The Fourth Series Plays | Page 5

forehead]
Four years ago.
STRANGWAY. Poor fellow!
MRS. BRADMERE. [Looking at him sharply] Is your wife back?
STRANGWAY. [Starting] No.
MRS. BRADMERE. By the way, poor Mrs. Cremer--is she any better?
STRANGWAY. No; going fast: Wonderful--so patient.
MRS. BRADMERE. [With gruff sympathy] Um! Yes. They know how
to die! [Wide another sharp look at him] D'you expect your wife soon?
STRANGWAY. I I--hope so.
MRS. BRADMERE: So do I. The sooner the better.
STRANGWAY. [Shrinking] I trust the Rector's not suffering so much
this morning?
MRS. BRADMERE. Thank you! His foot's very bad.
[As she speaks Mrs. BURLACOMBE returns with a large pale-blue
book in her bared.]
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Good day, M'm! [Taking the book across to
STRANGWAY] Miss Willie, she says she'm very sorry, zurr.
STRANGWAY. She was very welcome, Mrs. Burlacombe. [To MRS.

BURLACOMBE] Forgive me--my sermon.
[He goes into the house. The two women graze after him. Then, at once,
as it were, draw into themselves, as if preparing for an encounter, and
yet seem to expand as if losing the need for restraint.]
MRS. BRADMERE. [Abruptly] He misses his wife very much, I'm
afraid.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Ah! Don't he? Poor dear man; he keeps a
terrible tight 'and over 'imself, but 'tis suthin' cruel the way he walks
about at night. He'm just like a cow when its calf's weaned. 'T'as gone
to me 'eart truly to see 'im these months past. T'other day when I went
up to du his rume, I yeard a noise like this [she sniffs]; an' ther' 'e was
at the wardrobe, snuffin' at 'er things. I did never think a man cud care
for a woman so much as that.
MRS. BRADMERE. H'm!
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tis funny rest an' 'e comin' 'ere for quiet after
that tearin' great London parish! 'E'm terrible absent-minded tu- -don't
take no interest in 'is fude. Yesterday, goin' on for one o'clock, 'e says
to me, "I expect 'tis nearly breakfast-time, Mrs. Burlacombe!" 'E'd 'ad it
twice already!
MRS. BRADMERE. Twice! Nonsense!
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Zurely! I give 'im a nummit afore 'e gets up;
an' 'e 'as 'is brekjus reg'lar at nine. Must feed un up. He'm on 'is feet all
day, gain' to zee folk that widden want to zee an angel, they're that busy;
an' when 'e comes in 'e'll play 'is flute there. Hem wastin' away for want
of 'is wife. That's what 'tis. An' 'im so sweet-spoken, tu, 'tes a pleasure
to year 'im--Never says a word!
MRS. BRADMERE. Yes, that's the kind of man who gets treated badly.
I'm afraid she's not worthy of him, Mrs. Burlacombe.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Plaiting her apron] 'Tesn't for me to zay that.
She'm a very pleasant lady.
MRS. BRADMERE Too pleasant. What's this story about her being
seen in Durford?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Aw! I du never year no gossip, m'm.
MRS. BRADMERE. [Drily] Of course not! But you see the Rector
wishes to know.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. [Flustered] Well--folk will talk! But, as I says
to Burlacombe--"'Tes paltry," I says; and they only married eighteen

months, and Mr. Strangway so devoted-like. 'Tes nothing but love, with
'im.
MRS. BRADMERE. Come!
MRS. BURLACOMBE. There's puzzivantin' folk as'll set an' gossip the
feathers off an angel. But I du never listen.
MRS. BRADMERE Now then, Mrs. Burlacombe?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. Well, they du say as how Dr. Desart over to
Durford and Mrs. Strangway was sweethearts afore she wer' married.
MRS. BRADMERE. I knew that. Who was it saw her coming out of Dr.
Desart's house yesterday?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. In a manner of spakin' 'tes Mrs. Freman that
says 'er Gladys seen her.
MRS. BRADMERE. That child's got an eye like a hawk.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes wonderful how things du spread. 'Tesn't
as if us gossiped. Du seem to grow-like in the naight.
MRS. BRADMERE [To herself] I never lied her. That Riviera excuse,
Mrs. Burlacombe--Very convenient things, sick mothers. Mr.
Strangway doesn't know?
MRS. BURLACOMBE. The Lord forbid! 'Twid send un crazy, I think.
For all he'm so moony an' gentlelike, I think he'm a terrible passionate
man inside. He've a-got a saint in 'im, for zure; but 'tes only 'alf-baked,
in a manner of spakin'.
MRS. BRADMERE. I shall go and see Mrs. Freman. There's been too
much of this gossip all the winter.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'Tes unfortunate-like 'tes the Fremans. Freman
he'm a gipsy sort of a feller; and he've never forgiven Mr. Strangway
for spakin' to 'im about the way he trates 'is 'orses.
MRS. BRADMERE. Ah! I'm afraid Mr. Strangway's not too discreet
when his feelings are touched.
MRS. BURLACOMBE. 'E've a-got an 'eart so big as the full mune. But
'tes no yuse espectin' tu much o' this world. 'Tes a funny place, after
that.
MRS. BRADMERE. Yes, Mrs. Burlacombe; and I shall give