Waste | Page 6

Lucy.
This effectually startles the other two from their conversational reverie.
MRS. FARRANT. Walter? I'm not sure that he means to. She means to
marry him if he does.
FRANCES TREBELL. Has she told you so?
MRS. FARRANT. No. I judge by her business-like interest in his
welfare.
FRANCES TREBELL. He's beginning to feel the responsibility of
manhood ... doesn't know whether to be frightened or proud of it.
LADY DAVENPORT. It's a pretty thing to watch young people mating.
When they're older and marry from disappointment or deliberate choice,
thinking themselves so worldly-wise....
MRS. FARRANT, [Back to her politely cynical mood.] Well ... then at
least they don't develop their differences at the same fire-side,
regretting the happy time when neither possessed any character at all.

LADY DAVENPORT. [Giving a final douche of common sense.] My
dear, any two reasonable people ought to be able to live together.
FRANCES TREBELL. Granted three sitting rooms. That'll be the next
middle-class political cry ... when women are heard.
MRS. FARRANT. [Suddenly as practical as her mother.] Walter's
lucky ... Lucy won't stand any nonsense. She'll have him in the Cabinet
by the time he's fifty.
LADY DAVENPORT. And are you the power behind your brother,
Miss Trebell?
FRANCES TREBELL. [Gravely.] He ignores women. I've forced
enough good manners on him to disguise the fact decently. His
affections are two generations ahead.
MRS. FARRANT. People like him in an odd sort of way.
FRANCES TREBELL. That's just respect for work done ... one can't
escape from it.
There is a slight pause in their talk. By some not very devious route
MRS. FARRANT'S mind travels to the next subject.
MRS. FARRANT. Fanny ... how fond are you of Amy O'Connell?
FRANCES TREBELL. She says we're great friends.
MRS. FARRANT. She says that of me.
FRANCES TREBELL. It's a pity about her husband.
MRS. FARRANT. [Almost provokingly.] What about him?
FRANCES TREBELL. It seems to be understood that he treats her
badly.
LADY DAVENPORT. [A little malicious.] Is there any particular

reason he should treat her well?
FRANCES TREBELL. Don't you like her, Lady Davenport?
LADY DAVENPORT. [Dealing out justice.] I find her quite charming
to look at and talk to ... but why shouldn't Justin O'Connell live in
Ireland for all that? I'm going to bed, Julia.
She collects her belongings and gets up.
MRS. FARRANT. I must look in at the billiard room.
FRANCES TREBELL. I won't come, Julia.
MRS. FARRANT. What's your brother working at?
FRANCES TREBELL. I don't know. Something we shan't hear of for a
year, perhaps.
MRS. FARRANT. On the Church business, I daresay.
FRANCES TREBELL. Did you hear Lord Horsham at dinner on the
lack of dignity in an irreligious state?
MRS. FARRANT. Poor Cyril ... he'll have to find a way round that
opinion of his now.
FRANCES TREBELL. Does he like leading his party?
MRS. FARRANT. [After due consideration.] It's an intellectual
exercise. He's the right man, Fanny. You see it isn't a party in the active
sense at all, except now and then when it's captured by someone with
an axe to grind.
FRANCES TREBELL. [Humorously.] Such as my brother.
MRS. FARRANT. [As humorous.] Such as your brother. It expresses
the thought of the men who aren't taken in by the claptrap of progress.

FRANCES TREBELL. Sometimes they've a queer way of expressing
their love for the people of England.
MRS. FARRANT. But one must use democracy. Wellington wouldn't ...
Disraeli did.
LADY DAVENPORT. [At the door.] Good-night, Miss Trebell.
FRANCES TREBELL. I'm coming ... it's past eleven.
MRS. FARRANT. [At the window.] What a gorgeous night! I'll come
in and kiss you, Mamma.
FRANCES follows LADY DAVENPORT and MRS. FARRANT starts
across the lawn to the billiard room.... An hour later you can see no
change in the room except that only one lamp is alight on the table in
the middle. AMY O'CONNELL and HENRY TREBELL walk past one
window and stay for a moment in the light of the other. Her wrap is
about her shoulders. He stands looking down at her.
AMY O'CONNELL. There goes the moon ... it's quieter than ever now.
[She comes in.] Is it very late?
TREBELL. [As he follows.] Half-past twelve.
TREBELL is hard-bitten, brainy, forty-five and very sure of himself.
He has a cold keen eye, which rather belies a sensitive mouth; hands
which can grip, and a figure that is austere.
AMY O'CONNELL. I ought to be in bed. I suppose everyone has gone.
TREBELL. Early trains to-morrow. The billiard room lights are out.
AMY O'CONNELL. The walk has just tired me comfortably.
TREBELL. Sit down. [She sits by the table. He sits by her and says
with the air of a certain buyer at a market.] You're very pretty.
AMY O'CONNELL. As well here