Waste | Page 8

need or other, I suppose, which makes me risk unhappiness ... in fact, welcome it.
TREBELL. [With great briskness.] Your present need is a good shaking.... I seriously mean that. You get to attach importance to these shades of emotion. A slight physical shock would settle them all. That's why I asked you to kiss me just now.
AMY O'CONNELL. You haven't very nice ideas, have you?
TREBELL. There are three facts in life that call up emotion ... Birth, Death, and the Desire for Children. The niceties are shams.
AMY O'CONNELL. Then why do you want to kiss me?
TREBELL. I don't ... seriously. But I shall in a minute just to finish the argument. Too much diplomacy always ends in a fight.
AMY O'CONNELL. And if I don't fight ... it'd be no fun for you, I suppose?
TREBELL. You would get that much good out of me. For it's my point of honour ... to leave nothing I touch as I find it.
He is very close to her.
AMY O'CONNELL. You're frightening me a little ...
TREBELL. Come and look at the stars again. Come along.
AMY O'CONNELL. Give me my wrap ... [He takes it up, but holds it.] Well, put it on me. [He puts it round her, but does not withdraw his arms.] Be careful, the stars are looking at you.
TREBELL. No, they can't see so far as we can. That's the proper creed.
AMY O'CONNELL. [Softly, almost shyly.] Henry.
TREBELL. [Bending closer to her.] Yes, pretty thing.
AMY O'CONNELL. Is this what you call being in love?
He looks up and listens.
TREBELL. Here's somebody coming.
AMY O'CONNELL. Oh!...
TREBELL. What does it matter?
AMY O'CONNELL. I'm untidy or something....
She slips out, for they are close to the window. The FOOTMAN enters, stops suddenly.
THE FOOTMAN. I beg your pardon, sir. I thought everyone had gone.
TREBELL. I've just been for a walk. I'll lock up if you like.
THE FOOTMAN. I can easily wait up, sir.
TREBELL. [At the window.] I wouldn't. What do you do ... just slide the bolt?
THE FOOTMAN. That's all, sir.
TREBELL. I see. Good-night.
THE FOOTMAN. Good-night, sir.
He goes. TREBELL'S demeanour suddenly changes, becomes alert, with the alertness of a man doing something in secret. He leans out of the window and whispers.
TREBELL. Amy!
There is no answer, so he gently steps out. For a moment the room is empty and there is silence. Then AMY has flown from him into the safety of lights. She is flushed, trembling, but rather ecstatic, and her voice has lost all affectation now.
AMY O'CONNELL. Oh ... oh ... you shouldn't have kissed me like that!
TREBELL stands in the window-way; a light in his eyes, and speaks low but commandingly.
TREBELL. Come here.
Instinctively she moves towards him. They speak in whispers.
AMY O'CONNELL. He was locking up.
TREBELL. I've sent him to bed.
AMY O'CONNELL. He won't go.
TREBELL. Never mind him.
AMY O'CONNELL. We're standing full in the light ... anyone could see us.
TREBELL. [With fierce egotism.] Think of me ... not of anyone else. [He draws her from the window; then does not let her go.] May I kiss you again?
AMY O'CONNELL. [Her eyes closed.] Yes.
He kisses her. She stiffens in his arms; then laughs almost joyously, and is commonplace.
AMY O'CONNELL. Well ... let me get my breath.
TREBELL. [Letting her stand free.] Now ... go along.
Obediently she turns to the door, but sinks on the nearest chair.
AMY O'CONNELL. In a minute, I'm a little faint. [He goes to her quickly.] No, it's nothing.
TREBELL. Come into the air again. [Then half seriously.] I'll race you across the lawn.
AMY O'CONNELL. [Still breathless and a little hysterical.] Thank you!
TREBELL. Shall I carry you?
AMY O'CONNELL. Don't be silly. [She recovers her self-possession, gets up and goes to the window, then looks back at him and says very beautifully.] But the night's beautiful, isn't it?
He has her in his arms again, more firmly this time.
TREBELL. Make it so.
AMY O'CONNELL. [Struggling ... with herself] Oh, why do you rouse me like this?
TREBELL. Because I want you.
AMY O'CONNELL. Want me to...?
TREBELL. Want you to ... kiss me just once.
AMY O'CONNELL. [Yielding.] If I do ... don't let me go mad, will you?
TREBELL. Perhaps. [He bends over her, her head drops back.] Now.
AMY O'CONNELL. Yes!
She kisses him on the mouth. Then he would release her, but suddenly she clings again.
Oh ... don't let me go.
TREBELL. [With fierce pride of possession.] Not yet.
She is fragile beside him. He lifts her in his arms and carries her out into the darkness.

THE SECOND ACT
TREBELL'S house in Queen Anne Street, London. Eleven o'clock on an October morning.
TREBELL'S working room is remarkable chiefly for the love of sunlight it evidences in its owner. The walls are white; the window which faces you is bare of all but the necessary curtains. Indeed, lack of draperies testifies also to his horror of dust. There faces you besides a double door; when it is opened another