The Double Widowing | Page 5

rid of all your peculiarities.
Desmond I am not being peculiar, when, after quiet reasoning, I

conclude that your frivolousness--
Arabella Oh, my frivolousness, my frivolousness; I believe that my
gayety ought to prove my tenderness. Here's how I think you ought to
have reasoned, knowing me, and my fear of marriage because it is sad.
I naturally fear marriage. I see they want to marry me to you--and I
show no emotion. Well--to be gay under these circumstances--doesn't
that prove I love you?
Desmond That's not to hate me.
Arabella If you don't want me to hate you, don't anger me any more
with the tone you're taking. Seems to me, I love you passably well.
Desmond Passably--there's a very touching expression. "Passably."
Arabella Oh--I wish you could count the joys I feel.
Desmond That joy would be properly expressed if you were sure our
marriage will succeed--but in the situation we are in, you ought to
tremble. And if you were in love, you'd be like me: ill at ease, agitated,
in a cruel uncertainty, languishing, sighing, trembling.
(Enter the Countess and her Maid.)
Countess Well, Arabella, I am working to marry you--aren't you
delighted?
Arabella On the contrary, Madame, I am ill at ease, agitated, and in a
cruel uncertainty, languishing, sighing, and trembling. Is that how I
should love, sir?
Countess Enough, Arabella, enough. Desmond, it was I who told her to
tease you a bit over your emotionalism. It's not that I don't esteem you
highly; the interest I take in your marriage proves that. But today, I've
resolved to laugh, and to ridicule all those who happen to be around me.
I have nothing but a boring day to pass in the country, and I am gong to
amuse myself at the expense of anyone who happens to be around. So
beware. Our widow will be the principal subject of my diversion--and
the way I intend to get the money out of Mrs. Bramble is a comedy
which will amuse me immensely.
Arabella If you are able to get money out of aunt Bramble, don't mock
her. We must pity the afflicted.
Countess When her husband's death was announced to her, I perceived
that only her facial expression showed any signs of affliction.
Desmond Maybe so, but I beg you to spare her. For if her affection was
false, that of my uncle was true enough. And my uncle had the honor to

be your steward.
Countess Oh, Bramble's enriched himself at my expense--and now I
will laugh at the expense of his widow. After all, it's an outrage. She
wants to disinherit her niece--who's my godchild--in a word, she hates
what you love. Why manipulate, if it weren't for love of you?
Desmond If she's done it from love of me, it's an inexcusable folly.
Countess A less excusable folly is the speed with which she took to
mourning yesterday. (to Maid) Miss, tell me how she has been able to
find so much crepe in the country?
Maid I heard this morning from Lucy, that she's always kept a
mourning outfit hidden in her trunk, so as always to be well prepared
for the unexpected death of her husband. She says every well-ordered
wife ought to do the same, so she can celebrate her misfortune from the
very first moment of widowhood.
Countess And you don't want me to ridicule such an affectation? There,
Desmond! Go, put on mourning, too--to prove that your uncle is dead.
Arabella I am also going to put on black, to make it all more touching.
(Exit Arabella and Desmond.)
Countess Miss, you will have to sing a little aria in the opera that Mr.
Tuneless is preparing for me. It's right that my servants contribute to
my amusements today.
Maid I wish your Scotsman were here. He sings well. His wife is also a
good singer and dances well for a highlander.
Countess Here she is now. What does she wish to tell me?
(Enter Mrs. MacPherson.)
Mrs. MacPherson Rejoice, Madame, my husband has just returned
from Tunbridge Wells.
Countess I am delighted. He will tell us if Mr. Bramble is dead or alive.
He hasn't already told you, has he?
Mrs. MacPherson My husband never tells me his secrets. He's right, for
I am too much of a gossip. I like it better when he tells me nothing,
because he's so pompous when he tells me a secret. He has such long
oaths, so long that I would as soon listen to a hundred sighs from
another man. Before he will tell me one word!
Countess Why doesn't he come then?
Mrs. MacPherson Madame, to appear to you in his proper attire, he has
gone to have his wig curled and powdered.

Maid He's rouging also. For he