Five Little Plays | Page 2

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 sitting in the stalls, looking on. [_She puts her arms round him again._] Looking and not seeing.
[_She approaches her lips to his--he almost fretfully unclasps her arms._
WALTER. Betty--I want to say a--serious word ...
BETTY. [_Looking fondly at him._] Well, isn't what _I'm_ saying serious?
WALTER. I'm thirty-eight.
BETTY. Yes. I'm only thirty. But I'm not complaining.
WALTER. Has it ever occurred to you--
[_He stops._
BETTY. What?
[WALTER _looks at her--tries to speak, but cannot--then