--thinks he's so wonderful, knows such a
lot! Yes, Maggie's out--with her young man, I suppose. The world's full
of women, with their young men--and husbands sitting in the stalls....
And I suppose that's how it always has been, and always will be.
WALTER. [_Shifting uneasily._] Don't, Betty--I don't like it. I mean,
he has such confidence in us.
BETTY. Of course he has. And quite rightly. Aren't you his oldest
friend?
WALTER. [_With something of a groan._] I've known him since I was
seven.
BETTY. The first man he introduced me to--his best man at the
wedding--do you remember coming to see us during the honeymoon? I
liked you _then._
WALTER. [_Really shocked._] Betty!
BETTY. I did. You had a way of squeezing my hand.... And then when
we came back here. You know it didn't take me long to discover--
WALTER. [_Protesting._] I scarcely saw you the first two or three
years!
BETTY. No--you were afraid. Oh I thought you so silly! [_He
suddenly contrives to release himself--gets up, and moves to the
card-table._] Why, what's the matter?
WALTER. [_At the table, with his back to her._] I hate hearing you
talk like this.

BETTY. Silly boy! [_She rises, and goes to him; he has taken a
cigarette out of the box on the table, and stands there, with his head
bent, tapping the cigarette against his hand._] Women only talk "like
this," as you call it, to their lovers. They talk "like that" to their
husbands--and that's why the husbands never know. That's why the
husbands are always