Five Little Plays | Page 8

time. One
thing or the other.
WALTER. [_Savagely._] You fiend!
BETTY. I'll go and see her to-morrow--see her constantly--
WALTER. Why are you doing this?
BETTY. You've ruined my life and his. At least, you shan't be happy.
WALTER. And you imagine I'll come back to _you_--that we'll go on,
you and I?
BETTY. [_Scornfully._] No--don't be afraid! You've shown yourself to
me to-day. That's all done with--finished. His friend now--with the load
off you--but never her husband. Never!
[HECTOR _comes bustling back, with the bottle of Hock, and a
wine-glass that he gives to_ BETTY--_she holds it, and he fills it from
the bottle._
HECTOR. Here you are, my girl--and now, where's my whiskey? [_He
trots round to the side table, finds his glass, and_ WALTER'S--hands
one to WALTER.] Here, Wallie--yours must be the one that's begun--I
didn't have time to touch mine! Here. [WALTER _takes it._] And
forgive me, old man, for thinking, even one minute--[_He wrings him
by the hand._] Here's to you, old friend. And Betty, to you! Oh, Lord, I
just want this drink!
BETTY. [_In cold, clear tones, as she holds up her glass._] To Walter,
the Bachelor!
[_She drains her glass;_ WALTER _has his moment's hesitation; he
drinks, and with tremendous effort succeeds in composing his face._
HECTOR. [_Gaily._] To Walter, the Bachelor! [_He drinks his glass to
the dregs and puts it down._] And now--for a game.
WALTER. I think I--
HECTOR. [_Coaxingly._] Sit down, laddie--just one rubber. It's quite
early. Do. There's a good chap. [_They all sit:_ HECTOR _at back,_

BETTY _to the left of him,_ WALTER _to the right--he spreads out
the cards--they draw for partners._] As we are--you and Betty--I've got
the dummy. [_He shuffles the cards_--BETTY _cuts--he begins to
deal._] That's how I like it--one on each side of me. Also I like having
dummy. Now, Betty, play up. Oh, Lord, how good it is, how good! A
nightmare, I tell you--terrible! And really you must forgive me for
being such an ass. But the way you played up, both of you! My little
Betty--a Duse, that's what she is--a real Duse! [_He gathers up his
cards._] And the gods are kind to me--I've got a hand, I tell you! I call
NO TRUMPS!
[_He beams at them--they are placidly sorting their cards. He puts his
hand down and proceeds to look at his dummy, as the curtain falls._
CURTAIN

A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED....

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY
MR. HARRISON CROCKSTEAD LADY ALINE DE VAUX
_Produced at the Garrick Theatre on March 27, 1904_

A MARRIAGE HAS BEEN ARRANGED....
SCENE _The conservatory of No. 300 Grosvenor Square. Hour, close
on midnight. A ball is in progress, and dreamy waltz music is heard in
the distance._
LADY ALINE DE VAUX _enters, leaning on the arm of_ MR.
HARRISON CROCKSTEAD.
LADY ALINE _is a tall, exquisitely-gowned girl, of the conventional
and much-admired type of beauty. Put her in any drawing-room in the
world, and she would at once be recognised as a highborn
Englishwoman. She has in her, in embryo, all those excellent qualities
that go to make a great lady: the icy stare, the haughty movement of the
shoulder, the disdainful arch of the lip; she has also, but only an
experienced observer would notice it, something of wistfulness,
something that speaks of a sore and wounded heart--though it is
sufficiently evident that this organ is kept under admirable control. A
girl who has been placed in a position of life where artificiality rules,

who has been taught to be artificial and has thoroughly learned her
lesson; yet one who would unhesitatingly know the proper thing to do
did a camel bolt with her in the desert, or an eastern potentate invite her
to become his two hundred and fifty-seventh wife. In a word, a lady of
complete self-possession and magnificent control._ MR.
CROCKSTEAD _is a big, burly man of forty or so, and of the kind to
whom the ordinary West End butler would consider himself perfectly
justified in declaring that her ladyship was not at home. And yet his
evening clothes sit well on him; and there is a certain air of command
about the man that would have made the butler uncomfortable. That
functionary would have excused himself by declaring that_ MR.
CROCKSTEAD _didn't look a gentleman. And perhaps he doesn't. His
walk is rather a slouch; he has a way of keeping his hands in his
pockets, and of jerking out his sentences; a way, above all, of seeming
perfectly indifferent to the comfort of the people he happens to be
addressing. The impression he gives is one of power, not of refinement;
and the massive face, with its heavy lines, and eyes that are usually
veiled, seems to give no