The Fugitive | Page 8

looks] That was Mr.
Malise, then?
FULLARTON. [Coming towards them] I say, Mrs. Dedmond, you
wouldn't sing me that little song you sang the other night, [He hums]
"If I might be the falling bee and kiss thee all the day"? Remember?
MRS. FULLARTON. "The falling dew," Edward. We simply must go,
Clare. Good-night. [She kisses her.]
FULLARTON. [Taking half-cover between his wife and CLARE] It
suits you down to the ground-that dress.
CLARE. Good-night.
HUNTINGDON sees them out. Left alone CLARE clenches her hands,
moves swiftly across to the window, and stands looking out.
HUNTINGDON. [Returning] Look here, Clare!
CLARE. Well, Reggie?
HUNTINGDON. This is working up for a mess, old girl. You can't do
this kind of thing with impunity. No man'll put up with it. If you've got
anything against George, better tell me. [CLARE shakes her head] You
ought to know I should stick by you. What is it? Come?

CLARE. Get married, and find out after a year that she's the wrong
person; so wrong that you can't exchange a single real thought; that
your blood runs cold when she kisses you--then you'll know.
HUNTINGDON. My dear old girl, I don't want to be a brute; but it's a
bit difficult to believe in that, except in novels.
CLARE. Yes, incredible, when you haven't tried.
HUNTINGDON. I mean, you--you chose him yourself. No one forced
you to marry him.
CLARE. It does seem monstrous, doesn't it?
HUNTINGDON. My dear child, do give us a reason.
CLARE. Look! [She points out at the night and the darkening towers]
If George saw that for the first time he'd just say, "Ah, Westminster!
Clock Tower! Can you see the time by it?" As if one cared where or
what it was--beautiful like that! Apply that to every
--every--everything.
HUNTINGDON. [Staring] George may be a bit prosaic. But, my dear
old girl, if that's all----
CLARE. It's not all--it's nothing. I can't explain, Reggie--it's not reason,
at all; it's--it's like being underground in a damp cell; it's like knowing
you'll never get out. Nothing coming--never anything coming
again-never anything.
HUNTINGDON. [Moved and puzzled] My dear old thing; you mustn't
get into fantods like this. If it's like that, don't think about it.
CLARE. When every day and every night!--Oh! I know it's my fault
for having married him, but that doesn't help.
HUNTINGDON. Look here! It's not as if George wasn't quite a decent
chap. And it's no use blinking things; you are absolutely dependent on
him. At home they've got every bit as much as they can do to keep
going.
CLARE. I know.
HUNTINGDON. And you've got to think of the girls. Any trouble
would be very beastly for them. And the poor old Governor would feel
it awfully.
CLARE. If I didn't know all that, Reggie, I should have gone home
long ago.
HUNTINGDON. Well, what's to be done? If my pay would run to
it--but it simply won't.

CLARE. Thanks, old boy, of course not.
HUNTINGDON. Can't you try to see George's side of it a bit?
CLARE. I do. Oh! don't let's talk about it.
HUNTINGDON. Well, my child, there's just one thing you won't go
sailing near the wind, will you? I mean, there are fellows always on the
lookout.
CLARE. "That chap, Malise, you'd better avoid him!" Why?
HUNTINGDON. Well! I don't know him. He may be all right, but he's
not our sort. And you're too pretty to go on the tack of the New Woman
and that kind of thing--haven't been brought up to it.
CLARE. British home-made summer goods, light and attractive--don't
wear long. [At the sound of voices in the hall] They seem 'to be going,
Reggie.
[HUNTINGDON looks at her, vexed, unhappy.]
HUNTINGDON. Don't head for trouble, old girl. Take a pull. Bless
you! Good-night.
CLARE kisses him, and when he has gone turns away from the door,
holding herself in, refusing to give rein to some outburst of emotion.
Suddenly she sits down at the untouched Bridge table, leaning her bare
elbows on it and her chin on her hands, quite calm. GEORGE is
coming in. PAYNTER follows him.
CLARE. Nothing more wanted, thank you, Paynter. You can go home,
and the maids can go to bed.
PAYNTER. We are much obliged, ma'am.
CLARE. I ran over a dog, and had to get it seen to.
PAYNTER. Naturally, ma'am!
CLARE. Good-night.
PAYNTER. I couldn't get you a little anything, ma'am?
CLARE. No, thank you.
PAYNTER. No, ma'am. Good-night, ma'am.
[He withdraws.]
GEORGE. You needn't have gone out of your way to tell a lie that
wouldn't deceive a guinea-pig. [Going up to her] Pleased with yourself
to-night? [CLARE shakes her head] Before that fellow MALISE; as if
our own people weren't enough!
CLARE. Is it worth while to