The Philanderer | Page 7

JULIA (at the door). You shall not leave me here alone.
CHARTERIS. Then come with me.
JULIA. Not until you have sworn to me to give up that woman.
CHARTERIS. My dear, I will swear anything if you will only come
away and put an end to this.
JULIA (perplexed--doubting him). You will swear?
CHARTERIS. Solemnly. Propose the oath. I have been on the point of
swearing for the last half hour.
JULIA (despairingly). You are only making fun of me. I want no oaths.
I want your promise--your sacred word of honour.
CHARTERIS. Certainly--anything you demand, on condition that you
come away immediately. On my sacred word of honour as a
gentleman--as an Englishman--as anything you like--I will never see
her again, never speak to her, never think of her. Now come.
JULIA. But are you in earnest? Will you keep your word?

CHARTERIS (smiling subtly). Now you are getting unreasonable. Do
come along without any more nonsense. At any rate, I am going. I am
not strong enough to carry you home; but I am strong enough to make
my way through that door in spite of you. You will then have a new
grievance against me for my brutal violence. (He takes a step towards
the door.)
JULIA (solemnly). If you do, I swear I will throw myself from that
window, Leonard, as you pass out.
CHARTERIS (unimpressed). That window is at the back of the
building. I shall pass out at the front; so you will not hurt me. Good
night. (He approaches the door.)
JULIA. Leonard: have you no pity?
CHARTERIS. Not in the least. When you condescend to these antics
you force me to despise you. How can a woman who behaves like a
spoiled child and talks like a sentimental novel have the audacity to
dream of being a companion for a man of any sort of sense or character?
(She gives an inarticulate cry and throws herself sobbing on his breast.)
Come, don't cry, my dear Julia: you don't look half so beautiful as when
you're happy; and it takes all the starch out of my shirt front. Come
along.
JULIA (affectionately). I'll come, dear, if you wish it. Give me one
kiss.
CHARTERIS (exasperated). This is too much. No: I'm dashed if I will.
Here, let me go, Julia. (She clings to him.) Will you come without
another word if I give you a kiss?
JULIA. I will do anything you wish, darling.
CHARTERIS. Well, here. (He takes her in his arms and gives her an
unceremonious kiss.) Now remember your promise. Come along.
JULIA. That was not a nice kiss, dearest. I want one of our old real

kisses.
CHARTERIS (furious). Oh, go to the deuce. (He disengages himself
impulsively; and she, as if he had flung her down, falls pathetically
with a stifled moan. With an angry look at her, he strides out and slams
the door. She raises herself on one hand, listening to his retreating
footsteps. They stop. Her face lights up with eager, triumphant cunning.
The steps return hastily. She throws herself down again as before.
Charteris reappears, in the utmost dismay, exclaiming) Julia: we're
done. Cuthbertson's coming upstairs with your father--(she sits up
quickly) do you hear?--the two fathers.
JULIA (sitting on the floor). Impossible. They don't know one another.
CHARTERIS (desperately). I tell you they are coming up together like
brothers. What on earth are we to do?
JULIA (scrambling up with the help of his hand). Quick, the lift: we
can go down in that. (She rushes to the table for her bonnet.)
CHARTERIS. No, the man's gone home; and the lift's locked.
JULIA (putting on bonnet at express speed). Let's go up to the next
floor.
CHARTERIS. There's no next floor. We're at the top of the house. No,
no, you must invent some thumping lie. I can't think of one: you can,
Julia. Exercise all your genius. I'll back you up.
JULIA. But------
CHARTERIS. Sh-sh! Here they are. Sit down and look at home. (Julia
tears off her bonnet and mantle; throws them on the table; and darts to
the piano at which she seats herself.)
JULIA. Come and sing. (She plays the symphony to "When other lips."
He stands at the piano, as if about to sing. Two elderly gentlemen enter.
Julia stops playing.)

The elder of the two gentlemen, Colonel Daniel Craven, affects the
bluff, simple veteran, and carries it off pleasantly and well, having a
fine upright figure, and being, in fact, a goodnaturedly impulsive,
credulous person who, after an entirely thoughtless career as an officer
and a gentleman, is now being startled into some sort of self-education
by the surprising proceedings of his children.
His companion, Mr. Joseph Cuthbertson, Grace's father, has none of the
Colonel's boyishness. He is a