The Noble Lord | Page 4

to restrain herself.) I
thought Lord Brookfield was a gentleman!
HE. Oh, but I'm not.
SHE. Not a gentleman?
HE. No. . . . I'm not Lord Brookfield.
SHE. Not Lord Brookfield?
HE. No.

SHE. Then who on earth are you?
HE. (Sweetly) I? I'm a friend of his.
SHE. A friend?
HE. A close friend--very close.
SHE. Who? Who?
HE. (Leisurely) I'm not related, you know, but I see a lot of him. We're
thick--very thick.
SHE. (un patiently) Who are you?
HE. (Simply) I'm his valet.
SHE. (Horrified) Oh! . . . And you kissed me! A valet! You dared kiss
me!
HE. At your request.
SHE. (Almost choking with rage) But a valet! A valet!
HE. I'm a good valet. One of the best there is.
SHE. Your insolence! Oh! (She seizes the handkerchief which he has
left on the log, and wipes her mouth furiously.)
HE. My handkerchief.
SHE. (Throwing it to the ground) Oh, you coward! You. . . . You (She
sits on the log, inarticulate with rage. The whistle is heard again.)
HE. Listen to me.
SHE. I won't.
HE. (Earnestly) Listen to me.

SHE. I don't want to talk to you!
HE. I'll help you.
SHE. (Rising) I don't want your help.
HE. (Bluntly) Then you're silly.
SHE. (Wheeling furiously) How dare you----
HE. (Interrupting) I'll make a bargain with you.
SHE. (Scornfully) What dealings can there be between us?
HE. Did you hear the whistling a minute ago?
SHE. Well?
HE. (With meaning) That's Brookfield.
SHE. (After a pause) Well?
HE. The path leads here. He is following the path----
SHE. (After still another pause) Well?
HE. You and I might be very good friends----
SHE. (Thoughtfully) Oh, you mean----
HE. A valet is not paid very well----
SHE. No. . . . Still----
SHE. If anything comes of it----
SHE. (Slowly) Comes of what?
HE. You understand me. (He pauses; smiles. Then, in a
Mephistophelian manner): Your clothes are still wet, aren't they?

SHE. (With full comprehension) Yes----
HE. Enough said! (The whistle is heard, close at hand.) Quick!
SHE. (Going off) You won't tell? (He shakes his head.) I'll remember
you. (She runs into the woods.)
HE. (Sits on the log, laughs heartily. He produces another cigarette,
and tries in vain to light it. Then, as an atrocious little cockney enters
whistling gaily, he addresses him sharply) Peters!
PETERS. (Surprised) M'lord?
HE. Give me a light, Peters.
PETERS. Yes, m'lord. (Produces match, etc.)
HE. Thanks. (He blows a few whiffs into the air. Then stops, and
surveys PETERS thoughtfully.) Peters, you're a brave man, aren't you?
PETERS. (Modestly) I am 'andy with me fists, m'lord.
HE. That's not quite what I mean, Peters. . . . (He pauses.) Peters, you
have the making of a hero in you. Something tells me that you're going
to have your chance.
(There is a loud splash from the same direction as before, followed by
screams of "Help! Help!")
PETERS. (With excitement) M'lord!
HE. (Quietly) Yes, Peters?
PETERS. Somebody's calling for 'elp, m'lord!
HE. Yes, Peters.
PETERS. Shall I go, m'lord?

HE. Yes, Peters. . . . Gallop!
And as
PETERS. (Charges wildly into the shrubbery, shouting): H'I'm coming!
H'I'm coming!
THE CURTAIN FALLS

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