Waste

Waste, by Granville Barker

The Project Gutenberg EBook of Waste, by Granville Barker This
eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with almost no
restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it
under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this
eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net
Title: Waste A Tragedy, In Four Acts
Author: Granville Barker
Release Date: May 7, 2005 [EBook #15788]
Language: English
Character set encoding: ASCII
*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WASTE
***

Produced by Michael Ciesielski, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net.

WASTE: A TRAGEDY, IN FOUR ACTS, BY GRANVILLE
BARKER
LONDON: SIDGWICK & JACKSON, LTD. 3 ADAM STREET,
ADELPHI. MCMIX.

Entered at the Library of Congress, Washington, U.S.A. All rights
reserved.

Waste
1906-7

WASTE
At Shapters, GEORGE FARRANT'S house in Hertfordshire. Ten
o'clock on a Sunday evening in summer.
Facing you at her piano by the window, from which she is protected by
a little screen, sits MRS. FARRANT; a woman of the interesting age,
clear-eyed and all her face serene, except for a little pucker of the
brows which shows a puzzled mind upon some important matters. To
become almost an ideal hostess has been her achievement; and in her
own home, as now, this grace is written upon every movement. Her
eyes pass over the head of a girl, sitting in a low chair by a little table,
with the shaded lamplight falling on her face. This is LUCY
DAVENPORT; twenty-three, undefeated in anything as yet and so
unsoftened. The book on her lap is closed, for she has been listening to
the music. It is possibly some German philosopher, whom she reads
with a critical appreciation of his shortcomings. On the sofa near her
lounges MRS. O'CONNELL; a charming woman, if by charming you
understand a woman who converts every quality she possesses into a
means of attraction, and has no use for any others. On the sofa
opposite sits MISS TREBELL. In a few years, when her hair is quite
grey, she will assume as by right the dignity of an old maid. Between
these two in a low armchair is LADY DAVENPORT. She has attained
to many dignities. Mother and grandmother, she has brought into the
world and nourished not merely life but character. A wonderful face
she has, full of proud memories and fearless of the future. Behind her,
on a sofa between the windows, is WALTER KENT. He is just what

the average English father would like his son to be. You can see the
light shooting out through the windows and mixing with moonshine
upon a smooth lawn. On your left is a door. There are many books in
the room, hardly any pictures, a statuette perhaps. The owner evidently
sets beauty of form before beauty of colour. It is a woman's room and it
has a certain delicate austerity. By the time you have observed
everything MRS. FARRANT has played Chopin's prelude opus 28,
number 20 from beginning to end.
LADY DAVENPORT. Thank you, my dear Julia.
WALTER KENT. [Protesting.] No more?
MRS. FARRANT. I won't play for a moment longer than I feel
musical.
MISS TREBELL. Do you think it right, Julia, to finish with that after
an hour's Bach?
MRS. FARRANT. I suddenly came over Chopinesque, Fanny; ...
what's your objection? [as she sits by her.]
FRANCES TREBELL. What ... when Bach has raised me to the
heights of unselfishness!
AMY O'CONNELL. [Grimacing sweetly, her eyes only half lifted.]
Does he? I'm glad that I don't understand him.
FRANCES TREBELL. [Putting mere prettiness in its place.] One may
prefer Chopin when one is young.
AMY O'CONNELL. And is that a reproach or a compliment?
WALTER KENT. [Boldly.] I do.
FRANCES TREBELL. Or a man may ... unless he's a philosopher.
LADY DAVENPORT. [To the rescue.] Miss Trebell, you're very hard
on mere humanity.

FRANCES TREBELL. [Completing the reproof.] That's my wretched
training as a schoolmistress, Lady Davenport ... one grew to fear it
above all things.
LUCY DAVENPORT. [Throwing in the monosyllable with sharp
youthful enquiry.] Why?
FRANCES TREBELL. There were no text books on the subject.
MRS. FARRANT. [Smiling at her friend.] Yes, Fanny ... I think you
escaped to look after your brother only just in time.
FRANCES TREBELL. In another year I might have been
head-mistress, which commits you to approve of the system for ever.
LADY DAVENPORT. [Shaking her wise head.] I've watched the
Education fever take England....
FRANCES TREBELL. If I hadn't stopped teaching things I didn't
understand...!
AMY O'CONNELL. [Not without mischief.] And what was the effect
on the pupils?
LUCY DAVENPORT. I can tell you that.
AMY O'CONNELL. Frances never taught you.
LUCY DAVENPORT. No, I wish she