Google
This is a digital copy of a book that was preserved for generations on Hbrary shelves before it was carefully scanned by Google as part of a project
to make the world's books discoverable online.
It has survived long enough for the copyright to expire and the book to enter the public domain. A public domain book is one that was never subject
to copyright or whose legal copyright term has expired. Whether a book is in the public domain may vary country to country. Public domain books
are our gateways to the past, representing a wealth of history, culture and knowledge that's often difficult to discover.
Marks, notations and other maiginalia present in the original volume will appear in this file - a reminder of this book's long journey from the
publisher to a library and finally to you.
Usage guidelines
Google is proud to partner with libraries to digitize public domain materials and make them widely accessible. Public domain books belong to the
public and we are merely their custodians. Nevertheless, this work is expensive, so in order to keep providing this resource, we liave taken steps to
prevent abuse by commercial parties, including placing technical restrictions on automated querying.
We also ask that you:
+ Make non-commercial use of the files We designed Google Book Search for use by individuals, and we request that you use these files for
personal, non-commercial purposes.
+ Refrain fivm automated querying Do not send automated queries of any sort to Google's system: If you are conducting research on machine
translation, optical character recognition or other areas where access to a large amount of text is helpful, please contact us. We encourage the
use of public domain materials for these purposes and may be able to help.
+ Maintain attributionTht GoogXt "watermark" you see on each file is essential for informing people about this project and helping them find
additional materials through Google Book Search. Please do not remove it.
+ Keep it legal Whatever your use, remember that you are responsible for ensuring that what you are doing is legal. Do not assume that just
because we believe a book is in the public domain for users in the United States, that the work is also in the public domain for users in other
countries. Whether a book is still in copyright varies from country to country, and we can't offer guidance on whether any specific use of
any specific book is allowed. Please do not assume that a book's appearance in Google Book Search means it can be used in any manner
anywhere in the world. Copyright infringement liabili^ can be quite severe.
About Google Book Search
Google's mission is to organize the world's information and to make it universally accessible and useful. Google Book Search helps readers
discover the world's books while helping authors and publishers reach new audiences. You can search through the full text of this book on the web
at |http : //books . google . com/|
. {
\
J
m:^
. ■•<*
?^
'*.-
:f-
, f ■
r
v-::^
k
>Xi- '*: .' .
t'' -1'
■• .- 7"'
t N ; M
l -'".■' A'':
. 1
V li. - -■
> ■
***
\_
:/ ' f
V-'f
"' " Jr.
'- ->
I'
|TH/S book is leased. ASD not sold, and
Ttalas the property- of WALTER H. BAKf-R & CO..
—H H to b*: returned prompHy upon the
Tirotioa of Ibe contract under which St ta loaacfl^ .
, ^o. 23 WISTER ST., BOSTON, A
>x-
y[^ ().^^AryLt.h.'
line-Co
LADY BOUNTIFUL
I
LADY BOUNTIFUL
A STORY OF YEARS
(^ ^t vn Sout (gete
\
BY
ARTHUR W. PINERO
•* My masters will you hear a simple tale ?
No war, no lust, not a Comniandmcnt broke
By sir or madam— but a history ^
To make a rhyme to speed a young maid s hour.
' J • ••
NOTICE.
• ^^ "* •* ^
This play Is printed as iVIanuscript orrl);,, and is
not published. The right of performance is reserved, and
can be obtained only by arrangement with the author's
agents,
WALTER H. BAKER & CO.
No. 23 Winter St., Boston, Mass.
S^x^^-^^
t —
'I'O II
^- • r T
\ i > \_>
177n05A
A^''.'}^ '.
~\ AND
•> *
Copyright, z892> by
ARTHUR W. PINERO
\All rights reserved^
» ■
t ■* *
■ »
»•,
r . • " • •
INTRODUCTORY NOTE.
When Mr. Pinero set himself to write "Lady Boun-
tiful" he evidently thought that a public which
had patiently devoured Thackeray and Dickens in
monthly numbers, which now was content to read
even Mr. George Meredith in serial form, and made
Mr. Mudie the autocratic guide to its literary taste,
might be prepared to listen with interest to a story
told in four acts which otherwise might have been
narrated in three volumes. But the event proved
that Mr. Pinero, in this instance, had not correctly
gauged that unknown and very variable quantity,
the British Public. It had been complained by the
more captious of the newest critics that the stories
of the plays written by even our best contemporary
dramatists were such as no self-respecting novelist
would condescend to handle. Be this as it may, the
story of "Lady Bountiful" is, I venture to think,
human and interesting enough to offer possibilities
to the novelist ; whereas Mr. Pinero treated it, after
his lights, in dramatic form. And he gripped the
attention of his audiences, and made them laugh
and made them cry, and yet " Lady Bountiful " can-
not be described as a popular success, in London at
all events.
How is this comparative failure to be accounted
for ? I cannot think that the public was much con-
cerned as to whether it was or was not a novel in
stage form, but the absence of any showy dramatic
emotion may have exerted an adverse indfluence on
the fortunes of the play. " Lady Bountiful " was
produced at a moment when the palate of the play-
8 IJ^TRODTTCTOMY NOTE.
going public was being tickled by some very highly
flavoured dramatic fare, and possibly, despite the
gentle tyranny of " the young lady of fifteen," some
resentment was felt that Mr. Pinero should have in-
vited the great British Public to listen to " a history
to make a rhyme to speed a young maid's hour."
We are, of course, a very moral and respectable peo-
ple ; but we do not necessarily wish our virtues to
be dragged into our amusements. We prefer to
keep them separate ; and when a dramatist deliber-
ately seeks to entertain us with a play in which not /
a single Commandment shall be broken, we — speak-
ing as the public — say, "How nice of him, and what
a sweet and pure and wholesome play to take young
girls to ; " but, at the same time, we go, to see not
his play, but something else, where, at least, the
Seventh Commandment is not preserved in cotton-
wool against fracture — and we send our girls to
German Reed's.
But there were also other reasons for the non-
success of "Lady Bountiful." People who seek
amusement at the theatre do not really like to be
made to cry. Actual pathos, which strikes home
by its simple truth, is not endurable as long as it
involves men and women of modern life. That
pathetic scene in which Meg Heron dies quietly in
her chair, while her husband, at her bidding, is talk-
ing to the baby in the cradle, was, I cannot help
thanking, in a great measure accountable for the non-
success of " Lady Bountiful." The audience was in
tears in spite of itself, feeling the sadness of the
episode with actual pain ; and people came away
from the theatre saying, " A beautiful play, but I
would not see it again for worlds ; it has made me
30 miserable." That lasting impression of sadness
INTBODUCTOBT NOTE. 9
was the key-note to the fate of this play. Then,
again, the respective characters of Camilla Brent
and Dennis Heron appeared perplexing to many,
and, being so, presented themselves in an unsym-
pathetic light. The ^1 who endeavours to inspire
the man she loves with ambition that shall impel
him to perform a worthy part m life, who not un-
naturally expresses her disappointment when she
perceives no sign of the laudable ambition she had
hoped to foster, was written down as " a priggish
and inconsistent young woman." On the other
hand, the young man who, in his sense of gi*atitude
to the humble folk who have befriended him in his
time of need, feels that the fault must be his, when
he discovers that their daughter has fallen in love
with him, and therefore his the reparation, at all
costs to himself of happiness and prospects, was
solemnly written of as an egotistical young cub,
and a quixotic fool to boot.
With a hero and heroine misunderstood like this
by experienced playgoers, it is not surprising that
the tone and significance of the whole play failed to
appeal to the majority of the audiences. However,
through the pubhcation of the work, freed from the
uncertainties of representation, the public is now
brought into more direct communion with the
author's intentions, and may therefore, perhaps, be
able to regard the play in a more sympathetic
light.
Mr. John Hare produced "Lady Bountiful" at
the Garrick Theatre on March 7, 1891, and with-
drew it on Friday, May 22, of the same year, after
66 performances. The following is a copy of the
programme on the occasion of the first representa-
tion.
10 INTROD UCTOR T NOTE.
THE GARRICK THEATRE.
Lessee and Manager, Mb. John Hare.
THIS EVENING, SATURDAY, MARCH 7th, 1891.
WILL BE ACTED
LADY BOUNTIFUL.
A NEW AND ORIGINAL PLAY IN FOUR ACTS.
BY
A. W. PINERO.
Sm LuciAN Brent, Bart . Mr. Gilbebt Habe.
(His First Appearance in London).
SibRichabd Phtlliteb, Q.
C. .... Mb. C. W. Somebset.
RoDEBiCK Hebon. . . Mb. John Habe.
Dennis Hebon . . . Mb. J. Fobbes-Robebtson.
John Yeai.e. . . . Mb. Chables Gboves.
Pedgbift (a Parish Clerk ajid
Sexton.) . . . Mb. R. Cathcabt.
Wimple Mb. JohnBybon.
Floyce Mb. R. Power.
A ViLLAGEB. . . . Mb. Henby Rivebs.
Miss Bbent .... Miss Cablotta Addison.
Camilla Bbent . . . Miss Kate Robke.
Beatbix Bbent . . . Miss Beatbice Febbab.
Mbs. Yeale .... Miss Dolobes Dbummond.
Mabgabet Yeale . . Miss Mabie Linden.
Mbs. Hodnutt (a Pew
Opener) . • , Miss Caboline Elton.
Amelia Miss Websteb.
A YiLLAGEB. • . . Miss E. Tubtle.
<• • •
NoTB. — ^The Author desires to acknowledge the relationship of one of the
characters of his play to the well-known family of the Skimpoles.
" My masters, will you hear a simple tale ?
No war, no lust, not a Commandment broke
By sir or madam — ^but a history
To make a rhyme to speed a yoimg maid's hour."
INTBOBUCTOBT NOTE. 11
ACT I.
AUNT ANNE SPEAKS HER MIND.
Peele-Lydgate. A Morning-room at " FauncourV^
ACT n.
DENNIS SETS FOOT IN A NEW WORLD.
London, Three Months After,
** The Hyde Park Biding Academy,'*^ Trevor Row, Knights^
bridge.
ACT III.
MARGARET PREPARES FOR HER VOYAGE.
London, Eighteen Months After.
The Basement, 9 Pinch Street, Westminster,
ACT IV.
CAMILLA GOES TO THE ALTAR.
Peele-Lydgate, Five Tears After,
St, Eanswythe, Lydgate Old Church,
The curtain will fall for a moment during Act IV., to repre-
sent the lapse of a night.
SCENERY BY MB. W. HABFOBD.
On November 16, 1891, "Lady Bountiful" was
produced simultaneously by Mr. Daniel Frohman at
the Lyceum Theatre, New York, and by Mr. R. M.
12 INTRODUCTORY NOTK
Field at the Boston Museum, but the fortunes of the
play differed very materially in the two great centres
of American theatrical enterprise. In New York its
success was far greater than had been anticipated,
and it enjoyed quite a long career ; but in Boston
the playgoing public turned an indifferent ear to it,
in spite of the sympathy and praise of the critics,
and it was withdrawn in a fortnight. The simplicity
and gentleness of the storjr may have had something
to do with this, as one writer pointed out, though in
some quarters it was suggested that the play was
not as happily cast in Boston as in New York. A
curious fact in connection with the New York pro-
duction was the changing of the hero's name from
Dennis to Donald. Mr. Frohman did this because
in that city, it appears, Dennis is used as the pro-
verbial designation for a man who is always left
behmd, and therefore it was not considered auspi-
cious for the hero of a new play. In Boston the name
was not changed. Herein, perhaps, is matter for
the curious coUater of theatrical superstitions.
Malcolm C. Salamai^.
5;-;,
^
yy-k^Ji'
THE PERSONS OP THE PLAT
Sib LuciAN Brent, Babt l/yv^^^*-^^
Camilla Bbbnt .(!?x-yrv*» v-,
Beatrix Brent -- *^ ^.
Miss Brent ^ "^^^^ yyaJ^crt/ ,
Roderick Heron - /^^ ' ^f * ^^
Dennis Heron -^ /c^C^^
John Veaub — ^'^ ^
Mrs. Vealb - ^^
Margaret Veaub S^ fi-^-
Sir Richard Philliter, Q. C. 0^'^ ^'^'^ '
AnncT.TA
WlMPLB
Pbdgript
Mrs. Hodnutt
Floycb
Note. — ^The Author desires to acknowledge the relation*
ship of one of the characters of his play to the well-known
family of the Skimpoles.
,^.. \ ^ r \ \
.c
i
TBE FIRST ACT
AUNT ANNE SPEAKS HER MIND
THE SECOND ACT
DENNIS SETS FOOT IN A NEW WORLD.
THE THIRD ACT
MARGARET PREPARES FOR HER VOYAGE
THE FOURTH ACT
CAMILLA GOES TO THE ALTAR
I
LADY BOUNTIFUL.
THE FIRST ACT.
AUNT ANNE SPEAKS HER MIND.
The scene is a litxuriouslj/ comfortable and elegant
morning room, at Fauncourt^ the country seat of
Camhxa Brent. Through the mullioned win-
dows a beautiful garden is seen ; a little vestibule
leads to the garden^ while a further room, is
reached by a few oaken steps with balustrades.
It is a bright morning in late summer.
Bbatbix Brent, a healthy -looking^ rosy-cheeked child
of about thirteen^ is standing by the window
playing her violin. Sir Lucian Brent, her
brother^ a handsome young man of over twenty^
passes outside smoking a pipe, and then enters
through the vestibule, and lolls on the settle,
Lucian.
Good morning, Trix.
Beatrix.
Good morning. You may not smoke here, you
know. We ladies don't like it.
18 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
JjUCIAN.
Oh. [^Jietuming his pipe to his case."] Well, we
gentlemen, especially when we're reading for
" Smalls," don't like immature fiddling.
Floyce, a manservant^ enters with newspapers^ which
* he places upon the tablCj except " The Times^^
which he hands to Lucian.
Floyce.
The papers. Sir Lucian. [Floyce goes out,
Beatrix.
Aunt Aline would be very indignant if she knew
you had answered me. [Prow(%.] You know I
am delicate.
Lucian.
No, I don't. I believe that's an impressive fic-
tion, Trix. You always look sufficiently jolly.
Beatrix.
As a matter of fact I am extremely delicate.
Lucian.
Then you shouldn't let it make you so vain.
Beatrix.
{^Regarding Lucian with disgust,"] There ought
to be no such relationship as brotner and sister.
Families should be all girls or all boys.
\_Approaching him^ she scrapes the bass string
of her violin in his ear.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 19
LXTCIAN.
Be quiet, Trix,
Bbatbix.
Come into the next room and play my accompam-
ment — ^there's a darling.
LUCIAN.
When Fve read the paper.
Bbateix.
Hateful Boy I [^Looking out of the window,! Hal-
loa I Oh-h-hl
[Miss Bbbnt is passing the windows out-
side^ with Tier head down and her hands
clasped behind her.
LuciAN.
Eh?
Bbatbix.
Just look I \In a whisper, "] Aimt Anne.
LuciAN.
Anything wrong ?
Beatrix. ,
Whenever Aunt Anne stalks the garden in that
way somebody is in for a scolding.
LUCIAN.
She was on the march before I was down.
20 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Bbatbix.
Do you think Lady Bountiful has been spending
too much money, or something of that sort ?
LUCIAN.
Camilla is her own mistress. Aimt Anne is my
guardian for a few months longer, but Lady Bounti-
ful is over age.
Bbatbix.
Yes, but I know she still regulates Camilla's
money-matters.
LUCIAN.
[^Tapping something on the jloor with his foot.']
What's that?
Bbatbix.
[^Picking up a chatelaine,'] Aimt Anne has
dropped her chatelaine, Lucian, aunt always scrib-
bles her day's business on this tablet. Shall we
peep ?
LUGIAN.
i" couldn't do such a thing. You're different.
Beatrix.
K it's mean for you it's mean for me.
Lucian.
That doesn't follow. You're yoimg and far from
strong.
Beatrix.
Hush!
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 21
[Miss Brent passes the windows again. As
she walks away Bkatrix opens the tab-
let and holds it before Lucian's eyes,
LuciAN.
\_Se reads it eagerly^ then turns away with indigna-'
tion,'] Oh, Beatrix,
Bbatbix.
Did you see anything ?
LxrciAN.
How could I help it ?
Beatbix.
Tell Trixy.
LuCIAN.
« Sir Richard Philliter. Eleven-thirty."
BSATBIX.
Dear Sir Richard must be coming over from
Baverstoke Park. I am glad ! Anything^ else?
LUCIAN.
Yes. "JohnVeale. Twelve o'clock." That's alL
Beatrix.
John Veale ?
LuciAN.
The horse-dealer at Baverstoke
Beatrix.
Oh, of course ; the man who sells horses to Uncle
22 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Roderick and Dennis. [^Putting the chatelame on
the table.'] That hasn't told us much^
\A marCa voice singing a chansonette gaily to
a piano is heard from the other room,
BSATBIX.
There's TJncle Roderick!
» \^She snatches up h&r violin and plays the
tune he is singing. Roderick Heron, a
pleasant-looking little gentleman of about
ffty^ buoyant and effusive in manner^
appears on the steps and finishes his song.
Roderick Heron.
tShaldng his finger at Beatrix.] Ha, ha ! Quite
f a tone flat. My little fairy I Lucian, your
reading prospers ? \HeJK>ins them.
Lucian.
Moderately well, uncle.
Roderick Heron.
Grind, Lucian, grind. Youth is the seed-time,
you know ; it really is. Don't neglect it.
Lucian.
I hope I shall not.
Roderick Heron.
Bravo I I recognise myself in you — I do indeed.
I sometimes wish my own rascal of a son resembled
me more, \tapping his forehead^ resembled me here,
you know.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 23
LUCIAN.
Dennis is a rare fellow in the open air.
Roderick Heron.
Ah, the dear vagabond ! But gentlemen shouldn't
be gipsies. However, if you do well, Lucian, I shall
be consoled and you'll gain an invaluable friend in
Roderick Heron — really an invaluable friend.
Lucian.
Thanks, uncle.
Roderick Heron.
Beatrix, my dear, I dislike the tone of that fiddle
of yours — I really do — ^it grates on me. I've heard
of a treasure in London — in Wardour Street, in fact
— a Geronimo Amati of 1608, a perfect beauty. I'm
going to town to-day and I shall open my purse-
strings.
Beatrix.
Oh, uncle ! [ITneding beside him.'] Oh, uncle, what
is it like to be as rich as you are and to be able to do
just as you please ?
Roderick Heron.
Ha, ha ! it is exceedingly pleasant ! I own it — it's
pleasant ! Especially when a man has an idle villain
like dear Dennis, and a nephew and niece, all hun-
gering for sugar plums.
Beatrix.
f[ Throwing her arms round him.] Dear Uncle
Roderick!
24 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
[ Thej/ all laugh cheerily. Miss Beent, a taU
stately woman ofjifty-five with silvery
hair^ and a sweet face and voice^ enters
through the vestibule.
EoDEBicK Heron.
Ahem! my pets, here is Aunt Amie.
Miss Bbent.
I've lost my chatelaine^ children.
LuoiAN.
It's on the writing-table, aunt.
Miss Brent.
\Attajching the chatelaine to her hdtJ\ J^^ yes.
Beatrix.
[^m6% ^o LuciAN.] Looks solemn, doesn't she?
LUCIAN.
Jolly solemn.
[Li7C3iAN and Beatrix steal up to the window
and sit there^ looking out.
Roderick Heron.
You — ^ah — received my little note last night, dear
Anne?
Miss Brent.
Yes.
Roderick Heron.
AU rights eh?
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 26
Miss Bbent.
Mr. Heron, you known your allowance is not due
till Michaelmas.
Rodebice: Hebon.
[ Glancing quickly towards Lucian and Beatbix.]
Sssh ! the young people. Know it ! My career is
saddened by the necessity for counting the hours
between one-quarter day and another.
Miss Brent.
Very weU. Then, I tell you plainly, I shall advise
Camilla not to give you a single penny beyond that
fixed and liberal allowance.
Roderick Hebon.
[ ThrvMing his hands into his pockets and walk-
ing away reflectively.'] Really, you know, damn!
[Miss Bbent takes up her knitting,'] I paid you
a great compliment by confiding my little trouble
to you. I ought to have gone direct to my dear
niece.
Miss Bbent.
A compliment? It is my impression that you
knew Camilla would consult me.
RoDEBicK Hebon.
Don't be spiteful, Anne; it's unbecoming — it
really is. [Coaadngly,] Anne dear, upon my soul
I couldn't change you a florin at this moment I'm as
low as that, you know, really.
Miss Bbent.
I believe you. And yet you tell me that John
26 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Veale, the Baverstoke horse-dealer, sends you
his half-yearly account for four-hundxed-and-forty
guineas.
Roderick Hebon.
Enormous, I admit — colossal. But look at the
result — my son and I are the two best mounted men
in the county.
Miss Bbbnt.
It's infamous ! How dare you buy such horses
and depend upon Camilla's paying for them ?
Roderick Heron.
Confound it, Anne, dear Dennis and I must be
kept in health. Men must ride, you know. The
poor share one privilege with the rich — ^that of
having livers. And I'm sure Camilla wouldn't
like to see her relatives on indifferent cattle.
Miss Brent.
Poor Camilla! [^Laying her work asideJ] Poor
wilful, capricious, large-hearted Camilla 1 The
folks have named her Lady Bountiful for her
liberality ; they should call her Lady Folly for her
pains. For shame, Mr. Heron !
Roderick Heron.
For shame ! I like that ! It's I who deserve
pity, with a boy like dear Dennis to provide for
— by the sweat of my brow, as it were.
Miss Brent.
If you were a good man you'd tell Dennis the
truth.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 27
Roderick Heron.
I always tell the truth. Really, Anne, you're —
you're libellous, you know.
Miss Bbent.
I mean, you would not keep him in the dark
any longer. Let him know that his father is utterly
^thout means, that both of you are the pen-
sioners of a girl.
Roderick Hj:ron.
This is too bad, Anne. Recollect, please, I have
Camilla's assent that not a soul shall know my un-
happy position. Tell one, tell all. 5rou would rob
me of my sole remaining consolation — the respect
which people entertain for a well-to-do person.
Miss Brent.
Grant me patience !
Roderick Heron.
Well, well, I really can't sympathise with your
narrow views of family obligations. You always
were a jarring note, Anne ; I am sorry to appear
impolite, but you are a jarring note. [J?6 collects
aU the newspapers in the room^ and tucks them under
his arm. ] I'll glance through the papers in my
room — ^the papers, you know. Send my niece to
me the very moment she comes in ; I'll not trouble
you further in this little matter.
Miss Brent.
[ Clenchinff her handsJ] Oh I
28 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
RODBBICK. HeBON.
[^As he is going.'] I go to town by the one-fifteen.
May I buy you any little thing, Anne ?
Miss Bbent.
Oh, no, no.
Rqderick Hebon.
I shall open my purse-strings. Good for evil, dear
Anne, good for e vH 1
\_ffe goes out,, cheerfully.
Miss Beent.
Oh, this man I And, oh, poor foolish, blind Lady
Bountiful!
[Camilla Bbekt, a sweet graceful girl of two-and-
twenty^ enters quickly^ arid looks around the
room in agitation.
Camilla.
Lucian ! Lucian ! [^Ooing to Miss Beent and cling-
ing to her."] Ah, aunty 1
[Lucian and Beatrix approach her.
Miss Bbent.
You are trembling, child.
Camilla.
Dennis took me to the paddock to show me the
two hunters Uncle Roderick bought from Veale of
Baverstoke, and he is trying them at the six-barred
gate. The mare clears it cleverly, but the black
horse '' Strephon " has refused it again and again,
LAD Y BO UNTIFUL, 29
and I know it will end in harm to Dennis. Stop
him, Lucian I [ Stamping her foot,'] Lucian !
LUCIAN.
Stop him ! Dennis has never let a horse master
him yet.
Camilla.
But it is dangerous. I — I can't bear it.
\_8he drops into a chair y hiding her /ace in
Miss Bbbnt's skirts.
Miss Bbent.
Gk), Lucian. [Lucian runs out.l My salts, Bea-
trix. [Beatrix goes out.
Lucian.
[^ Outside.'] Camilla, here's Dennis! ICaUing]
Dennis ! \
Dbnnis Heron, a handsome young man with a
bronzed face^ an athletic frame^ and an air of
good-humoured indolence^ saunters on / he is in
riding dress.
' Dennis.
Who said that black devil wouldn't clear the bar ?
Camilla.
[^Xooking at him for a minute with eager gladness^
then^ recovering her self-possession^ and drawing her-
self up] Who said so ? I did not.
Dennis.
Oh, why, Camilla, you 1
Lucian re-enters. Miss Brent retires to the window*
seat.
30 LAD Y BO UNTIFUL.
LUCIAN.
Did you get over, Dennis ?
Dennis.
Clean. "Strephon" didn't know me— he does now.
Camilla.
' Are you such a very formidable person when onfe
knows j/ouy may I ask ?
Dennis.
Ask "Strephon." [Camilla laughs lightly.'] Eh?
Camilla.
This display of horsemanship appears to have oc-
curred after a certain credible witness left the scene.
Dennis.
Why, you saw 1
Camilla.
J only saw an obstinate horse canter up to a gate
and shake his head at it with an angry snort.
[Beatrix enters with a vinaigrette which she hands to
Camilla ; who hastily slips it into her pocket,] The
exhibition became monotonous and I withdrew.
Dennis.
Oh, I say, that's too bad ! Here, you youngsters,
come into the paddock and watch me take that black
horse over the old six-bar 1
Camilla.
No, no — ^Dennis!
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 31
BSATBIX.
Oh, yes, we'll come.
DEions.
Camilla says I'm bragging.
Camilla.
How can you be such a child I
Dennis.
Ah, but you did. Come along, Lucian. Two
credible witnesses!
[Dennis, Beatrix, and Lucian go out.
Camilla is following them.
Miss Bbbnt.
Camilla.
Camilla.
Yes, aunty ?
I Miss Bkent.
Stop here, dear. I want to speak to you. [Camilla
sits looking anxiously out of the window.'] Mr. Heron
has written me a note to tell me he is m debt again
and wants more money.
Camilla.
Well, if Mr. Heron wants more money Mr. Heron
must have it, I suppose.
Miss Brent.
And how long is this state of things to continue ?
Camilla,
Oh, aunty, let us be happy whUe we may.
32 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Miss Bsbnt.
So say I, dear.
Camilla.
Uncle Roderick was poor motlier's only brother,
her favourite.
Miss Brent. .
Ah!
Camilla.
And what my mother loved, I must love.
Miss Bbbkt.
Your mother did more than her duty — ^left him a
small fortune.
Camilla.
Which dribbled away, " positively dribbled, you
know," Uncle Roderick says.
Miss Brent.
And afterwards, for your dead mother's sake, your
father again provided for him.
Camilla.
That trickled, uncle says — ^*' absolutely trickled,
you know, really." Ha, ha! Poor Uncle Roderick !
Miss Brent.
And then a self-willed, thoughtless girl, who is
imhappily her own mistress, assumed obligations
which her parents had already sufficiently discharged.
That's you, Camilla.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 38
Camilla.
That is I. Camilla the Heedless — Camilla the
Spendthrift — Camilla the Wilfully- wealthy ! And
that's just it, aunt Anne — Fm rich. And while I'm
rich the dear pauper whose blood I carry in my veins
must morally break his pile of stones, and pick his
little heap of oakum, in the shelter of my home. The
improvident rich must nourish the improvident
poor.
Miss Brent.
J^^amestly'] Yes, Camilla, but what of the improvi-
dent poor's able-bodied son ? [Camilla glances away
in confysionJ] Come here, girlie.
[Camilla kneels beside Miss Bbent.
Camilla.
Don't scold me — ^never scold me, dear aunt.
Miss Brent.
I am afraid you care for him, child.
Camilla.
[^Laying her head upon Miss Brent's hosomJl Oh !
Miss Brent.
Oh, dear ! oh, dear ! [Camilla laughs softly, "] Ah,
don't laugh!
Camilla.
Let me while I can. It is not every girl who can
smile over an unrequited passion.
Miss Brent.
Unrequited fiddlesticks I
Camh
No — ^unrequited passion. Why, aunt Anne,
3
34 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Dennis thinks much less of me than of " Strephon"
the ugly black brute who wanted to pitch him over
the gate.
Miss Brent.
But if one day he transferred his affections from
his horse " Strephon" to his cousin Camilla ?
Camilla.
Hush ! then I should shake my head at him, be-
cause, aunt,
Miss Brent.
Because ?
Camilla.
Because I could not marry poor Dennis.
' Miss Brent.
Ah ! tell me why.
Camilla.
I am so — disappointed.
Miss Brent.
Come, come, here's sense in the house at last 1
Camilla.
He is idle ; without an anxious thought and I fear
with little pride ; with no occupation but to loiter in
the stable-yard, no pleasure but in a gallop across
country. And that is not my ideal of a husband.
Miss Brent.
Why, Camilla, that's well spoken !
Camilla.
r Turning^ impetuously,'} Ah, don't triumph at it !
k
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 35
Miss Bbent.
[ Taking Camilla in her arms,'] Triumph I my dear !
Camilla.
For, oh, I have so longed for something different
from this.
Miss Bbbkt.
Different?
Camilla.
Aunty, I — I have beheved in Dennis. I have
watched for a sign of an honest, worthy ambition,
aQd there has been nothing but indolence and in-
difference. I have hoped to see him go into the
world and do good because he felt himself a man,
and not because he found himself a beggar. And
now I see my mistake, and I — I am disappointed.
Roderick enters briskly with the newspaper.
Roderick Heron.
My dear Anne — Ah, here is my Camilla. Good-
morning, darluig.
Miss Brent.
[ Quietly to CamiUa as she goes to Moderick."] Be
firm with him ! I can do nothing.
\_8he sits at the table writing.
Roderick Heron.
How sweet you look! Er — ^your aunt has men-
tioned ^?
Camilla.
Yes, uncle.
Roderick Heron.
That's right. I am in great trouble, my dear —
really in overwhelming trouble.
36 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
>
Caj£illa.
I am very sony.
Roderick Heron.
I know you would be— you're so charmingly sym-
pathetic. I'm sympathetic myself, you know.
Camilla.
Aunty tells me you are in debt again, Uncle Rod-
erick.
Roderick Heron.
I am bound to say that conveys a fair idea of my
position.
Camilla.
[ With a glance at Miss Brent.] I — ^I am a little
vexed with you.
Roderick Heron.
My pet, I want you to be vexed with me, you
know. There is nothing I desire more than that
you should say to me — sternly if you will — " There,
Uncle Roderick, there is the paltry cheque you ask
for, and, mind, not another penny till your next
quarter's allowance." I want you to say this to me
[re/erring to his watch"], almost directly, in fact.
Camilla.
[^Bending over Miss Brent's ahoulderJ] What
am I to do, aimty ?
Miss Brent.
Anything that's foohsh. I am angry with you.
Roderick Heron.
[Slipping his arm through Camilla's.] Poor
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 37
Anne— a bitter disposition. Quite' as constant a
church-goer as myself, but Heavens, what a disposi-
tion ! Come into another room, and I'll tot up the
few little items which are pressing upon me-— de-
priving me of rest, you know.
Beatrix.
[^Hunning past the windows outside.^ Here is Sir
Richard I
LUCIAN.
ELoohing through the open window.'] Sir Richard
lere, aunt. [ J36 runs after Beatrix.
Miss Brent.
\JjOohing at her watch,] A boy-lover could not be
more punctual. Heaven prosper him !
Camilla.
[ To Roderick HeronJ] Aunt is cross with me.
Roderick Heron.
[ Quietly to her.] Never mind. I'll bring you some
pretty httle object from Paris. Very likely I shall
open my purse-strings there, you know.
Camilla.
[_Coaxingly to Mjqq Brent.] ^ Be friends with me,
dear.
Miss Brent.
Ah I Lady Bountiful, I'll forgive you everything:,
if you do one womanly, sensible act to-day.
Camilla.
What is that?
38 LAD T BO UNTIFUL.
f Miss Brent.
Ck)me back to me here, and you shall know.
Camilla.
Of course I will. But don't forget, I must see
dear Sir Kichard.
Miss Brent.
[JSjiaaing CamiUa.] Yes, you must see Sir Richard.
Camilla.
Now, Uncle Roderick ! I am going to scold you
terribly.
Roderick Heron.
I desire it, my pet. I desire it, you know, really.
[Roderick Heron and Camilla withdraw.
LuciAN and Beatrix pass the windows
with Sir Richard Philliter, then enter
the room. Philliter is a genial man
of fifty with a manner that is suave and
precise. He is clean-shaven and hald^
with a fringe of almost white hair. His
dress is that of a country gentleman^ but
a little old-fashioned.
Sir Richard.
[^Shaking hands with Miss Brent.] I am here.
Miss Brent.
\_To Sir Richard.] You have walked over from
Baverstoke?
Sir Richard.
Every yard. ^
[Beatrix goes to Sm Richard and hugs his
arm closely.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 39
Sm HlCHABD.
And how's my little woman ?
Beatrix.
Only pretty well, thank you. Perhaps you haven't
heard in London that I'm extremely delicate.
LUCIAN.
[^Derisivd^.'] Ho, ho !
Bbatbix.
Aunt, pray speak to Lucian.
Miss Bbent.
Children, Fm very selfish, and I want to talk to
Sir Richard alone.
Beatrix.
lGloomily.2 Oh!
Miss Bbent.
Lucian, amuse Trix for half an hour.
Lucian.
Oh, when Fm reading so jolly hard I
Beatrix.
Hear me play my violin before you go; I astonish
everybody.
Sm HiCHABD.
My dear, if all goes well with me here, Fll stay to
luncheon.
Beatrix.
K all goes well I If all what goes well ?
[Lucian is going up the steps.
40 LADY ^OUKTIFUL.
Sm Richard..
TJm ! Ask Camilla at tea-time : perhaps she will
tell you.
Beatrix.
[ Takings her violin and going lep the steps,"] Lu-
cian, always let the lady precede you.
\_She passes Lucian, and he follows her out.
Miss Brent.
Oh, Sir Richard, I am so anxious !
Sir Richard.
Anxious !
Miss Brent.
And you also, I know.
Sir Richard.
Camilla has no inkling of the object of my visit ?
Miss Brent.
Not the slightest.
Sir Richard.
No, no. Then, of course, you have nothing en-
couraging to tell me?
Miss Brent.
Well — ^yes, I have.
Sir Richard.
My dear Miss Brent !
Miss Brent.
Some obstacle which I feared might prove form-
idable has shrunk almost to nothing.
LADT BOTTNTIFUL. 41
Sib Richabd.
Bless me ! [ Wiping his broio with a silk hand"
kerchief.'] Ah I May I ask if the obstacle was my
junior?
Miss Bbent.
Now, come, come. If we were not acquaintances
of twenty years' standing I could readily believe
you to be a man of flve-and-thirty.
Sm Richard.
Then, ma'am, I have never before estimated your
perception so lightly.
Camilla.
[^ffeard outsideJ] Sir Richard I
Sib Richabd.
[^Nervousl^,'] Ah I
Miss Bbent.
Bless you, dear friend !
[^She goes out quickly as Camilla enters,
Camilla.
[^Hunning to Philliteb with outstretched hands,"]
They have left you alone ? .
Sib Richabd.
How are you, my dear?
Camilla.
Glad, glad to see you. [^JShe offers her cheek to him
for his kiss^ hut finding he does not respond she draws
back^ wonderingly^ and sees he has turned away from
her.] What is the matter ?
42 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Sir Richard.
The matter I Sit down, Camilla. [ She sits^ with a
perplexed look^ and he sits facing her.l My dear, I
nave been thinking much — as one who had the confi-
dence of yo^^ parents is, perhaps, privileged to do —
of the changes which are likely to befall you.
Camilla.
Changes ?
Sir Richard.
Lucian comes of age shortly.
Camilla.
Oh, yes.
Sir Richard.
And it is settled that he will reside on his own
property, at the Grange.
Camilla.
We go to the Grange with Lucian, Sir Richard.
Sir Richard.
But he will marry.
Camilla.
Marry I
Sir Richard.
My dear, everybody marries.
Camilla.
Not everybody. Aunt Anne doesn't marry, you
do not m
Sir Richard.
One moment, one moment. Assuming that Lucian
marries, such an event will involve your returning
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 43
to Fauncourt — ^to all intents and purposes % lonely
woman.
Camilla.
I am too well and happy ever to be lonely.
Sm Richard.
My dear, loneliness to your sex is what gout ts to
mine. But a woman has this advantage over a man
— she can share her loneliness with another, while he
cannot share his gout. Camilla, walking here from
Baver^toke I refreshed my memory from this little
volume [producing a small book from his pocket and
opening it at a tur^ied leaf]^ a companion of my
college days.
Camilla.
What is it?
Sm Richard.
The Odes of Horace. I marked a passage. Look,
dear.
[He bends towards her^ handing her the book,
Camilla.
I see it.
Sib Richard.
Tell me if I know my lesson.
" Desine, dulcium "
" Mater sceva Cupidinum^ " [at a loss'\ TJm?
Camilla.
" Circa ^"
Sir Richard.
** Circa lustra decern flectere mollibus
" Jam durum, imperiis : ^"
44 LAD r BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla.
What does it mean?
Sm Richard.
Camilla, it is a cry of entreaty from a man of fifty
to the Mother of Love beseeching her to pity him
and pass him by. My dear — I am fifty.
Camilla.
lln a whisper,'] Sir Richard I
Sir Richard
Perhaps, with Horace, I should send up another
such a prayer. But, no — I come to you, an earthly
goddess, to ask you not only to pity but to reward
me.
Camilla.
I?
Sir Richard.
Camilla, if you could find it in your heart to return
the affection I bear you, you would crown my life
with a blessing greater, I think, than can ever have
been bestowed upon man. \^She moves away and sits
in amazement.'] Think, my dear, pray, thmk.
[He walks away from her to conceal his agi-^
tationy she drops the Horace^ and cries.
Camilla.
Did Aunt Anne — ^know you were — ^to speak to
me?
Sir Richard.
Yes — ^yes.
Camilla.
Ah, she should have spared us both.
LAD Y BO UNTIFUL. 45
Sm RiCHABD.
[ Jw a low voice.'] It cannot be then ? [ SJie slowly
sTiakes her head. Then goes to the further window
where she stands with her hack towards him and her
head bowed."] Ah ! [i<Vom the other room there come
the sounds of a violin and a piano playing a tender
melody. Sm Richabd takes up his hat and stick.]
Is that Beatrix?
Camilla.
[ Turning.] Yes.
Sm RiCHABD.
I half promised the little woman to listen to her
playing, but — I find I must be getting home. Will
you makiB my excuse ?
Camilla.
Yes.
Sm RiCHABD.
[ To himself. ] Nero fiddled at the destruction of
Rome — Beatrix is my Nero. [ Going to Camilla and
gently touching Iter hand.] We shall meet again soon,
my child — ^very soon.
\_8he gives him a quick^ grateful look; he
nods to her smilingly. Then as he isgo-
ing out J he meets Denths coming in. At
the same moment Miss Bbent walks
slowly past the window.
Dennis.
How are you, Sir Richard ?
Sm RiCHABD.
Ah, Dennis, how are you ? Just as I am running
away ! Don't stir 1 Gk)od-bye — ^good-bye 1
46 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Dennis.
Gkx)d-bye I
[Sm HicHABD, goes outj and meets Miss
Brent, and they are seen to pass the
windows and disappear together,
Dennis.
[_Picks up the book and glances at the title-page,"]
Stupid old Horace 1 Halloa, Sir Richard left his
book !
[ J3e is about to caU after Sib Richard wh^n
Camilla takes thebook from him quickly.
Camilla.
No, no — I want to keep that.
Dennis.
Why, you've been crying !
, Camilla.
Indeed, I — I — I am going to my room.
\^8he goes towards the door and he foUows
her.
Dennis.
I hate to see you bothered about anything.
Camilla.
Excuse me, Dennis.
Dennis.
Xiook here — ^Beatrix let out about you.
Camilla.
What do you mean ?
Dennis.
You were scared at my tussle with " Strephon,"
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 47
Camilla.
Beatrix is becoming a very troublesome child.
Dennis.
Don't blame her. Besides, I — ^I like you to want
me not to come to grief.
Camilla.
Poor, unhappy Dennis !
Dbnnis.
Why do you call me that ?
Camilla.
Aren't very conceited people unhappy ? I think
I will go out.
Dbnnis.
I'll come with you.
Camilla.
[^Putting on her hat"] No, thank you.
Dennis.
Fve nothing to do, you know.
Camilla.
^Contemptuously.^ Oh, I know. But Fm going
to talk to some of my old people.
Dennis.
That'll do for me — awful fun.
Camilla.
[^JBi/eing him disdainfully.'] Fun I
[^She is nervously trying to dcfjv^t the veil of
her hat.
48 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Dennis.
Here I I can do that ; that's what I can do.
[J36 assists her ; she stamps her foot,
Camilla.
Toii are not to walk with me, I tell you.
Dennis.
I am though. [^Surveying her hat.'] . Jolly !
[^She takes off' her hat and throws it upon the
table.
Camilla.
\_8itting down.'] I do not go out hefore luncheon.
Dennis.
Eh?
Camilla.
l^Imphatically.] I do not go out hefore luncheon.
Dennis.
Camilla, what has come between you and me? I
can't make it out. We are — cousins.
Camilla.
Really ?
Dennis.
Nowadays, I don't know when you'll he pleased
or when you'll be cross with me ; sometimes it's a
smile and a black look at the same moment. I can't
make it all out ; because we — ^we're cousins.
Camilla.
If our disagreements are painful, let us avoid each
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 49
other. Why do you stay here just now, for m-
stance?
Dennis.
[_Sitting on the other side of the table"]. Because I
do not go out before luncheon.
Camilla.
\Ijaughing helplessh/"]. Ha, ha ! \^JEralf tearfully J]
what a sunple fellow you are, Dennis !
Dennis.
Ha, ha, ha ! that's like yourself. I don't mind
being chaffed — ^go on. I s^, we haven't played
chess for centuries.
[-fie goes to the table and fetches chessboard
and chessmen,
Camilla.
I don't care for chess any longer.
Dennis.
Oh, yes, you do. You're awfully keen on chess.
[^She turns her back^ but not disconcerted he
sits facing her^ pkunng the board upon
their knees,
Camilla.
If I must be wearied with chess, we'll go back to
the table, please.
Dennis.
No, no — it's jollier nursing it.
[ They arrange the chessmen ; she quicTdy^ he
deliberately,
4
60 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla.
Well not play like old gentlemen— a move a
month.
Dennis.
Heaps of time.
Cahella*
OhI
Dennis.
Neither of us goes out before luncheon. Ha, ha I
Camilla.
You ride your joke as you do your horse, till it is
subdued. ^Moving a (^saman.'] There !
\^Theyplayy both holding their heads doion,
Dennis.
\^Quietly'], Cam. \^She does not answer.'] Cam,
you're not really turmng against me, are you ?
Camilla.
Of what consequence is it?
Dennis.
I don't believe I can get along if you turn against
me.
Camilla.
I've heard of nothing which you make it neces-
sary to get along with.
Dennis.
Fm an idler, you mean ?
Camilla.
{_Wat€hinff the board intently.'] You to move,
Dennis.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 51
Dennis.
Yes, you're always telling me that, and, do you
know, Cam, I've been thinking lately
Camilla.
Thinking!
Dennis.
Well, when there's no hunting a man must think.
I've been thinking that it might be better for me if
I were ridden with spurs— —
Camilla.
Spurs?
Dennis.
If I had firm lla^ds over me ; some one who would
ride me out for the little I'm worth, to the end ; if I
had — a friend.
Camilla.
Idle people cultivate one branch of industry as-
siduously — ^the manufacture of excuses. You have
friends.
Dennis.
Havel? IX^ooking at CamhajA wistfully,]^ You?
Camilla.
I — I am very well disposed towards you.
Dennis.
Yes. [^Zeaning towards her.'] But somehow I've
hoped lately — I've hoped
Camilla.
[ Shrinking from him.'] Oh I
62 LADT BOUNTIFUL.,
Dbnnis.
Fve hoped you might grow to thmk of me — dif-
ferently from that way.
[^ There is a moment of irresolution on her part.
Then^ with a quick shake of the head, she
sweeps the chess-board to the ground and
starts up. He rises with her.
Camilla.
DemiisI
Dennis.
Cam!
Camilla.
You've no right to speak to me like this I
Dennis.
No right ? Why, a man doesn't love by right.
Camilla.
A man should love by right ; by the right of some
achievement which deserves reward, or some failure
which earns consolation. But you !
Dennis.
I know what you mean. Idle at school ; in the
wrong set at college ; and now, if I startfed in the
race a boy could head me.
Camilla.
[ To herself.'] Ah !
Dennis.
And so I beg your pardon for dreaming you could
stoop to pick up a weed from the bricks of your
stable-yard.
l^Me turns away^ she follows him a step or two.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 53
Camilla.
Dennis, it isn't great men women love dearest, or
even fortunate men ; often I tell you, their deepest
love goes out to those who labour and fail. But for
those who make no effort, who are neither great nor
little, who are the nothings of the world
Dennis.
Who are the Dennis Herons of the world !
Camilla.
For those, a true woman has only one feeling —
anger and contempt!
Dennis.
[^As if struck by a blow."] Contempt ! \She pauses^
startled^ seeing a strange look on his /ace,] Contempt I
Camilla.
Dennis I I am sorry. The wretched word spoke
itself. Dennis ! [J2e is silent^ staring be/ore him.J
Speak to me.
Dennis.
[In a stifled voiceJ] Contempt I
[^His head drops upon his breast ; she looks
at him appealingly^ then waits for him
to speaky but he remains silent^ never
moving, JShe goes out quietly. Floy ok
enters.
Floyce.
I beg your pardon, Mr. Dennis — ^Mr. Veale, of
Baverstoke.
Dennis.
To see me?
54 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Floyce.
An appointment with Miss Brent, I believe, sir.
Dennis.
You'd better bring him in here.
• Floyce.
He's with his — ^family, to all appearances, sir.
Dennis.
Find Miss Brent. [Floyce goes out.
Floyce.
[^Outside,'] This way, please.
[Floyce shows in John Veale a good-look-
ing^ hearty y " horsey " man ofjifty^ well
dressed, according to the fashion of his
class ; Mrs. Veale, a portly y well-preserved
woman of three-and-forty attired in her
^^hesty"* a/w7 Margaret, a handsome, com-
monplace girl of twenty, dressed like her
m^otherj a little too smartly. Floyce goes
out.
Veale.
[^Shaking hands with Dennis heartily, 1 How d'ye
do, Mr. 'Eron, how d'ye do ? Surprisea to see Mrs. *
Veale and Margaret at Fauncourt, I dessay?
Dennis. '
\^8h^king hands with Mrs. Veale.] How are you,
Mrs. Veale ?
Mrs. Veale.
Nicely, thank you.
LAD T BO UNTIFUL. 55
Dennis.
\_S7ia7cing hands with Mabgaset.] And you, Meg?
Mabgabet.
Thanks, Mr. Dennis.
Ybalb.
[ To Mbs. Vbale.] Mother.
[Mbs. Vealb takes his hat from him^ un-
buttons his coat, unusinds his muffler, and
removes his gloves. The muffler and
gloves she deposits in the hat, which never
leaves her.
Vbalb.
Thank ye, mother.
Dennis.
Sit down, Mrs. Veale.
Mbs Vbalb.
Much obliged, Fm sure.
[/S'Ae sits with some importance, nursing
John's hat. Mabgabbt sits watching
Dennis.
Veale.
The fact is, Mr. 'Eron, I had a telegram last night
from Miss Brent askin' me to come over this morning
without fail. Nothing amiss in the stables, I 'ope ?
Dennis.
Not that I'm aware of.
66 LAD T BOUNTIFUL.
Veale.
No. "Well, sir — \looking under his chair and on
the tahU—to Mbs. Veale.] Have you got my 'at,
'Etty?
Mss. Veale.
Yes, John.
Veale.
Thank ye. Well, it put me in a bit of a fix, you
see, for we're all packing off to town to-day, Mr.
'Eron.
Dennis.
A holiday?
Veale.
Holiday I What d'ye think, sir ? — ^Tve sold the
stables and goodwill at Baverstoke and bought a new
business in London.
Mbs. Veale.
The West End of London.
Veale.
Ay, the West End. You see, Mr. 'Eron, Baver-
stoke has been good enough for me, but it ain't quite
appropriate for such as Mrs. Veale {_pointing to
Mrs. Veale.] Mr. 'Eron, for years I've been 'iding
that lady's light under a bushel.
Mrs. Veale.
Very good of you to say so, father.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 57
Vealk.
You mayn't know it, sir, but Mrs. Veale was Miss
'Enrietta Wilcox— 'Etty for short.
Dennis.
Indeed?
Veale.
And two-and-twenty years ago she was as smart
a Park rider as London could show. Many a
London aristocrat owes her 'ands and seat to the
teachin's of Miss 'Enrietta Wilcox, though I say
it.
Mrs. Veale.
I can't deny t?iat.
Veale.
Well, sir. Miss Wilcox comes down to Baverstoke
with her father, buying 'orses, sees a smart young
fellow just starting trade, and falls mad in love with
hhn. Heh, 'Etty?
Mbs. Veale.
The other way round, Fm thinking.
Veale.
Hah, mother !
Mbs. Veale.
{^Nudging him with his hat. Go along !
\He laughs asthmatically. She takes a col-
oured handkerchief from her haridbag
and hands it to him.
i
58 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Vbale.
Thank ye Imoppina his brow]. And so, sir, now
that I can turn myself round, as the sayin' is, 'Etty's
going to town to show 'em that fifteen stone can sit
as graceful and elegant to-day as nine-stone-six did
two-and-twenty years ago.
Mbs. Vbale.
Lor', John, how you do rattle on.
Veale.
\^Retum%ng his Tiandkerchief to Mbs. Veai*b who
replaces it in the handbag, '\ Thank ye. [ To Dennis.]
And that's how you see us, sir. As I lelt bound to
obey Miss Brent^s honoured commands we drove over
from Baverstoke intendin' to get the up train at
Lydgate at one-fifteen. How's your father! A fine
gentleman, your father. Your looking a bit out o'
condition, if you'll excuse the liberty.
Dennis.
I? Oh, no.
Veale.
Tell me about them 'orses, Mr. 'Eron.
[Dennis and Vbale talk together.
Mabgabet.
[ To Mbs. Veale — in an undertone."] Ma, you don't
think Mr. Dennis is going to get into any scrape, do
you?
Mbs. Veale.
Lor', how?
V
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 69
Mabgabet.
Through nmning into debt to pa for that black
hunter.
Mbs. Veai^e.
Why the hunter's a present from his own father.
Mabgabet.
Is it ? Then why does he look so different to-day ?
Mbs. Veale.
Different I
Mabgabet.
From when we've seen him laughing and chatting
in our yard at Baverstoke.
Mbs. Veale.
Gracious, Meg, what eyes you have ! P'rhaps he's
bilious.
Mabgabet.
Ma!
[Miss Bbent enters.']
Miss Bbent.
Gk)od-moming, Mr. Veale.
Veale.
Morning to you, ma'am. I hope you'll excuse the
intrusion, but me and my folk are on our way to
London which obleeges me to answer your telegram
with self and family, so to speak. Mrs. Veale — my
daughter, Margaret— Miss Brent.
60 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Mbs. Vealb.
I hope I see you well, Fm sure.
[Miss Brent inclines her head politely to
Mbs. Vbalb, then rings the beU.
Veale.
J[ Seemingly disappointed.! Mrs . Veale was formerly
Miss 'Eurietta Wilcox, well-known in the West End
of London and all the principal 'orse-shows.
Miss Brent.
Indeed. While I speak a few words with you, Mr.
Veale, your wife and daughter will, I hope, take some
refreshment in another room. [Floyce appears."]
Floyce [^Instructing him in an undertone."]
Mrs. Veale.
[To Veale.] I didn't know I was io be in the
way, John !
Veale.
No, 'Etty, my dear ; no, no.
[Miss Brent looks at Mrs. Veale who sails
across the roomy followed by Margaret.
Mrs. Veale.
[At the door.] John — ^remember I have your hat.
[Mrs. Veale and Margaret go outy foUowed
hy Floyce.
Miss Brent.
Sit down.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 61
Vbalb.
Thank ye. [Dbnnib is going <iway.
Miss Brent.
Dennis — ^you ought to hear what passes between
Mr. Veale and myself. Forgive me ; you'll under-
stand by-and-by. Mr. Veale, I may tell you at once
that so far as Mr. Roderick Heron^s money-matters
are concerned, I am — ^in his confidence.
Veale.
No gentleman could 'ave a better adviser, Fm sure,
ma'am.
Miss Bbent.
Unhappily my advice has little weight — which
brings me to the point. Mr. Veale, Mr. Heron tells
me he owes you four-hundred-and-forty guineas.
Veale.
That's right, ma'am. But I heartily 'ope he won't
let it worry him.
Miss Bbent.
He will not.
Veale.
Glad to hear it — ^because I've always found Mr.
'Eron readier to overpay than to underpay, and as
prompt as a prince.
Miss Brent.
Quite so — that is precisely Mr. Heron's character.
Therefore I send for you, believing you to be an hon-
62 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
est man, to make you this earnest, confidential re*
quest.
Vealb.
Cert'nly, ma'aja, cert'nly.
Miss Bbent.
To request that, as Mr. Heron's liberality is apt
to outrun his discretion, you will, in all future de^d-
ings with him, first consult me. [Dennis looks from
one to the otherJ] You consent, or decline ?
Vbale.
Neither, ma'am. You've come to the wrong
party ; I've sold my business to Mr. Joseph Bat-
tersby of Barcombe and I've cleared out of Baver-
stoke for good and all.
Miss Bbent.
Ah. Thank you. [^She rings the hell.
Vealb.
[ To himself.'] Fancy that now ! I could a'took
my oath he was a millionaire.
RODEBICK HeBON.
[CaUing outside.'] Dennis! Dennis! [JIodbbick
enters^ im^maculatefy dressed in London fashion^ and
carrying a cheque hook.] I hunt everywhere for you,
dear Dennis. Ah, Veale, I'm delighted with the
hunters, you know — really delighted. By-the-by,
look out for a match for my roan mare : I'm in want
of a smart pair for driving — ^in terrible want, you
know.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 63
[Floycb entersJ]
Miss Brent.
Mr. Veale, the servant will take you to your wife
and daughter.
RODBKICK HeBON.
Good-hye— good-bye.
\ffe aits at the writing-table^ writing busily and
humming a chansonette. Vbai:k glances
at Dennis, who is standing with his head
bowed in thought: at the door he turns
and bows to Miss Bbbnt.
Miss Bbbnt.
Good-moming.
Veale.
[in a whisper."] There's some mistake. I could
a'took my oath he was a millionaire !
\HefoUows Floycb out.
RODBBICK HeEON.
Fm writing you a cheque, my dear Dennis. You
may want pocket-money while Fm gone ; I try to
think of everybody.
Dennis.
\Ina whisper."] Miss Brent! [_She comes to him^l
Tell me— is there any good reason for what you saia
to Veale?
Miss Bbbnt.
Yes, Dennis.
64 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Dennis.
You — ^you don't mean that dad is — ^hard up ?
Miss Bbent.
Yes, Dennis, I do.
Dennis.
[With a groan.'\ Oh! No wonder sJie despises me.
He^s poor and I ^!
[JBe drops into a chair leaning his head an
his hands.
Miss Brent.
Dennis, you should have been told long since.
Your father's fortune went years ago — ^he has no
means — he is penniless.
Dennis.
What I It's not true — ^it's impossible I Why,
how ?
Miss Brent.
Hush ! Dennis, he lives upon the bounty of Ca-
milla.
[Dennis remains quite stiU, Roderick Jumps
up flourishing his chequs.
Roderick Heron.
{Looking out of window J] Ah, there's Camilla!
[ daUing,'] My darling, come and say good-bye ! I'm
]ust off to town, Canulla.
Dennis.
Camilla!
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 65
RODEBICK HbBON.
[^JSTandingD^NNisthe cheqvsJ] My dear boy. [TFt^A
a look at Rodebick, Dennis takes the cheqite and
stands staring at it.^ Dennis !
[Camilla enters,]
Camilla.
[ To RoDEBicK.] Are you going, uncle ?
Dennis.
4
I want to speak to Camilla, alone.
Camilla.
[^Looking at Dennis.] Ah! [7n a whisper."] What
has happened ?
Dennis.
[JSarshly.'] I want to speak to Camilla, alone.
RoDEBICK HeEON.
Certainly, dear Dennis, certainly.
Camilla.
\_ Whispering to Miss Beent.] He knows — ^you
have told him?
Miss Brent.
Tes. Mr. Heron — Mr. Heron.
[Roderick joins Miss Bbent, and they go
out together.
Dennis.
[Holding the cheque before Camilla.] My fathei
has given me this money.
66 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla*
Yes, Dennis?
Denitis.
It is not h%8 money that he gives. It is yours. It
is yours.
Camilla.
WeU?
Dennis.
I — I'm not ready at saying what I mean. I dare
say I'm slow-witted. But, look here I God knows
you're a generous woman — ^none can gain&ay that —
but — ^in bringing me to this humiliation,^ you've done
me— a wrong.
[^He tears the cheque into pieces and lets them
fiutter to her feet^ then he turns away.
Camilla.
Uncle desired to keep his position a secret
Dennis.
Ohl
Camilla.
But I meant to tell you, hereafter. Only I have
been hoping to see you discontented with your still,
dull life. I have thought you would one day form
some plan for your future — some ambitious scheme
such as comes to most men — and then you should
have learnt my share in making your career.
Dennis.
And when the time passed and I remained what
lam?
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 67
Camilla. \
Then I waa-8orry.
Dennis.
Sorry ! Yes, and still kept me, as you'd keep a
ragged boy, with the privilege of holding me in
your contempt ! Your — contempt !
[ The music of the violin and piano is heard
again,
Camjllx,
You're a little hard, Dennis.
Dennis.
Yes — on myself. But you — l_his voice breaking^
God bless you I We may not have another chance oi
meeting before I get out of Fauncourt {^holding om
his hand]^ so — Good-bye.
Camilla.
[^Starting ^ then drawing herself up with cold dignity,']
As you please. Good-bye.
\^She taJces his hand and goes out, leaving him lean-
ing against a table,']
BND OP THE FIRST ACT.
68 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
THE SECOND ACT.
DENNIS SETS FOOT IN A NEW WORLD.
[ The scene is a large living-room^ which serves also as
an office^ at the Hyde Park Hiding Academy^
with sliding doors opening on to a gallery which
overlooks the riding-schooL There is a cheerful^
^^ horsey^'* business-like look about the place.
Three months have elapsed since the events of the
previous act.
John Yeale is busy with his account^books at a high
desk ; while Mrs. Veale, in a riding-habit of not
the latest fashion^ is sitting at the breakfast-table
cutting bread and butter.
Mrs. Yeale.
John ! John ! [He makes no answer.'] Shut your
books, father, and come to breakfast.
Yeale.
Comin', 'Etty. [^Approaching her."] What a
picture you look I
Mbs. Yeale.
Go along, now I
Yeale.
The smartest woman Tve seen in London. Bless
her I
LADY BOVNTIFVL. 69
\He hisses her^ as Amelia, a clean^ but in-
significant servant-girl^ enters with some
breakfast things on a tray.
Mbs. Yeale.
The gal ! \^Pushing him away, AwRi,ik places the
things on the table ; then leaves a copy of the " Lon-
don JoumaV* on another table."] [jTo Yeale.] You
should be more mindful ; it does put such ideas in a
young gal's head. 'Meha.
Amelia.,
What say, m'm?
Mbs. Yeale.
Call Miss Margaret.
Amelta.
Yes, m'm ; she do lie late. Oh, and please, m'm,
Wimple is wishful for to speak to master.
Mbs. Yeale.
Send him upstairs.
Amella.
Yes, m'm. [Amelia, goes out,
Yeale.
What's Wimple want ? Something's wrong again
with that mare o' yours, I expect, 'Etty.
\ Amelia.
ICaUing outsideJ] Miss Marg'rit ! Miss Marg'ritl
70 lADT BOtTNTlPtTl.
Vbalb.
I'm af eard " Starlight " isn't quite up to your
weight, mother.
Mbs. Vbale.
Fpon mv word, Veale, it's most imfeeling in you
to cast sucn reflections.
Vbalb.
Reflections, 'Etty, my darling !
[Marqaset^ with a bright /ace and rosy cheeksy and
dressed in a smart riding-habit enters briskly,
Margaret.
Gk)od morning I ^IRssing Mrh, Ybaur.'] Ain't I
lazy? [^Kissing Veale.] Oh, pa, how glum you
look I
Veale.
I've gone and upset your mother, Meg.
Margaret.
Not you. What's to eat ?
[Veale helps Margaret.
Mrs. Veale.
[Pouring out tea — bitterly, "] Your father's found
out that " Starlight " isn't up to my weight ; that's
the latest.
Margaret.
I don't think she is, ma, if you want the truth.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 71
Veale.
Be quiet ! Erritating your mother !
Mbs. Veai^.
Oh, don't stop her I Now that Miss Margaret
Veale's found fit to give lessons in the Hyde Park
Riding Academy Miss Henrietta Wilcox may take a
very back seat.
Veale.
Never,
^ Mbs. Ybale.
Though I have lost eighteen pounds solid weight
since we came to Knightsbridge ; eighteen pounds in
three months.
Veale.
[ Soothingly]. Don't overdo it, mother, don't over-
do it.
Mrs. Veale.
I half starve myself, I know that.
Veale.
You do indeed, 'Etty.
Mbs. Veale.
I'll trouble you for some of that steak, John.
[Amelia, enters,"].
Amella..
'Ere's Wimple.
Wimple the groom^ enters in his shirt-sleeves^ but
Amelia, assists him to put on his coat.
72 LADY BOUNTIFUL. >
WlMPIiB.
Momin', missus — ^momin', guv'nor. [ To Amelia.]
Private.
[^Se shows Amelia to the door.
Veale.
What is it ?
Wimple.
Business interview. [Handing a small piece of
soiled and crumpled paper to Mrs. Veale. Dooly
written, I b'lieve.
Mbs. Veale.
\^Passing the paper to Veale.] I haven't got my
spectacles.
Veale.
Whose scribble's this ?
•
Wimple.
That's my sister-in-law's 'and.
Veale.
Can't make it out. [^Giving the paper to IklAR-
GARET.] Here, Meg.
Margaret.
\8hrinking from it,"] Don't pa ! Tell pa what it
is, Wimple, directly.
Wimple.
It is my notice for to quit and leave the 'yde Park
Kdui' Academy at the week end.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 73
Vealb.
[ Violently.'} What for ?
Mbs. Ybale.
Now, John !
Wimple.
I can no loAger stand, or put up with, the 'igh-and-
mighty tone took towards me and them under me
by the ridin'-master — ^this yer Mr. Dennison.
Vealb.
Oh I
Mbs. Vealb.
Well, I never I
Mabgahet.
What have you got to say to pa about Mr. Den-
nison ?
Wimple.
Well, look 'ere, miss. In the old guv'nor's time
the ridin'-masters and me was — ^well, chummy;
friendly dooring work and takin' pleasure in each
other's society after hours.
Mabgabet.
Very likely. But Mr. Dennison
Mbs. Veale.
Be quiet, Meg I
Wimple.
Now, with this yer Mr. Dennison, it ain't " Mr.
Wimple, oblige me by doing this yer or that there,"
74 LALT BOUNTIFUL.
but it's " Wimple, put a saddle on Bitty and look
sharp about it ! " and I ^ave known him say " Wim-
ple, when you go to your dinner leave word where
a letter will find yer."
Vbalb.
Ahl
Wimple.
And so Fve made up my mind, guv'nor, as follows
— either I go or this yer Dennison goes.
Vbale,
Very well, Wimple ; Fll meet your views with
pleasure.
Wimple.
\^Beamingly.'\ Thank yer, guv'nor, I noo you
would. You ken tear up that dockyment, miss.
Don't be 'ard on this yer Dennison, guv'nor ; I don't
ask that.
Vbale.
\^Eat%ngJ\ Thank ye.
Mabgaset.
[ Scornfully J\ Hah I
Wimple.
Give 'im a character. I never see his like on a
'orse; it's 'is manner on terry-firmer what queers
'im. Nice mornin', ain't it.
Mabgabbt.
[ To herself.'] Impudent fellow I
LABY BOUNTIFUL. 76
Wimple.
[ Opening the door^ then returning quicJdy.'\ 'Ere I
Look — 'erel Am I fallin' into any error? 1 said /
go or this yer Dennison goes— didn't I ?
Toudid.
WlMPLB,
Well, who goes ?
Vealb.
T^go.
[Dennis Hebon enters in riding dress.']
Dennis.
Wimple, the tan hasn't been raked over in the
school yet. Don't fall asleep downstairs.
Wimple.
'Ere, I— I WeU— I— I Oh, crikey I
[Wimple goes out.
Dennis.
Gkx)d-moming.
Yeale and Mbs. Yealb.
Good-morning.
Yeale.
'Ave a bit o' breakfast, sir?
Dennis.
Mrs. Yeale shall give me a cup of tea, if she will.
J
76 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Mabgabbt.
rooming to him^ offering to take his hat and coatJ]
Take my place, Mr. Dennison ; I've finished.
Dennis.
Thank you, Meg — ^why should you trouble?
[^Jle hangs up his hat and coat,
Mabgabet.
[ CaUing at the door."] Amelia I
Dennis.
Busy day, I hope, Veale?
Veale,
Pretty fair, sir ; pretty fair.
[Amelia appears in the doorway,
Mabgabet.
A cup and saucer for Mr. Dennison. [i/j a whis-
jper.] One of ma's best cups.
[Amema disappears, Mabgabet sitSj and
takes up the " London Journal " which
she cuts with her fingers,
Veale.
You're the pimctualist young gentlemen we've
ever had dealings with, Mr. Dennison.
Dennis.
\^Sitting at the table, Fm a new broom, Veale.
LAD T BO UNTIFVL. 77
Vbale.
Not tired of a bit of work yet, sir?
[Mabgabet looks up.
Dennis.
Tired ! I've a poor man's best encouragement — I
can't afford to get tired.
Yeale.
[^ Standing on the hearthrug aridsmohing a cigarette.']
Ha, ha ! How your dear father would scold us if he
'eared you describin' yourself as a poor man !
Dennis.
I daresay ; there's a little difference between my
father and me on that point, Veale.
Veale.
I know, sir, I know. But he's a very affable
gentleman, your father, sir — one of the affablest
gentlemen T*ve met.
[Amelia enters with a cup and saucer,"]
Mrs. Yeale.
'Melia, this is my best china I
Mabgabet.
[ Under her breath.] Ma I
Amelia.
Miss Mar'grit —
78 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Mabgabet.
[ To Amelia.] S-s-sh I
[Ameua goes out.
{^Pvshing another cup and saucer towards Mbs.
Vbale.] Never mind ; this will do for me.
Mabgabet.
No — ^that's my cup !
Mbs. Vealb.
[Pouring out tea.l Well, it won't poison Mr.
Dennison, child.
Mabgabet turns her face from the breakfast-
table in confusion.
Veale.
'Ave you seen your poor dear father lately, Mr.
Dennison ?
Dennis.
No, Veale.
Veale.
Thought he miffht 'ave called on you at your
lodging. He 'asirt been near us for — ^'ow long,
mother ?
Mbs. Veale.
More'n a week, John.
Veale.
Ah. One of the friendliest gentlemen we've ever
known, your father, sir.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 79
Dennis.
Ted. What's the day's work, Veale ?
Vbale.
The day's work ? [ Going to the desky taking up a
long parchment-covered hook^ and reading.'] Ten-
thirty. 'Alf-an-hour on the road ; old gentleman o'
the name of Trotman, 95a, Sloane Street. Mr.
Dennison.
Dennis.
[^Making notes,"] All right.
Yeale.
Eleven-thirty. Class in school ; Miss Cheeseman's
Yoimg Ladies. Mr. Dennison and Miss Veale.
Dennis.
All right.
Mabgabet.
All right.
Vbale.
Twelve o'clock. Hour on the road. Miss Car-
delloe ; Miss Charlotte Cardelloe ; Miss Hubertina
Cardelloe ; Master Philip Cardelloe. Cadogan Square.
\Looki7ig at Mrs. Veale with pride,] Miss 'Enrietta
Wilcox— Mrs. Veale I
Mrs. Veale.
Ah!
Veale.
The foregoing are a nervous family.
80 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Mes. Vbalb.
Why don't you hire me out with a bath-chair,
John?
Veale.
'Etty, my dear. \^Resuming,'\ Twelve-thirty. 9,
Porchester Mansions ; Miss de V ere. Ridin'-master
to wait if the yoimg person's not down. Mr. Den-
nison.
Mabgasbt.
[ To Tier self ^ with a stamp ofherfootJ] Oh I
Veale.
Three o'clock. Hour in the Park. Lady Spilsbury
and the Honourable Miss Bimce. Miss 'Enrietta
Wilcox — ^Mrs. Veale.
Mes. Veale.
The Park.
Veale.
Hah, mother! Four o'clock. Class in school.
Mr. Dennison and Miss Veale.
Dennis.
Sloane Street — ^ten-thirty. Pm off.
[Mes. Veale rings the heU and removes some
of the breakfast things,
Veale.
TThrowing hack the sliding doors and calling.']
Wunple I
Mabgabet assists Dennis with his coat.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 81
Thanks.
TAmeija entersy carrying a tray^ and dears
the tablej assisted by Mbs. v ealb.
Vealb.
[^Z/eaning over the balustrade of the gallery, 2 Now
then, Wunple !
Wimple.
[jPVom the riding-school below.'] Tessir ?
Veale.
Saddle " Juno " and « Sunshine" for Mr. Denni-
son, d'rectly.
Wimple.
Bight, guv'nor.
Rodebice: Heron.
[ CaMing from the riding-school below.'] How do
you do, dear Mr. Veale, how do you do ?
Veale.
Bless me, it's Mr. 'Eron. Come up them stairs,
sir ! That's right ! Mind your 'ead, Mr. 'Eron !
Roderick Heron.
\_Outside^ but nearer. "] A delightful morning —
really a delightful morning. \^Entering and shaking
hands with Veale.] The kind of morning whicn
makes a man a better man, a more generous man.
\^8haJcing hands with Dennis.] Ah, here is — [glanc-
ing at Amelia] dear Mr. Dennison. \To Mab-
6
82 LAJ>r BOUNTIFUL.
GABBT.] And Miss Yeale, looking prettier than
ever.
Mabgabet.
Oh, Mr. Heron I
Roderick Hebon.
And Mrs. Yeale too — Mrs. Veale in her habit as
she hves. Gk)od morning, Amelia, [dropping some
silaer upon the tray she is carrying.'] A new ribbon
for Sunday, Ameha.
Amelia.
Oh, thank you, sir. [Amelia does out.
RoDEBicK Hebon.
I never give myself the pleasure of dropping in
here without realising gne pleasant fact — the Veale
household is a happy household, a simple household,
a delightful household.
Veale.
Much obliged to Mr. 'Eron; eh, mother ?
Mbs. Veale.
That we are, John.
RoDEBicK Hebon.
There is only one jarring note, if I may be per-
mitted to observe i1> — [pointing to Dennis] — ^the
curious spectacle of the son of — shall I say a weU-
to-do parent?
Dennis.
[ To RoDEBicK.] Father I
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 83
Roderick Heron.
The son of a well-to-do and indulgent parent
labouring under the Quixotic notion that a young
man ought to do some kind of work, you know.
Dennis.
We won't talk about that, just now. Fm going
out to give half an hour's lesson.
Roderick Heron.
Are you ? Now that amuses me, you know — ^the
idea is so whimsical. Well, do your duty ; always do
what you consider your duty. Dear Mrs. Veale will
let me stay till you come back, I dare say.
[Dennis goes out on to the gallery where
Margaret is now standing.
Dennis.
\As he goes towards the stevs."] Grood-bye, Meg.
Margaret.
[^Looking after him."] Good-bye, Mr. Dennison.
Roderick Heron.
[^Quietly to Ye ale eyeing Margaret and Mrs.
Veale.] Ahem ! my dear Veale.
Veale.
All right, sir. Meg, run away for a minute, my
dear.
Margaret.
Yes, pa. [^She goes out.
84 LAD T BO UNTIFUL.
Roderick Heron.
[ To John, looking at Mrs. Yeale whose back is
turned towards them.'] Mrs. Veale, eh ?
Yeale.
Well, sir, I hope you'll excuse me, but I've taken
the liberty of mentioning this little matter of busi-
ness to Mrs. Yeale. 'Etty, my dear.
Roderick Heron.
ITo himself. 1 Really, you know, damn! [To
Yeale.] Now I am quite charmed to hear that we
have taken Mrs. Yeale into our confidence. I was
about to suggest it — I really was.
Mrs. Yeale.
Lor', sir, he hasn't told me much.
Roderick Heron.
For shame, Yeale, for shame ! You should have
no secrets from Mrs. Yeale.
Yeale.
Well, Mr. 'Eron, I 'adn't much to tell.
Mrs. Yeale.
Why, no, sir ; all John knows is that you've asked
him to write his name to a — ^what is it, father ? ^
Yeale.
Bill of Exchange, 'Etty.
Roderick H^ron.
Precisely — ^Bill of Exchange, you know. I open
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 85
my heart to you, dear Mrs. Veale ; a woman's sym-
pathy is very precious
Mrs. Veale.
IMovinff about with a duster.'] Much obliged Fm
sure, sir.
RoDEBiCK Heron.
I'm sympathetic myself, you know. Now I in-
tend this morning to exercise one of the privileges
of a man of means ; I am going to shift a portion of
a very considerable income from the future to the
present. Men of imagination call this an act of pe-
cuniary prophesy, but it is what is familiarly known
as an advance. An advance, you know.
Veale.
Yes, sir, I know.
Roderick: Heron.
Now I mustn't boast, but by obtaining this advance
from my friend, Mr. Benson of Burlington Street, I
shall be able to make the approaching Christmas a
joyous one for many persons ; in point of fact, I shall
open my purse-strings rather wider this Christmas
than usual. It's a delightful feeling, you know,
really a delightful feeling. Veale, I am to present
you to Mr. Benson in Burlington Street, at eleven o'
clock.
Veale.
[^Looking inquiringly at Mrs. Veale.] Eh, 'Etty ?
Mrs. Veale.
ITm! you'll excuse me, I hope, Mr. Heron, for
what I'm going to say
86 LAT)Y BOUNTIFUL.
Roderick Heron.
Charmed, you know.
Mrs. Yeale.
I'm sure no one could be more sensible than me
and John of the honour of being on such friendly
terms with gentry — eh, father ?
Yeale.
We take it as a great compliment, sir — ^thatwe do.
Roderick Heron.
My good souls, you've been exceedingly indulgent
to my mistaken boy, and I like you. There — ^now
you have it — I like you.
Yeale.
Thank ye, sir.
Mrs. Yeale.
Thank you, Mr. Heron. Only neither John nor I
understands much about this sort of business, and
what little we do know of it frightens us. Now it's
out.
Roderick Heron.
[ Taking Mrs. Yeale's hand gallantly,'] Then my
dear Mrs. Yeale, let me acknowledge the honour
you do me in entrusting your husband's welfare to
my keeping. I regard this as a very precious re-
sponsibility — and so will Mr. Benson. We'll start
for Burlington Street in ten minutes. The matter
is settled.
',
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 87
Mbs. Veale.
Then, Til say no more, sir. I shouldn't have
spoken to a gentleman in this way, only — only
RODEBICK HeBON.
Only what, my dear lady ? Tell me, you know,
tell me.
Mbs. Veale.
Only John and I have been married, two-and-
twenty years — and I daresay I'm vexing to him
now and again — ^but we've faced our troubles to-
gether — having laid three children to rest — and so
— so [laying her hand on Ye ale's shoulder and speak-
ing huskily [please don't let any harm come to my
old man.
Veale.
Why, mother!
Mbs. Veale.
[Brushing the tears from her eyes."] All right,
father, all right. [She goes out quickly.
Veale.
Bless my soul ! Something's upset Mrs. Veale,
sir. [Dennis enters with a bunch of violets in his
handT\
RODEBICK HeBON.
Dennis !
Dennis.
The old gentleman can't ride this morning, Veale ;
he has gout in his knee.
88 LAD T BOUNTIFUL.
Vealb.
[^Gotng to his desk.'] Oh. He must pay for his
lesson if he's got it in his stomach.
RODEBICK HeBON.
[ Talking apart with Dennis.] Well, dear Dennis ?
Dennis.
Well, father ?
Roderick Heron.
So you still herd with these common people, eh?
Dennis.
And you still live on my cousin Camilla, eh?
RoDEBicK Heron.
The — ah — ^pecimiary relations between Camilla
and myself remain uninterrupted.
Dennis.
[iw disgust,"] Hah !
RoDEBicK Heron.
. My dear Dennis ! My child ! You take a dis-
torted view of our indebtedness to Camilla — ^you do
really.
Dennis.
Oh, Fm ashamed ; that's all.
Roderick Heron.
Now that is a feeling I c2jmot understand. Why
ashamed ? Camilla is wealthy — ^no credit to her 5 she
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 89
can't help it. We're poor — ^no discredit to ns: we
can't help it. Camilla has a large house, with empty
rooms and beds in them — why on earth shouldn't we
occupy those rooms and air those beds ? Camilla's
cook prepares a dinner for four persons — a dinner for
four is a dinner for six. Really, you know, an extra
oyster in the oyster-sauce, or an additional pinch of
curry in the Mullagatawny, represents — looked at
in the right way — ^the extent of our obligations to
Camilla. [Dennis turns away angrily, Yeale
goes out^ Ah, our lower-class friend is considerate
enough to leave us for a moment. Our lower-class
friend is very h'less.
Dennis.
So's the word " honesty " ; we can speak of him as
we find him.
RODEBICK HeBON.
Good! capital! {_Poking the fire vigorously.']
What filthy fires you keep here ! Where do you
sleep now, Dennis — in a cornbin?
Dennis.
Fve a little room close at hand. It's a poor place
— I can't ask you to come and see me.
RODEBICK HeBON.
[ Wiping the dust from his hands on the table cover.
I couldn't do it, dear Dennis. It would pain me,
you know.
Dennis.
Where are you ?
RoDEBICK HeBON.
I'm at Croome's Hotel in Jermyn Street. I'm
90 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
fairly comfortaDle. I can ask you to call on me.
So do, do, dear Dennis, abandon this crazy desire to
earn your own living. It's not even original; so
many men have it. And great heavens, you'll com-
promise me — ^you really will ! If people leam that
my son is a cad of a riding-master, they'll think I —
I've no means, you know.
Dennis.
Look here — I don'^ think you and I quite under-
stand one another.
Roderick Heron.
Let us do so !
Dennis.
These common people, as you call 'em, are hard-
working people, skicere people, good people.
Roderick Heron.
Confound 'em !
Dennis.
No — God bless 'em ! Hark, father — one more
word about this and then have done with it. When
I left Lydgate I did think of how I might earn my
bread-and-meat in what you'd call a gentlemanlike
fashion. I walked London till I was lame ; I button-
holed a few friends
Roderick Heron.
No, no, dear Dennis — ^you didn't do that!
Dennis.
Oh, don't be afraid ; I only told 'em I wanted to
occupy my leisure. They grinned, and promised,
and crossed the road when they met me next day.
I tried strangers — ^they were candid at any rate.
i
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 91
And in. less than three weeks I realised that I was
the worthless crock the world weeds out of its stables.
And it was then — ^when I leamt to hate the thought
of myself and yet couldn't think of anything but
myself ; when my boots had begun to play a sort of
rogues' march on the pavement—it was then that I
remembered John Yeale. And so, like it as little as
you may, I've come into a new world — ^the world of
saddle and stirrups — and the people you sneer at
and patronise are its inhabitants and my friends.
RODEBICK HeBON.
Good gracious, you're not going to sit round the
family pot with those genial gipsies for ever and
ever I
Dennis.
Why not? Fm no better than they! I'm fit for
nothing but to stick fast on a horse, and here — ^here
they don't look down on me and despise me. So
God bless John Yeale, I say again — God bless him
and his !
[Vbale returns and resumes his seat at the
desk.
RODEEICK HeBON.
\NudgingJ)is,TSTsi% with the end of his walking-cane,']
Ahem ! Dear Dennis, I thing perhaps I ought to
mention it — Camilla is in town.
Dennis.
Camilla !
RODEBICK HeBON.
[ Glancing at Yeale.] S-s-s-h ! Yes, they're all
staying for a few weeks with Sir Richard Philliter
in Wilton Street.
92 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Dennis.
Rettiember, I have your promise.
Roderick Heron.
Certainly; /don't know where the devil you are.
Dennis.
Do they — ever — ask about me?
Roderick Heron.
Oh, yes. They believe I'm searching for you. I
get a great deal of very pleasant sympathy, you
know. You're sure you wouldn't like to meet Camilla
— accidentally, eh ?
Dennis.
Meet her ! No, father, I — I wouldn't have Camilla
set foot in my new world.
Roderick Heron.
But you may encounter one another by chance —
in the street, perhaps, while you're giving the lead
to a couple of fat girls on bony horses I
Dennis.
Then I must present her to her cousin, Mr. Denni-
son — the cad of a riding-master. [Margaret entersJ]
But you won't do anything to bring that chance
about? Your word of honour !
Roderick Heron.
My dear Dennis, my word of honour.
Dennis.
Thanks. [Joining Margaret.] Oh, Meg, I've
been trading with your poor little lame flower-mer-
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 93
chant at the cab-stand. [ Giving Tier the violetsJ]
He's not making his fortune.
Margabet.
Oh, Mr. Dennison!
Roderick Heron*.
[7b himself^ watching Margaret and Denihs.]
Really, you know, that's a dangerous companion-
ship. Now I do hope that nothing will prevent the
accidental meeting between dear Dennis and his
relatives which I have so carefully plaimed. [Mrs.
Yeale enters J\ Are you ready for Burlington Street,
Veale ?
Veale.
Yes, sir. Dress me, mother.
[John takes down his hat^ muffler^ and over-
coat from, the hat-peg and Mrs. Veale
assists him, Dennis and Margaret
stroU away,
Roderick Heron.
[ To himself.'] I think I'll make things quite safe
here.
Veale.
Thank ye, 'Etty.
Roderick Heron.
My good friends, I have reason to anticipate that
some esteemed relations of mine will shortly inspect
your admirable establishment.
Veale.
^Ettyl
/
94 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Mrs. Veale.
Lor', Mr Heron, have they found out about the
young gentleman?
Roderick Hebon.
Oh, no, no ; it's the purest coincidence, you know.
My niece, Miss Beatrix Brent, who is in town, is to
be permitted to take moderate exercise on horse-
back ; and she is to receive instruction at some
valuable institution of this kind. So I contrived
that her brother's servant should become acquainted
with the Hyde Park Riding Academy.
Mrs. Veale.
You call this a coincidence, Mr. Heron !
Roderick Heron.
To all outward appearances, quite, you know.
Veale.
Well, sir, you'll excuse me
Roderick Heron.
[^Standing between Veale andMns. Veale taking
their hands,'] Hah, hah ! you're going to scold me
in your blunt, honest way for not respecting dear
Dennis's foolish secret. But, my good souls, we are
parents, and so you must help me to bring about
a meeting between my naughty boy and a certain
young lady whom he has treated — ^no, no, I will not
tell you how he has treated a certain young lady.
Veale.
What, Mr. Dennis I
LAD T BO UNTIFUL. 95
Mbs. Veale.
Why, rd as soon have thought ill of my John
there !
Roderick Heron.
I believe you, dear Mrs. Yeale — otherwise you
would scarcely permit this terribly dangerous com-
panionship to exist between your charming daughter
and a — no, I won't say a wicked yoimg fellow; I'll
say a weak, impressionable young fellow.
Vealb.
Mr. 'Eron !
Mbs. Yeale.
Father I
Roderick Heron.
There, there, there ! I've sufficiently distressed a
watchful mother. I feel quite a brute— I do really.
Ck)me along, Veale.
Veale.
[ To Mrs. Veale.] 'Etty, my dear !
Mrs. Veale.
\_Solemnlygiving Yeale his hatJ] John — ^there's
your hat. You leave this to me.
Roderick Heron.
[ To Mrs. Veale.] Good-bye. Now don't be too
hard on my boy. Inave spoUt him — it's my fault
[taking Veale by the ami\ I blame myself, you
know — ^I blame myself for many things.
[Veale and Roderick go out. As they do
80 Margaret enters and stands before a
96 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
mirror^ fixing Dennis's violets in her habit
and humming a song to 'herself quieUy
and happily. Mbs. Veale, taking her
spectacle-case from Jier pockeif puts on her
glasses with deliberation and toatches
Mabgabbt.
Mbs. Veale.
What have you got there, Meg?
Mabgabet.
Some violets.
Mbs. Veale.
Did your pa give 'em you ?
Mabgabet.
No, ma.
Mbs. Veale.
Who did give 'em you ?
Mabgabet.
Mr. Demiison.
Mbs. Veale.
Margaret.
Mabgabet.
[^Brushing her hat."] Well?
Mbs. Veale.
Your pa and I are thinking of making a bit of a
change here, in the school.
Mabgabet.
Oh! [^Surveying herself in the mirror as she puts
on her hatJ] What sort of a change ?
LALT BOUNTIFUL. 97
Mbs. Yealb.
We're on the look-out for another riding-master.
Mabgabet.
Another riding-master ? To help Mr. Dennison ?
Mbs. Vealb.
No — ^in place of Mr. Dennison.
Mabgabet.
[^Turninff sharply.'] Why?
Mbs. Veale.
Well, dear, there seems to be something serious
amiss between our young gentleman and his rela-
tions.
Mabgabet.
What's that — ^to do — ^with us?
Mbs. Yeale.
That's just it. It ain't our place to take one side
or another ; but by employing this yoimg fellow in a
capacity he wasn't brought up to, and making his
dear father vexed and uncomfortable, we are taking
one side, Meg, and p'rhaps we're doing wrong.
Mabgabet.
We may be domg a bigger wrong by sending him
away. \_Nervou8ly trying to button her glove."]
Mbs. Veale.
No, Meg, no ; because, take my word for it, this
sort of thing never answers. Shall I button your
glove, dear?
Mabgabet.
Thanks. •[Mbs. Yeale buttons Mabgabbt's glove
7
98 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
with the aid of a hairpin.^ What do you mean by
"this sort of thing"?
Mbs. Yealb.
The mixing of gentry like him with people like us.
Mabgabet.
People like us. I suppose we are common.
Mbs. Yealb.
Common, Meg I No, no, my dear, we*re not common.
I hope— we're ordinary.
Mabgabet.
[To herself. "] Ordinary.
Mbs. Yeale.
There's a good many fish between salmon and her-
rings, Meg. I don't think we're quite herrings ; I
should say we swim somewhere in the neighbourhood
of the mackerel. [^Finishing with the glovej] There I
Give me a kiss.
[Mabgabet goes to kiss Mbs. Yeale ; then
she breaks down and puts her arms round
her neck.
Mabgabet.
Oh, mother!
Mbs. Yeale.
Why, Margaret! \^I>ropping h^r spectacles un-
noticed."]
Mabgabet.
[PiteouslyJ] Mother, isn't it hard that we're
not fit to associate with people who arQ gentle — and
LADY BOUNTIFUL, 99
refined — and kind — and considerate, like — ^like ibis
MrJ Dennison?
Mbs. Vealb.
Ah ! , {Looking into Margaret' s/ac6.] You mustn't
let your nead run on Mr Dennison, Meg ; you mustn't
do that.
r
Margaret.
{Drawing herself away ^\ know what you mean,
niother ; but, if you imagine such a thing, it's not
true — ^it's not true. I only think of him as the one
real gentleman we have ever known who has made
himself our friend and our equal, and who treats
one — ^just as if — one wei*e — a lady. Oh, it's bet-
ter to be bom a cripple than to be bom com-
mon!
{She throws herself into a chair and rocks h&r-
self to and fro.
Mrs. Vealb.
{Standing by her and weeping."] How can you be
so wicked, Meg — going on like fnis ? t'ather paid
Miss Twibble a hundred-and-twenty a year for your
accomplishments — quite an aristocratic boarding-
school.
Margaret.
Yes!
Mrs. Vealb.
I wonder you're not afraid of being struck like it —
an ungrateful child !
, Margaret.
I am ungrateful. Why did father waste his
money to make an imitation lady of me ? And what
>177605A.
100 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
did Tribble try to teach me? To sing, and play,
and mince, and simper like those superior girls
who wouldn't give me a nod now if they met me
in the street! Hah! I only leamt the difference
between the real and the sham ; I only leamt
that they were born with quiet voices and easy
ways, and that, mimic as I might, I could never be
anything but a common young woman !
Mbs. Veale.
It would break your father's heart if he heard you
running down your education !
Margaret.
You know it wouldn't, mother — ^but it's enough to
break the hearts of girls like me to have such an
education! It makes us think, and build castles,
and hope ; and it tortures us — ^that's all such educa-
tion does for us — ^it tortures us.
[Dennis enters^
Dennis.
[ To Margaret.] What'U you ride in the school
this morning, Meg ?
Margaret. i
I— rU ride « Pearl."
Dennis.
Halloa, are you put out about anything ?
Margaret.
I! No.
Mrs. Veale.
May I have a few words with you, Mr. Dennison,
before you go out ?
LADT BOUNTIFUL. lOl
Dennis.
Certainly— now. I'll just tell Wimple to saddle
the mare.
Mabgabet.
No — ^I'll saddle her myself ; perhaps it'll be for the
last time.
Dennis.
For the last time, Meg ?
Margaret.
Yes, I'm thinking of not going into the school
after to-day. I — ^I'm tired of it — I'm tired of it.
[^She goes out,
Dennis.
[ To himself^ looking after herJ] What's the mat-
ter?
Mrs. Vealb.
Mr. Dennison. \^He goes to her.'] Mr. Dennison,
a woman — ^at any rate a woman who isn't a yomig
woman — may speak out to a young man without
offence, I hope; especially if she's honest and
straightforward and means weU to aU parties.
Dennis.
Certainly, Mrs. Veale. Do I happen to be the
young man ?
Mrs. Veale.
Yes, sir, you do so happen. Mr. Heron — excuse
me for going back to the old name — are you sure
you're contented with the life you're living ?
102 LADY BOmrTIFUL.
Dennis.
Contented ? Well — ^I contrive sometimes to forget
the dunce, the idler, the fool, who bore the name
J'ou've just 'called me by; that contents me. And
'm earning my bread, honestly. Yes — ^I'm con-
tented.
Mrs. Vbalb.
Then, sir, I'm truly sorry to hear it — ^that I am I
Dbnnis.
Sorry, Mrs. Veale ?
Mbs. Vealk.
Because my husband and me are of one mind and
that mind's made up. We've got to part company,
sir — ^you and us.
Dennis.
Part company! You don't mean you want — ^to
be rid of me?
Mks. Veale.
I'd rather you didn't put it quite like that, sir —
but it's what I do mean.
Dennis.
What's the reason ?
Mrs. Veale.
raising.'] Well, sir, that's just what I can't ex-
actly tell you, but you must be content, Mr. Dennis,
to know that it's better for us that you should leave
us — ^better for us and better for you.
Dennis.
Better ?
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 103
Mrs. Yealb.
Ever-so-much — ever-so-much better. And now,
sir, I'm dreadfully busy this morning ; I — I prom-
ised Veale I'd check his figures, that I did.
[/S%6 bustles up to the desk ratJier uneasily
and brings some heavy books down
to the table.
Dennis.
But — but you've been so kind to me, you and your
husband, and Margaret
Mrs. Veale.
Ahem ! [ Taking her spectacle-case from her pocket
and finding it empty ^ Drat the thmg I where are
my spectacles ?
Dennis.
And now you turn me away like a lazy stable-hand.
Mrs. Veale.
Look here, Mr. Dennis Heron, I'll tell you this !
The reason's one that any honest, right-minded man
is bound to respect. Come, sir ! won't you trust an
old — a middle-aged woman, and take her word ?
Dennis.
Oh, of course, I — ^I'll go.
Mrs. Veale.
[Laying a hand on his shoulder,'] Thank you, my
dear.
\_She turns from him and sits with the books
be/ore her.
104 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Dbnnis.
[^To hirmelf.'] What is it? What is it?
[Wimple enters with a note .]
Wimple.
[ Oiving Dennis the note,'] For the Missus.
\_He goes out
DE2ons.
[^Handing the note to Mks. Vbale.] A note for you.
Mks. Vealb.
Thanks. \ Looking ahcmt her."] Have you seen
my glasses, Mr. Dennison ? I'm d perfect bat with-
out 'em. It's an order for the ofBce, I fancy. [i?e-
tuming the note to Dennis.] Kindly tell me what
it's about, sir — ^will you ?
\^She resumes the search for her spectacles,
Dennis reads the note, and his ea^ression
alters to one of blank dismay,']
Dennis.
\^To himself ] Meg!
\^He turns to Mrs. Vealb, to speak to her^
when there is a knock at the door*
Mrs. Vealb.
Yes?
Amelia enters, Dennis stares at the letter in a dazed
manner,
Amelia.
Please, m'm.
14I>T BOUNTIFUL, 105
Mbs. Vbaue.
What are you doing, 'MeKa ; leaving your work?
Amelia.
The clerk was wishful that I should look for you,
m'm.
Mbs. Vbalb.
You've been gossiping with the clerk!
Amelia.
Oh, no, m'm. Me and 'im was meally passin' the
time of day when a gentleman and some ladies come
into the office and asked for to be showed over the
school.
Mrs. Veale.
A gentleman and some ladies ?
Amelia.
Yes, m'm ; and the clerk was wishful to know if
I would be good enough as to favour him by bein' so
obligin' as k) kindly assytain where you was. It is
not my 'abit nor am I wishful to be drawn off my
'ousework.
Mbs. Veale.
[ Suddenly with a look at Dbknis and taking Amelia
apart.'\ 'Melia !
Amelia.
\J^n a whisper."] Yes, m'm ?
Mbs. Veale.
What are they like ? Describe 'em I
106 LABT BOUNTIFUL.
Amelia.
Two young ladies of the age of my young sister
and my married sister ; and a young gentleman of
the age of my married sister's 'usband ; and a older
lady something like Queen Elizabeth, speaking by
'earsay.
Mrs. Vbale.
[To herself.'] Miss Brent of Fauncourt I [Zooking
a^ I)bnnis.] Shall I — shall I ask 'em up here ?
Amelia.
What say, m'm ?
Mrs. Veale.
S-s-sh ! [ To Dennis.] Fll be back in two minutes,
Mr. Dennison. 'Melia I
[She goes out^ followed hy Amelia.
Dennis.
Meg! Meg I [He reads the note to himself]
" Mother. I told you a lie. I do care for him — I
do care for him with all my heart. I shall be hap-
pier if you send him away." I — ^I understand.
Meg! The child of these people^— these people
who've been good to me — and trusted ine. Poor little
Meg 1 What a shame — ^what a shame !
[Wimple appears in the gaUery^ carrying a
bridle arid a Uath&r.
Wimple.
[Looking into the room.] Gettin' on for class time',
Mister Dennison.
Dennis.
[Abstractedly.] Thank you. [Folding the note
carefully andplacing it in his pocket.] It's my fault j
LADT BOTTITTIFITL. 107
it must be all my fault. Poor little Meg — what a
shame ! [Se goes out in deep thought.
Wimple.
[Looking after Dennis.] Reclinin' in a armchair
a'readin' Ms letters like a dook. Well, that chap
beats me I The missus !
[He rubs the bridle energetically as Mbs.
Veale enters^ looking rounds nervously,
Mbs. Veale.
[To Wimple.] Where's Mr. Dennison?
Wimple.
[ Olandng over the balustrade!] He's just walked
into the stables — a'talkin' to Miss Marg'rit.
Miss Bbent enters^ followed by Beatbix. Wimple
strolls away.
Miss Bbent.
[To Mbs. Veale.] Thank you.
Beatbix.
[ To Camilla as she enters^ pale and sad-looking, ]
Here's a fire, Cam.
Camilla.
[ With a shiver.] Oh !
[She goes languidly to the fire.
Miss Bbent.
[To M^s. Veale.] We are to wait here?
[LuciAN enters!]
Mbs. Veale.
Well, I know my husband would feel honoured to
show you over the school and the stables himself.
108 LADT BOUNTIFVL.
LUCIAN.
As a matter of fact, our time is rather precious.
tTo Miss Bbbnt.] I have to go to my hosiers, you
now, aunt.
Camilla.
Pray allow me to get warm, Lucian.
Mrs. Vbale.
Mr. Veale won't be long, I'm sure.
Miss Bsent.
Mr. Veale of Baverstoke ?
Mrs. Veale.
Yes, miss.
Miss Brent.
Dear me ! I think you came with your husband to
Fauncourt?
Mrs. Veale,
I did.
Miss Brent.
How do you do ? CamiUa, how strange I
Lucian.
Oh, of course ; my uncle, Mr. Roderick Heron,
took " Strephon " and " Chloe," the two hunters, from
your stable, didn't he ?
Mrs. Veale.
T-yes, sir. I hope they're doing well this sea-
son. ^
Camilla.
We do not hunt at Fauncourt this season. Mr.
Dennis Heron has brought his stay at Fauncourt to
a close. His horse " Strephon" now belongs to me.
I prize him — ^highly.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 109
Ltjciak.
He's as fat as a pig ; does no work and is petted
like a spaniel.
Camilla.
[^Angrily,'] Lucian!
LuciAN.
What's the matter, Cam? [Tohimielf, tooJcing at
Camilla.] Temper ! [^Str oiling into the gallery and
looking over the balitstrade. Halloa — ^the riding-
school I
Beatbix.
Oh ! rZooking through the opening."] How delight-
ful ! [ To Mrs. Vbalb.] It is I who am to ride.
Mrs. Vbalb.
Indeed, miss.
Beatrix.
When you were in business at Baverstoke I daresay
you heard how delicate I was.
Mrs. Vbalb.
No, miss, I hadn't that pleasure.
Beatrix.
Oh, you must have heard and forgotten. You will
feel extremely sorry when I tell you that I am still
most fragile.
Lucian.
[^Mockingly.'] Ho, ho I
Beatrix.
[To Miss Brent.I Aunt, is Lucian to be allowed
to Dehave quite in tnat way ?
110 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Miss Bbent.
Lucian!
LUCIAN.
All right. Only I^ve been obliged to come down
from Cambridge because my head's given way;
that's what I call being delicate.
4 Beatbix.
[In the goMery leaning over the baltistrade.l Shall
I learn here ?
Mbs. Yealb.
Y-yes, miss.
Beatrix.
There are some people riding now,
Mbs. Yealb.
They are the young ladies from Mrs. Cheeseman's
School, miss. [Lucian Joins Beatbix and looks down
upon the riding-school.] They have an hour every
Monday at eleven.
Beatbix.
It's nearly eleven. May we watch the lesson?
Who will teach ?
Mbs. Yeale.
My daughter and — and — ^the riding-master.
Beatbix.
Oh! [Catting.] Aunty!
[/SAe, Lucian and Mbs. Yeale watch aU that
is going on below with interest.
Miss Bbent.
[ Tenderly to Camilla who fs sitting with her head
thrown hack in thought] You look very lonely there.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. Ill
Camilla.
Dreaming, aunt.
Miss Brent.
Always in the clouds, dear.
Camilla.
Aunty, have you ever visited a strange spot and
found it familiar to you ? I seem to know this queer
place quite well. Do you think I lived here in my
former existence, when I was a cat or something ?
Miss Brent.
It is the aspect of the stable in everything that
recalls
Camilla.
That recalls what Fauncourt used to be. Yes —
and Fauncourt is dull enough now for our pains.
We drove the life out of it, you and I, when we sent
— him away. How cruel we were.
Miss Brent.
Will you ever forgive me for my share in that,
Camilla?
Camilla.
I love you. Aunt Anne, dearly; [drawings Miss
Brent to her fondly] but, no — ^I will never forgive
you, never, never, never.
Miss Brent.
l^Smiling sadly] Ah!
Mrs. Veale.
[To Beatrix,] If you stand over there, miss, at
the end of the gallery, you'll get a better view of the
riders. I — I must go downstairs to the office.
112 LADY BOUNTIFUL,
Beatrix.
Point out your daughter to me, first.
, Mrs. Vbalk.
She's not there yet, miss. [The sounds of jingling
bits and horses^ hoofs are heard. [Yes — ^here she
comes, with ! Excuse me I [She goes away.
Beatrix.
[Looking into the room,'] Camilla 1 Aunt ! Come
and watch 1 Oh, do 1 Lucian !
[Beatrix runs out followed by Luciait,
Miss Brent
Camilla ?
Camilla.
Let me wait here, please. [Miss Brent goes on to
the gallery^ glances over the balustrade^ and follows
the others, [Why do I stir out of doors when strange
places and strange sounds tease me so ! The air of
the stables — ^Dennis! The tread of the horses —
Dennis ! [Dreamily^ Day, dusk, sunlight, firelight,
shadow — all recallmg — our Dennis. [Closing her
eyes,! Not our Dennis — ^nobody cared for him as I
carea for him. My Dennis — my Dennis
[27ie indistinct sound of Dennis's voice is
heard directing the lesson, Camjujl^b eyes
open; then she raises her head slowly^
staring before her^ with parted lips. His
voice is heard again. With a faint cry
Camilla rises.
Lucian.
[In the distance,"] Dennis ! Dennis I [Lucian
appears in the gallery, 2 I say, Cam ! Look nere !
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 113
Beatrix.
\^Ilunning inJ] Camilla, here's Dennis !
[LuclAN and Beatbix run out again.
Miss Bbent.
[ Coining to Camilla.] Camilla !
Camilla.
I know.
\_She waJJca away^ and stands looking down into
the fire, ^
Miss Brent.
[Meeting Dennis who enters with Beatrix and
LuciAN.] Dennis !
Dennis.
{^Taking h^er hand."] Miss Brent.
[Miss Brent, Lucian, and Beatrix glance
towards Camilla ; Dennis's eyes follow
theirs,
Dennis.
Camilla.
\^Sfhe turns without speaking^ then she extends
her hand,
Camilla.
\^In a low voice,"] Dennis.
Dennis.
I thank you. This is like you. I thank you.
Camilla.
Thank me? •
Dennis.
For thinking me worth recovering.
8
i
114 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla.
You are mistaken, Dennis. We are here by
chance.
Dennis.
Chance !
Camilla.
Beatrix is to learn to ride
Beatrix.
Yes.
Camilla.
And we are looking for a riding-school
Dennis.
And a good riding-master ?
Camilla.
A — riding-master !
Dennis.
Yes. Let me introduce myself. My name is
Dennison and I teach riding here for a living.
Camilla.
\_Turning frornhirn reproachfully^ Oh!
Beatrix.
[ To Dennis affectionately^ Never mind ; we're so
glad we've found you.
Miss Brent.
Beatrix I
[Miss Brent and Lucian go on to the
• gallery and standi with their hacks
towards the room looking down into the
school.']
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 115
Beatrix.
Dennis — ^make Cam bring you home.
[^She joins Miss Bebnt and Litcian and
gradually they oM three disappear."]
Camilla.
Oh, Dennis ! And is this all you have done ?
Deitms.
AU.
Camilla.
Horrible!
Dennis.
Tou mean Fve declined in the social scale?
Camilla.
Hah!
Dennis.
Oh, yes, I admit I'm accustomed to polite society.
I was once dependent upon a lady who fed me,
clothed me, kept me, for longer than I care to reckon.
But she knows that I've reached my proper level — I
refer you to her for my character.
Camilla.
Ah, I am acquainted with the young woman you
speak of. She is a person of few ideas, but one of
them — a nice discernment of the difference between
true pride and/a^^e — ^might commend itself to you.
Dennis.
False pride ?
Camilla.
Yes. And she has already furnished me with
your character. In the mind of this yoimg woman
116 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
you are a melancholy example of that race of beings
who, having wronged themselves, behave with all
the dignity and resignation of a child with a torn
pinafore : who abandon friends when friends cease
to be blind to foibles and foUies; and who plant
upon their man's estate a solitary, ungainly tree —
Pride, unreasoning, undignified, and, she thinks,
heartless Pride I
[^She turns from him,
Denkis.
[^Qently,'] Miss Brent. [^She looks at him quickly
then turns away again,! A woman can always
make a man appear a fool, and to defend himself
from her — especially when she's really good ,and
generous — ^is like using a stick. So I've nothing to
answer, only — you are a little hard to please. Lady
Bountiful.
Camilla.
You think I am inconsistent. Of course, I did
urge you to work.
Dennis.
Yes.
Camilla.
But this uncomfortable enthusiasm is — is appal-
ling I I couldn't suggest your living in such dread-
ful surroimdings, and with such people.
Dennis.
Oh, you mustn't speak against them, please!
\He stands leaning upon the chair with a set
eoi^ression on his face,
Camilla.
I beg your pardon; I'm sure they're very nice
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 117
in their way, but — ^Dennis — Glisten to my proposal.
We always quarrel — ^let us quarrel under more
genial circimistances. Fauncourt is still open house
and remains so for some months
Denkis.
Oh, no!
Camhjjl.
Wait — ^you are so hasty! We — Zowe you some
reparation. Give me an opportunity of making it.
Dennis.
Reparation !
Camilla.
For never truly understanding you — ^for under-
rating you. Ah, it is only my tongue that is shrew-
ish, and now even that says — I am sorry.
Dennis.
Camilla!
Camilla.
Dennis, I fear I have never been quite candid
with you, and — since you left us — ^the thought has —
distressed me.
Dennis.
What do you mean ?
Camilla.
I don't think I told you tnithfully why I kept
you ignorant of your poverty — and I am a little
ashamed.
Dennis.
But you gave me two reasons
/
118 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla.
Yes — ^but they were only half-truths, and two half-
truths don't make a whole one. And, Dennis, I
have found out lately that, deep down below all
other reasons, I delayed telling you the secret
of your position because I thought the know-
ledge of it might send you far out into the world
— and Fauncourt was dull — and we couldn't spare
you.
[ Turning from him, she covers her eyes with
her hand /or a moment,
Dennis.
[ Watching her with a look of dismay."] Oh !
Camilla.
And so, for everybody's sake, come back to the old
house ; and there, by our cosy fireside, we will all
sit, and plot, and plan out some appropriate career
for the truant who has taught us how large, and
cold, and cheerless home is without him ! WUl you,
Dennis?
Dennis.
[i^i a low voice.] I thank you, with all my heart ;
but — even if I would come home — ^it is too late.
Camilla.
[Tw a whisper.] Too late ?
Dennis.
Yes — ^it is too late.
Margaret.
[Calling outside.] Dennis ! Dennis I
LAD T BO UNTIFVL. 119
/
[Camilla and Dennis look straight at each
other for a moment^ then she quickly draws
aioay in agitation.
Roderick Heron enters^ followed by Veale and Mrs.
Veale, while Dennis goes out
Roderick Heron.
My dear niece, you have discovered our little
secret in the strangest way! Dennis wouldn't
let me tell you, he really wouldn't. It's his fault ;
I hate concealment, you know. Eh?
Camilla.
^[^Faintly.'] Find — Aunt Anne !
Dennis returns with Margaret ; Miss Brent, who
follows^ exchanges a word with Roderick and
goes straight to Camilla. Lucian and Beatrix
enter after Miss Brent.
Dennis.
[F'alteringly,] Camilla — ^this is Margaret, the
daughter of *my good friends, Mr. and Mrs. Veale.
I want to tell you all that Margaret has promised to
be— my wife.
[ There is a moment of silent surprise.
Camilla.
\^Looking at Margaret and advancing to her
steadily. '\ I am Camilla Brent, Mr. Dennis Heron's
cousin. [ Taking Margaret's hand.'\ Let me
She falters^ turns to Miss Brent, and lean-
ing upon her arm walks to the door^
followed by Lucian and Beatrix.
END OF THE SECOND ACT.
120 LAD T BO UNTIFUL.
THE THIRD ACT.
MARGARET PREPARES FOR HER VOYAGE.
The scene is a humble room in the basement of a house
in a poor street in Westminster. The windows
look out into the area^ whence a flight of steps
leads up to the pavement^ which together with the
area railings are plainly seen from the room.
An open door leads into the scullery^ through
which the area is reached. The room is poorly
furnished^ the fire is lighted^ a baby sleeps in its
cradle on the floor, Eighteen months havepassed
since the events of the previous act.
It is a bright summer morning ; a barrel-organ is
playing in the street, Mrs. Veale, looking grey
and careworn^ is at work in the scullery. She
peeps into the room and listens,
s
Mrs. Veale.
Did I hear our little 'un? \^Sh>e crosses quietly to
the cradle and kneels beside it, looking into it and
arranging the coverlet,"] Ha! Do you know why
the music's playing this fine morning, my precious ?
It's because mother's coming down to-day. That's
what the music tells us ! Mother's coming down-
stairs this blessed morning ! Grandpa I [^jShe sees
John Veale slowly descending the area steps, and
goes to meet him as Jte enters through the scullery,
carrying a brown paper pared* He is much altered
LAJ>Y BOUNTIFUL. 121
— his hair is white^ his step feeble^ and his manner
that of a brokeU'doum manJ\ Father dear, I thought
you'd got lost.
Vbale.
Did you, 'Etty?
Mrs. Vealb.
[ Taking his hat^ sticky and comforter from him."]
I shan't send you out on any more errands if you
keep me on pins and needles.
Veale.
There was so many crossin's, mother; Fm not
what I was in traffic. [ Giving her the parcel.'] The
young man at the draper's says this is all the rage
just now — ^two-and-eleven-pence-ha'penny.
Mrs. Veale.
[ Opening the parcel and finding a common woollen
shawl which she shakes out and puts round her shouU
ders.] Capital I
Veale.
Just suits you, 'Etty.
Mrs. Veale.
[ Taking off the shmjol^ As if it was for me ! It's
for Meg.
Veale.
Meg — oh, aye.
Mrs. Veale.
Dennis is going to carry Meg downstairs when he
comes home to dinner.
Veale.
Lor' bless my soul I Is he ? Ha ! ha ! It'll seem
like old times— our Meg running about again.
122 LADT BOXTNTiriTL.
Mrs. Veale.
Don't, father ! It'll be a long while before we see
Meg looking much like our Meg. Why, John dear,
you forget everything nowadays. Meg's been eight
weeks upstairs.
Veale.
Oh, aye — time flies. It's a year since my bank-
ruptcy ; I reck'lect that — I reck'lect that.
Mbs. Veale.
\^LooJcing towards the cradle,'] Yes, father, the
little gal's eight weeks old to-day at tea-time — ^but
she hasn't been lying nearly so still and quiet as her
mother has. Meg !
\_She goes to the fireplace and arranges the
shawl over the back of the arm-chair
which she turns towards the fire.
Veale.
[^Mumbling to himself, ] Meg comin' down I It'll
all seem like old times afore the bankruptcy. It'll
all seem like old times — afore the baby was — afore
the baby was — made a bankrupt — made a bankrupt
— ^made a bankrupt.
Amell4 enters^ carrying a tray with breakfast things
upon it. She has become wizen and slatternly,
V
Amelia.
Please, m'm, ole Mr. 'Eron — ^he 'aven't touch his
breakfast agin.
Mbs. Veale.
What's wrong now?
LADT BOUNTIFUL, 12^
Veale.
Mr. 'Eron — one of the affablest gentlemen we've
ever known !
Amelia.
I'm not wishful to repeat sech language, pi'm, but
Mr. 'Eron 'ave been callmg his meal by low names.
Mbs. Veale.
No, 'Melia.
Amelia.
He says '15 toast is a injury and 'is kawfee a in-
sult.
[Amelia retires to the scuUery.
Mrs. Veale.
John, I can't endure that heartless old man much
longer ! He's wearing me out !
Veale.
You don't understand Mr. 'Eron, 'Etty, my dear.
Mrs. Veale.
Don't understand ! Why the old man's no more
than we are now, and ought to be much less ! We
give him the cream of everything — ^the bedroom with
the new wall-paper, the quilt I was married with I
'Melia valets him and keeps him repaired, and I
scorch my eyes out cooking him luxuries ! And how
does he treat us ? It's wicked !
Veale.
Ah, I dessay Mr. 'Eron feels his fall in the world
worse than we do, 'Etty. It's a shockin' reverse for
a bom gentleman. [ Taking a spoon from the tray,]
Look 'ere ! A metal spoon for a born gentleman.
There's a reverse 1
124 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Mrs. Veale.
A gentleman ! Who led us into all the mischief
that finished up in the Bankruptcy Court with an
old judge — ^whose face I could a slapped — asking
you impudent questions ?
Veale.
[Mournfully.'] I know, 'Etty, I know.
Mrs. Yeale.
And still you're proud of being patronised, and
slapped on the back, by a " gentleman " I You're
not yourself, father, or I'd be ashamed of you.
Veale.
But Mr. 'Eron has explained everything in his own
affable way — the friendliest gentleman we've ever
known,
Mrs. Veale.
He'd explain the pattern of my gown.
Veale.
He's been forsook by his proud relations, and put
in the hands of their lawyers, and now \looMng at
the spoon] his own son don't give him a bit o' silver
to stir his tea with !
[ The micsic of the street-organ is heard again,
Mrs. Veale.
His own son ! Ah, poor Dennis ! He's got enough
to bear, with all us sparrows chirruping for bread-
crumbs ! Come, I won't grumble at my share o' the
burden ! [Seizing the poker vigorously and mending
the fire.'] I'll think about the old vagabond's dinner,
that I Willi
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 125
Amelia.
[Entering the room from the scullery. "] Fm ready
for baby, m'm.
Mrs. Veale.
[ Taking the baby from, the cradle and placing it
in Amelia's arms,^ fee careful, 'Melia !
Amelia.
\^ Tenderly. 1 Lor', m'm, I'm used to it. There's
two at 'ome I've reared.
Roderick Heron enters. There is a faded and
rather depressed air about him,^ but his manner
towards the Veale's is magnificent and conde-
scending. He stalks across to the fireplace.
Roderick Heron.
Veale, my dear fellow — the paper.
[Amelia goes out with the baby.
Veale.
It's Mr. 'Eron! Good-momin', sir — a fine and
pleasant momin' to you, Mr. 'Eron. [Taking the
newspaper from the top of the bureau and cutting it^
[Roderick removes the woollen shawl from
the back of the chair and throws it away^
then seats himself facing the fire.
Mrs. Veale.
\Picking up the shawl indignantly and placing it
on a chair. Ah I
Roderick Heron.
Oh, my good woman, I've eaten no breakfast, you
know. I'm quite faint-— I really am.
126 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Mrs. Vealb.
yR^fyressing her anger,'] We mnst get you some*
thing tempting for your dinner, sir.
RoDEBiCK Heron.
Fm glad you feel the necessity for a step of that
kind I suggest a small bird of some sort — a pig-
eon, for example. With a sauce — ^try a sauce, Mrs.
Veale. s
Mrs. Veale.
[ Twitching her handsJ] A sauce.
Roderick Heron.
But, for heaven's sake, don't invent it! Buy a
cookery book when you go out. I'll open my purse-
strings and make you a present of one. Ask Dennis
for the money. [Veale gives Roderick Heron tJie
paper.'j Thank you, Veale — ^ypu are exceedingly
attentive. I hope you know that I consider you ex-
ceedingly attentive.
Veale.
Much obliged to ye, Mr. 'Eron, I'm sure.
Mrs. Veale.
Have you heard that Meg comes down to-day, Mr.
Heron ? .
Roderick Heron.
[^Reading the paper with his back to the ^ fire cotide-
scendingly,'] Does she ? Now I'm rejoiced to hear
that — quite rejoiced, you know.
Mrs. Veale.
Ah, thank you, sir.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 127
Roderick Hebon.
She will be able to assist in ihe household duties.
Mrs. Vbalb.
What!
Roderick Heron.
I have lost all confidence in Amelia since I detected
her using my comb. You are well-intentioned, Mrs.
Veale ; but Margaret can now make me her special
study.
Mrs. Veaxe.
Mr. Heron, while my gal has been lying upstairs,
watched, on and off, by me and Dennis, there's been
one belief that's kep' me, in a sort o' way, cheerful,
sir.
Roderick Heron.
Indeed, indeed?
Mrs. Veale.
The belief that it couldn't be meant to snatch at
the young and pretty under this roof and leave the
old and selfish untouched.
Roderick Heron.
[^Looking at Veale.] Ah, and a very cruel thing
to say before your poor husband, Mrs. Veale — ^a very
heartless thing I [Mrs. Veale, with a look of in-
dignation^ goes into the scullery carrying the trayJ]
Veale, have you any money in your pocket ?
Veale.
[tumbling in his pockets."] A little change of
mother's, sir.
128 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
BODBBICEL HbBOK.
Buy me a bunch of primroses when you go out.
Margaret will be gratified by some attention from
me on her coming downstairs, you know. I try to
think of everybody.
Amelia, dressed J^or walking, enters, weighed down
by the baby in its bonnet and robe, Mbs.
V BALE returns to the room.
Amelia.
[ To Mrs. Veale.] Master's come in, m'm ; he's
run upstairs to the young missus.
Mrs. Veale.
It's early for Dennis ; he's so excited about Meg.
RoDEBicK Hebok.
I really hope he is not neglecting those disgusting
stables of his. The business of a Jobmaster is pain-
fully degrading, but when a young man has respon-
sibilities
Mrs Veale.
\^Attiring Veale in his hat^ gloves, and comforter.']
Here's your hat, father. Go into the park with
'Melia and sit in the sun. [ The music of the street-
organ is resumed. Amelia goes out and ascends the
area-steps, followed by Veale. Watching their
departure from the area, and calling after them.']
Don't look about you, 'Melia! John, hold on to
'Melia's jacket at the crossings ! [^A letter is handed
to her through the railings,] Good-morning, post-
man. \^Itetuming to the room and throwing the letter
on to the table.] Letter for you, Mr. Heron. She
retires to the scuUery.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 129
Roderick Heron.
Eh? Oh I [Taking up the letter.] Camilla's law-
yers! [Openings the letter.] No euclosiire. Really,
you know, this is infamous ! [Heading.] " Great
George Street, Westminster. Sir. Yourself and
Miss Camilla Brent. In answer to your further
communication, we are again compelled to inform
you that we can do nothing but act upon the posi-
tive instructions of Miss Camilla Brent and her ad-
visers given us previous to her leaving England a
year ago." Now, how deceived we have all been in
this young woman ! " The large sum of money then
paid you by Miss Camilla Brent, to enable you to
discharge your obligations to Mr. John Veale, was a
final gift on the part of our client and we regret to
find that it was misapplied." Really, you know,
this is libellous ! " It is, of course, open to you to
directly address Miss Camilla Brent " Ah ! " but
as that lady is moving about Europe we are our-
selves unacquainted with her precise whereabouts."
Oh ! " We note your assurance that you are now the
sole support of your son and his numerous family
connections. Maule & Craddock."
Dennis enters guickly^ carrying a large bouquet^ a
basket of fruity and a parcel of books. Rod-
erick Heron shujffles his letter into his pockety as
Mrs. Veale also enters.
Dennis.
Good-moming, father !
Mrs. Veale.
Ah, Dennis, my dear !
9
130 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Roderick Heron.
You neglect your employment at a very critical
hour of the day, Dennis.
Dennis.
I'm of no use at the Mews this morning I Meg is
coming downstairs ! [/Showing the flowers,'] Look
here, father !
Roderick Heron.
For your wife, I presume ?
Dennis.
Yes. Aren't they beautiful ? [^To Mrs. Veale.]
Put 'em in the gayest jug we have. [Mrs. Vealb
takes the flowers and retires to the scullery. Selecting
a bunch of grapes from the basket and holding it tip.]
There's a picture f
Roderick Heron.
I'm always grievecj to see extravagance, you know.
Grapes at this season of the year — ^for your wife ;
it's a little painful to me.
Dennis.
Extravagance! Extravagance! Meg is coming
down to day ! [^Handing the parcel of books to Rod-
brick.] Here, father — some new books.
Roderick Heron.
Ah, dear Dennis, that's thoughtful — ^now that's
really thoughtful.
Dennis.
Spread 'em all out on the table.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 131
[ Tucking the parcel under his arm.'] No, no, I
won't unpack 'em here.
Dennis.
Yes, yes. Let her catch sight of the bright covers
directly I carry her into the room.
[Dennis goes up to the scullery-door and
gives the fruit to Mrs. Veaue.
Roderick Heron.
[ To himself.'] Meg ! Pish ! [ Throwing the books
on the table.] Really, you know !
[in disgust, he sits reading his paper. Dennis
wheels down a big arm-chair and arranges
it beside the table.
Dennis.
Just the thing ! Not tbo near the fire — out of the
draught.
Mrs. Veale.
[Hetuming^ with the flowers in a jug.] Look at
this fine yellow rose ! It's Meg's pet fliower.
Dennis.
Ha, ha ! of course it is. [ Turning thejug.^ We'll
turn it this way, mother, so that, when she sits here,
the big yellow chap stares her in the face. There!
[.ffe opens the parcel of books ; he and Mrs.
VEAiiE arrange them about the table.]
Mrs. Veale.
How splendid ! [Mcamining the books.] Dennis.
Dennis.
Eh?
132 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Mes. Vkalk.
There's no pictures in 'em I
Dennis.
Don't you think — Meg will — care for 'em — ^with-
out ?
Mrs. Veale.
Why, Dennis, you know her taste in reading by
this time.
Dennis.
I — I quite forgot.
Mrs. Veale.
Never mind I Come and set out that fruit.
[ They go together into the scuUery.
Roderick Heron.
The soot is falling here ; I am half smothered, you
know. Phew I [^He rises, and crosses to the table,"]
Ugh! I had better rejoice with the rest of 'em.
{^Sinking into the arm-chair comfortably.'] Now, I
suppose, to a girl of her class these domestic events
are as bank-holidays to a common young man. But
confound her and her baby I
[Se selects the yellow rose from the bouquet
and fastens it in his coat. Mrs. Veale
comes to the table with the fruit in a
dish. Dennis picks up the hassock and
places it on the floor by the arm-chair ;
Roderick puts his feet on it. Dennis
and Mrs. Veale stare at Roderick
blankly.
Roderick Heron.
[ Gaily, pointing to the rose in his coati\ You see 1
You see I
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 133
Dbnnis.
Why, father, you -I
RoDSBicK Hbbok,
Dear Dennis, I decorate in honour of the occasion.
[Dennis walks away.
Mrs. Vbale.
\^FoUow8 him aympathetically,'] Don't he down,
Dennis! Cheer up I He's a well-meaning gentle-
man, your father.
RODBBICK HbBON.
[ Taking some grapes from the dish and munching
them complacently^ Towards all these pretty family
celebrations I am really sympathetic— quite sympa-
thetic, you know.
Mbs. Vealb.
Dennis, my dear, don't you think this is a capital
opportunity to — ^let him know?
Dennis.
\In a whisper."] To tell him ?
Mbs. Vbale.
About the future — now.
[DBira^is, taking an auctioneer's catalogue
from his pocket J advances to Roderick.
Dennis.
Father, there's some important news I want to
break to you. [ Griving him the catalogue.] Perhaps
you'd better glance over that. ^
Roderick Heron.
Certainly, dear Dennis, certainly.
134 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Dennis*
Fve kept it from you till the matter was quite
settled ; there's no good, that I can see, in arguing
about what's got to be.
Roderick Heron.
Grood gracious. [^Beading the catalogue,"] Without
any reserve I Saturday the 11th I Messrs. Chepmell
have instructions to dispose of — Horses, carts, car-
riages — general stock of a Livery Stable ! Propri-
etor leaving England I On view after Wednesday !
\_To Dennis.] You really don't suggest that tms
refers to your, I may say our^ business ?
Dennis.
Yes, father, I do.
Roderick Heron.
Proprietor leaving — no, dear Dennis, no !
Dennis.
Proprietor leaving England. It might have said
that he hopes to do it in a week's time, and that he's
going to the shipping-agent this very day.
Roderick Heron
Proprietor leaving Eng ^? Alone.
Dennis.
Alone ! \^Layiny his hand owMrs. Veale's shoulder
— she looking up at him kindly.] Alone— no. Mr.
and Mrs. Veale go with me. Meg — my wife — and
our little girl go with me. Please, heaven, health
and good fortune go with us all!
lAi>Y BOVl^TIFUL. 135
»
RODEEICK HeBON.
[ Taking up an important position before the fir e^
Really, Dennis, I am almost ashamed that such a
question should arise — nay, that it should be abso-
lutely vital — ^but what arrrangements do you propose
with reference to myself, you know?
Dennis.
Well, we are willing you should share the rough
and smooth with us.
RODEBICK HeBON.
The rough !
Dennis.
I'm content to work for you as I do now, father,
and those about me will do their best to make you
happy.
Mes. Veale.
Yes, that we will !
RODEBICK HeBON.
[ Wamng her away,"] One moment, Mrs. Veale —
please, please! Tms is purely a private matter
[Mrs. Veale goes to the window. Sulkily to Den-
nis.] Where the devil are We going?
Dennis.
A good friend — Mr. Ericson — a rich American,
who's had dealings with me and taken a liking to me,
owns a large cattle-farm out in Nebraska.
RoDEEiCK Heron.
Great powers, cattle I
136 LADY BOVNTlFUL.
Dennis.
And he has an idea that I'm the man to manage
it. By Jove, I'm the man to try !
RODEBICK HeBON.
Nebraska I I demand to know what has induced
you to commit yourself to — to — ^to this most inconve-
nient scheme !
Dennis.
I'll tell you. The chance of some day finding my-
self able to restore ease and comfort to the two old
people we ruined by our coming amongst 'em. The
prospect of taking my wife out of the drudgery and
meanness of this sort of life, and seeing the colour
come back to her face and the strength to her poor
little body I And the hope of watching our child
grow up to be a woman among sturdy, independent
people who won't let her feel ashamed of a rough,
grey-haired father I If it all comes to pass, why — I
— why Ah, if it only comes to pass !
[-ffc breaks down a little and sits leaning his
head upon his hand.
Mrs. Veale.
[ Coming to him and touching his shoulder^ sooth-
ingly?^ Dennis I
^ Roderick Heron.
[ To himself reflectively']. After all, thfere are gentle-
men farmers ! And it may move Camilla to a sense
of duty. [ To Dennis.] I began to feel sympathetic
towards this scheme, dear Dennis — quite sympathetic,
you know.
[Amelia, carrying the hahy^ is seen descending
the area-steps quickly^ followed by John«
V
ZADT BOtTNTIFni. 137
Amelia.
[ Outside excitedly. "} Oh, m'm I Oh, m'm I If you
please, m'm.
Mbs. Vealb. ^
Why, here's 'Melia back ! and father ! [She hurries
to the door and admits Amelia and Vealb.] Gracious,
'Meha ! whatever has happened ?
Amelia.
[^Breathlessly.'] Oh, m'm, if you'd 'old baby till I git
my breath! [Coming down.] W^ 'ave 'erried along,
me and Mr. Veale.
Mbs. Vealb.
[Taking the hahy.] Sit down a minute, 'Melia.
Father, what is it ?
Vealb.
'Melia '11 tell you, 'Etty, my dear. Fm reether
blown, mother.
Amelia sirJes into a chair with her hand to
her heart.
Amelia.
Me and Mr. Veale, m'm, went straight up Little
Cowper Street, bein' the nearest way to the Park
gate, and along Peel Row, and no one could a' been
carefuller o' cabs and busses than me, 'oldin' baby
in one arm as I did and leadin' Mr. Veale by the
other 'and, my jacket not being one to place confidence
in.
Mrs. Vealb.
Well, 'Melia ?
Amelia.
Well, m'm, jest as we was crossin' of Great George
Street, bein' wishful to shift baby from my lef to my
138 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
right, I let go Mr. Veale and I see 'im stragglin'
across the road for all the world as if he was goin'
under a milk-cart.
Mbs. Vealb.
Father I
Amelia.
So I gives a shriek and calls out, " Mr. Veale !
come to 'Melia ! Mr. Veale I " and at that very
moment a lady and gentleman walks straight out
of a 'ouse in George Street, and the lady lay9
'old o' me and says, "Did you say Mr. Veale,
child ? " and not bein' wishful to tell a untruth I
owned it.
Mrs. Veale.
A lady and gentleman !
Amelia.
Yes, m'm, a old gentleman with as nice a way with
'im as I'm wishfm to see, and a young lady with
sech eyes and 'air and teeth. And I reckernised
her, m'm — ah, I reckernised her the minute I see
her I
Mbs. Veale.
You recognised her, 'Melia !
Amelia.
Yes, m'm — ^the ^oung lady who came one day along
of others to the Ridin' Academy.
Mbs. Veale.
Why, Dennis!
RODEBICK HeEON.
Really, you know, this is very interesting! Den-
nis ! [Dennis turrfs his back upon the group and
LADT BOUNTIFUL. 139
toalks slowly away^ then stands^ with his head bowed
listening.'] Go on, my good, girl, go on !
Amelia.
Well, m'm, and when the young lady found out
who Mr. Veale was she gives a sharp look at baby
and she says, says she, "Tell me this child's name,"
she says, " quick ! " " She ain't christened yet," I
says, " her mother 'avin been at death's door ; but
it will be — if we all live — " I says "It will be Mar-
garet." And then she looks at me in a sort o' startled
way and says, " Margaret — Heron f " she says. And
I jest nodded. And, oh, m'm, it was sweet the way
she be'aved towards baby.
Roderick Hebon.
Why, why, why, why ?
Amelja.
She jest lifts baby's veil, m'm, as careful as if the
child was made o' gold, and she looks in its face and
stares at it without seemin' to breathe. And then I
see a big tear creepin' down her cheek, and she
brushed it away with her 'and, but another come to
quick for her and fell on baby's robe. And then
she turned away and whispered to the old gentle-
man, and he gives her a gold pencil and a leaf out
of his pocket-book, and she writes on it ; and I see
her 'and all shakin' and tremblin', m'm, as she
pinned the paper on to baby's frock — 'jest 'ere.
Look m'm !
[Amelia turns hack the hahy*s robe^ showing
a scrap of paper pinned to the frock,
Mbs. Veale.
[Looking round towards Dennis.] Dennis.
140 LADY BOtTlTTIFtTL.
RoDEBicK Heron.
[ Gaily. "]. Dennis, my dear boy ! Dennis coming
slowly down and^ bending over the haby^ reads in a
low voice.'] " The child carries this message to its
mother asking her not to refuse to see Camilla
Brent."
[^There is a knock at the door, Amelia
opens ity and Sm Richakd Philliteb
t^ seen on the threshold*
Sib Richard.
The person living on the floor above has been good
enough to admit me. Mr. Dennis Heron ?
Mrs. Yeale.
Come in, sir — do, pray.
Sir Richard.
Thank you. \_Advancing to Dennis and taking
his hand warmly.] My dear Dennis, how do you do ?
Dennis.
Sir Richard.
Roderick Heron.
Now, this is really a delightful visit — a gratifying
visit you know.
[Dennis makes way for Roderick who ad-
vances to Philliter but the latter bows
stiffly and does not accept Roderick's
hxnd.
Sir liicHARD.
{^Turning to the flowers on the table.] Dennis,
what bright and cheerful flowers.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 141
Roderick Hebon.
Quite so.
Mbs. Yeale.
[in a whisper.'] John ! 'Melia I
[Mbs. Veale carrying the hahy^ withdraws
quietly y followed by Amelia and Vbaxe.
RoDEBiCK Hebon.
Dear Dennis, pray entertain Sir Richard while I
smoke my cigarette in the — ah — ^in the little front
garden. This is really a memorable meeting, you
know. \As he goes out,] Where the devil is Cam-
illa?
\He goes into the area where he is seen walk-
ing to and/rOy smoking.
Sib Richabd.
Well, Dennis, my dear fellow ! " Confound him ! "
you're saying to yourself, "what's he doing here?
5>
DENijas.
No, no — ^indeed.
Sir* Richabd,
How well you're looking! I ought to tell you —
Camilla returned suddenly to England, for a few
hours, last night and, finding I was free, sent me a
line begging me to escort her to her lawyers this
morning, and as we were leaving Maule & Crad-
dock's we fell* upon your little maid and the baby,
and heard of your wife's grave illness. All right
now, eh?
DENins.
Yes, thank God I
142 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Sm RiCHABD.
Good — good. But you know what women are.
Directly Camilla leamt the facts she said to me,
" Richard — ^" I've taught her to call me Richard, at
last — " Richard, I know that Dennis has grown away
from his old friends and companions, and that he
and I have become strangers ; but his wife has been
lying at the point of death, and I must — I must
nurse that baby ! " [Dennis turns slightly away
from Philliter.] And this accounts for my shame-
less intrusion.
Dennis.
And — ^where — ^is Camilla — ^now?
Sib Richard.
Camilla ? Oh, Camilla is upstairs, with Mrs.
Heron.
Dennis.
She is — ^very good. She was — always — ^very good.
[-ffe stands looking into the fire.
Sir Richard.
[ To himself^ eyeing Dennis.] There are different
kinds of heroes ; the hero who bangs a drum, or
waves a flag, or spouts, or bullies, or prays to God,
with a newspaper reporter at his back — and there's
another sort. This man is of the other sort.
Camilla enters noiselessly^ carryiny the baby divested
of its bonnet and robe,
Camilla.
\_Softly,'\ Dennis. [Dennis turns and advances to-
wards her looking down upon the bahy,'] Hush !
[ Ooing down on her kness she places the
baby in its cradle. The two men watch
her.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 143
Sib Richabd.
[Jn an undertone^ laying his hand on Dennis's
arm.'] Bless me! Dennis, I've seen her, a little
child, playing with her doU— like that.
[RoDEBicK looks in at the window^ then
hastily enters.
RODEBICK HeBON.
My dear niece!
[Camilla rises quickly and confronts him
with an altered manner.
Camilla.
TJncle !
RODEBICK HeBON.
N'ow this is an affecting family reunion — ^it really
is!
Camilla.
TJncle Roderick, I am here to see Dennis, and his
wife and child. It may be years before they and I
meet again — ^we may never meet again. But, for all
that, I will go out of this house without another
word if you do not leave this room at once.
RODEBICK HebON.
I think I imderstand, Camilla. I am the victim
of tale-bearing, of false report. I had hoped, you
know, for a general exchange of toleration and for-
giveness — ^but I am mistaken. [Zoftily,'] I am
mistaken in you, my sister's child ^Ah ! And I
am mistaken, I regret to find, in Dennis. It's a
terrible shock — really a terrible shock — ^to me to
realise that in every action of his life, in the selec-
tion of his associates, in the choice of a career, my
144 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
son has been actuated solely by considerations of
self. [ Openings the door.'] I shall remain upstairs
— ^the front room on the second fioor, you know.
\_£[e goes out.
Camilla.
[ Gently^ to Dennis.] Never mind. She is ready
— fetch her. Dennis nods to Camilla and silently
goes out. , As he disappears^ Cx^nLLxputs her hand-
kerchief to her eyes.] Oh, dear ! oh, dear I How
poor they are ! How poor they are !
Sm Richard.
Don't, Camilla, pray don't !
Camilla.
Richard.
Sm RiOHABD.
My dear ?
Camilla.
[ With little stifled sobs.] You — you — do-n't think
I've wronged — ^Uncle Roderick, do you ?
Sm Richard.
Wronged him !
Camilla.
Fm not clever at analysing character. Richard,
do you believe Uncle Roderick knows he's so shock-
ingly wicked?
Sm Richard.
No.
Camilla.
Oh ! then what have I done ?
, LADY BOUNTIFUL. 145
Sm Richard.
No, I don't think he knows he's a scoundrel — ^but
I imagine he half suspects it.
Camilla.
Ah, thank you. Richard, poor Dennis is leaving
England, to farm, in America.
Sm RiCHABD.
Bless me ! By himself ?
Camilla.
No — ^with everybody belonging to him. They're
enough to found a colony.
Sib Richard.
Yes — ^they might start the jail with Roderick.
Camilla.
Mrs. Heron tells me that Dennis is going to the
shipping-agent to-day. Richard, do something for
me.
Sir Richard.
My dear child.
Camilla.
Make some excuse for taking him there at once,
find out the name of the vessel, and then we'll enter
into an underhand arrangement with the agent for
their comfort — shall we?
Sir Richard.
Even for Roderick's comfort ?
Camilla.
Yes. Even — TJncle — Roderick.
10
146 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Sib Richard.
Ah, bless you, Lady Bountiful !
Mabgaret.
[ Outside^ calling softly, 1 Miss Brent ! Miss Brent !
Camilla.
That's Mrs. Heron. [She runs to the door and
throws it open,'] Mrs. Heron.
[Veale entersy looking behind him,]
Veale.
[ With feeble gaiety,] Meg coming down — seems
like old times — afore the ba^ruptcy !
[Dennis enters carrying Margaret who looks pale
and fragile. He puts her in the arm-chair ^ and
arra^iges the hassock and shawl^ while Mr. and
Mrs. Veale look on,]
Margaret.
[^Smiling,] Ah Miss Brent, ain't I silly not to
run down stairs? I Seeing the flowers,] Oh! \_She
^passes her hand over the blossoms then picks up one
of the booksy looking up into his face gratefully,]
Dennis!
Camilla.
\^Advaricing with Philliter.] Mrs. Heron, this is
my friend. Sir Richard Philliter.
Margaret.
[ Timidly,] How do you do, sir ?
Sir Richard.
[ Taking Margaret's hand,] Mrs. Heron, there ig
no one apart from your own family, more rejoiced
to see you recovered. And such a fine boy !
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 147
Camilla.
[ Quietly to him,'] Girl.
Sir Richabd.
Girl. [4 little disconcerted,] Ah !
[ J2« ffoes to Dennis.
Mrs. Vbalb.
[ To Mabgabet.] Father and me won't be long
doing our shopping, Meg. Come along, John, i
Veale.
Seems like old times — afore the
Mrs. Veale.
Hush, father ! Here's your hat.
[John and Mrs. Veale go out and ascend
the area steps.
Camilla.
[Quietly to Philliter.] Now !
Sir Richard.
Dennis, I know you've some business out of doors.
I think we can be spared for a little while. My cab's
outside.
Camilla.
IBemovinff her hat.] Go, go, go — I'll take care of
Mrs. Heron.
Dennis.
Meg?
Margaret.
\^8oftly to him.] I want to speak to Miss Brent
with nobody by. Go to the shipping-office, and find
out — ^the day.
148 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Deitnis.
It's a long voyage for you, Meg.
Mabgabbt.
I'm ready.
Dennis.
With hope— ah, but with uncertainty at the end
of it.
Mabgabet.
I'm ready.
[Dennis and Philliteb go out together,
Mabgabet tums^ and watchea their going,
Camilla.
How courageous of those two men to leave us
together. Three wicked gossips ! [Placing her chair
by Mabgabet.] You, I, [looking towards the cradle']
and that little magpie in her nest.
Mabgabet.
[In a low voice,] Miss Brent.
Camilla.
Yes?
Mabgabet.
Sick folks are always humoured and spoilt. Will
you stand over there, away from me, and let me look
at you well ?
Camilla.
Of course I will. Here?
Mabgabet.
There. [Looking eagerly at Camilla.] Fm going
to stare at you, to take you into my memory — ^your
face, your dress, your ways — ^may I?
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 149
Camilla. ^
Certainly.
[^A/ter a little while Mabgasbt looks cmay^
passing her hand over her eyes with a
sigh.
Mabgabet.
Ah!
Camilla.
WeU?
Mabgabet.
Do you wonder why I'm trying to get you by
heart?
Camilla.
To remember me kindly ?
Mabgabet.
Ah, yes — ^yes. I'll tell you. Miss Brent !
Camilla.
[^Sitting beside h£rJ] Hush ! What's the matter ?
Mabgabet.
Miss Brent, I know — I've known for ever so long
—that you and Dennis loved each other. [Camilla
shrinks from her,"] Don't go away from me. I'm not
jealous any longer.
Camilla.
Jealous !
Mabgabet.
Perhaps if I'd known you always as I do now I
might have been spared the agony of that sort o' feel-
ing. For, oh, it was strong on me at first I It was
bitter to me at first I
/
150 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla.
I — ^I mustn't deny it. It is true, Dennis and I were
attached to each other once, in a strange kind of way.
Who — ^who told you?
Mabgabet.
Mr. Roderick Heron told me.
Camilla.
[ With indignatiwi.'] Mr Heron 1
Mabgabet.
It was one day, when the crash first came at home,
and I reproached Mr. Heron with what he'd done for
us — and he turned on me and let me have the
truth.
Camilla.
And what was his notion of the truth ?
Mabgabet.
[^Her hands clasped^ staring straight before her.l
That Dennis missed his chance with you ojid picked
me up out of pity.
Camilla.
Oh!
[Camilla is about to rise — ^Mabgabet stays
her.
Mabgabet.
It was the truth ! Somehow I knew it was the truth !
He might a' told me in softer words, or only half told
me — ^but there it was, Miss Brent, and it came home
to me as if I had been caught by the throat and horse-
whipped 1
\
LADT BOTTNTIFITL. 151
Camilla.
Oh, don't speak like that !
Mabgaret.
Every kind f eeUng in me was torn by it and set
bleeding. I hated the thought of you ! I hated the
sight of him — my husband ! It brought out o' me all
the bad qualities that common people have, and I
hated myself worst of all !
Camilla.
Why didn't you ask Dennis to tell you his story ?
Margaret.
Oh, he told it me. But what did it seem to me — a
jealous, ignorant young wife ? I saw it all so clear,
I could a' made a tale out of it ! I saw him leaving
your fine house after a lovers' tiff ; I saw how he
came to console himself with me, just the sort o'
poor thing to deaden a man's trouble for a time 1
And I saw why you'd left England before our wed-
ding I
Camilla.
l^ainth/,^ What do you mean ?
Margaret.
It was because you still loved him and wanted to
drive him out of your head !
[Camilla rises — ^Margaret rises with her,
Camilla.
[ With a cry of distress,"] Ah !
Margaret.
And do you know, do you know what I did when
all this came on me ?
152 LAI>T BOVNTIFtJL.
Camilla.
[Appealingly,'] Be silent ! you are ill !
Margabet.
I prayed that in some foreign place you'd fall sick,
of a fever, and waste under it, that you'd live — live
to meet my husband again in England, showmg him
a plain, altered face to compare with my rosy cheeks
and bright eyes ! I prayed that — God forgive me
for it ! — and now, look at me ! Ah, if I coiild have
seen myself as I was to be. Miss Brent ! If I could
only have seen myself as I was to be I
[Camilla takes her in her amis.
Camilla.
Hush ! hush ! Mrs. Heron, Mrs. Heron I You're
all right with me now, aren't you — ^you're all right
with me now ?
Mabgaret.
Yes, yes. It's all done with now.
[Camilla places her tenderly in the chair and
kneels by her side.
Camilla.
That's right — ^that's right.
Margaret.
Ah, but you don't know what a cruel wife Fve
been to him.
Camilla.
Because of me f Not because of me ?
Margaret.
Yes, I couldn't help it. The thought of you — ^you,
a lady, so much higher than me — ^used to send me
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 153
crazy ; and for months, while he was struggling hard
to keep a roof over us, and when I should a' heen
cheering and consoling him, I never opened my
mouth hut to torture hrni with a taunt or a sneer.
Camilla.
Oh! Tell me again it's different now I It's
different now, isn't it ?
Mabgabet.
Oh, yes. Miss Brent, it's different now.
Camilla.
I — Fm so glad. I am — so glad 1
Mabgaset.
Slowly enough, the horrible jealousy seemed to
bum itself out [putting her hand to her bosoni] here.
It's his love that's made me a better woman. He's
been so good to me. Miss Brent — my husband's been
so good to me I
Camilla.
Ah, yes.
Mabgabet.
Always patient — always tender — seeming not to
hear when I've blurted out ignorant things, instead
of wincing under 'em — always remembering me in a
hundred small ways as if he'd been born to it. And
as I've b^en lying upstairs, through long days and
long nights, thinking, and thinking, and thinking,
I've come to know him better and to love him truly.
Camilla.
Ah, heaven bless you both! Heaven bless and
prosper you both 1
154 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Margaret.
And now, Miss Brent, there's something I want to
put on paper and give into your hands before I start
on this voyage.
CAMnXA.
Into my hands ?
MaIigaret.
I've got it by heart. It's come to me, bit by bit
at odd times ; and I meant to send it to you somehow
before I sailed, never expecting the strange luck of
knowing you to talk to. {Loohing towards the bureau,']
I'll get my blotting-book and pen and ink.
Camilla.
No, no — let me bring them to you. [ Going to the
bureau,'] Are they here ?
Yes.
Margaret.
[Camilla opens the lid of the bureau and
takes out a small inkstand and blotting-
book. While Camilla's back is turned^
Margaret rises^ and stands looking down
upon the cradle thoughtfully,
Camilla.
[^Placing the writing materials upon the table, see-
ing Margaret.] Mrs. Heron! \Going quickly to
Margaret and looking into her face,] Mrs. Heron !
Margaret.
[7/1 a low, awed voice.] Miss Brent, the idea's come
to me lately that p'rhaps it isn't meant for me to
get well and strong again.
LAI>T BOUNTIFUL. 156
Camilla.
Oh, hush ! What makes you say that ?
Mabgabet.
Spending towards the cradle,'] It's my baby that
s me so. I seem to have given all the life I had
to my httle child.
Camilla.
[in a whisper."] No, no !
Margaret.
I dread to frighten mother and Dennis — ^but often,
when my weary fits are on me, I drop into a sort of
sleep that isn't like sleep. And it makes me think
that one day they'll come to wake me, and that
they'll find the sleep too heavy, and know they^re
not to hear me laugh, nor scold, nor see me running
about the house any more.
Camilla.
These are the sad fancies of a young mother,
dear Mrs. Heron.
Margaret.
P'rhaps — ^p'rhaps — ^but still I'm going to give you
this letter Fve thought of.
Camilla.
A letter ?
Margaret.
Sealed up — addressed to Dennis.
Camilla.
Dennis?
156 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Mabgabet.
Yes. Because if it should so happen Fm taken
away from him, and he wanders back to England
some day without me, likely enough you and he'll
meet and chat over old times and old faces.
CAMnXA.
But it won't happen !
Mabgabet.
Well, just take this letter and keep it by you —
it's only a kind word that I dearly want to reach
him through you — and, if what I say should come
to pass, give it Dennis with your own hands.
Promise !
Camilla.
When Dennis comes back he'll bring you with
him, with all the roses in youj* cheeks again !
Mabgabet.
P'rhaps — ^but promise what I ask. I'll go away
the happier for it. Promise.
Camilla.
Yes, yes, I'll promise. But, Mrs. Heron
Mabgabet.
Thank you. I'll write it.
[^She sits in the arm-chair and, opening the
hlotting-hook, finds a sheet of paper and
writes. At the same moment Dennis
and Philliteb are seen combing down
the area-steps talkingJ]
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 157
Camilla.
Sir Richard and Dennis have come back I
Mabgabet.
Keep 'em away till I've written this. Just a
moment — ^please, Miss Brent I
[Camilla goes to the window and opens it,
Camilla.
[ Wiping the tears from her eyes — with assumed
brightness,'} Richard — Dennis — come and talk to me
here. I forbid your coming in.
Sib Richabd.
Why, what have we done, pray ?
Camilla.
Sullied your considerate act of going away by re-
turning a little too soon. Mrs. Heron is writing some-
thing — ^for me— and I won't have her disturbed till
it's finished.
Dennis.
[_Advancing to the window — looking in at Mabgaret
fondly,'] By Jove, she looks like her old self again,
as she sits there !
Camilla.
Take care of her, Dennis.
Dennis.
Take care of her ! Yes. Why, it puts life into a
fellow — only just to see her sitting there. And Dr.
Mordaunt says the voyage will work wonders.
158 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla.
Of course — of course. Have you been to the
shipping-agent?
SmRlCHABD.
Yes.
Camilla.
Ah ! when is it to be ?
Dbnnis.
Thursday, the 16th — from Liverpool.
Camilla.
I sha'n't forget it. I shall think of you all, from
among the pines, in my dull little chalet in Switzer-
land. Tell me the name of the ship.
Dbnnis.
The " Orion."
Camilla.
The " Orion." Bless the " Orion ! "
Amen I
Amen I
Sib Richabd.
Dbnnis.
Camilla.
There ! Fm forgetting the open window. I'll
come out to you. [ Closing the window and going to
the door."] Call me, Mrs. Heron.
[^She joins the tuoomen outside,
[Maegabet finishes her letter carefully^ then
looks over her shoulder to assure herself
that she is alone and reads it*
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 159
Mabgabet.
"Dennis. Something tells me that — ^if — ^you —
lose me — ^you and Miss Camilla Brent will meet
again, and marry. She's the lady whose place I
took — and it's only natural — and I've taught myself
to think of it without feeling wretched. So I want
you to be sure that no shadow of mine comes be-
tween you — and that — I wish it." That's all — that's
all. [/SAe encloses the letter in an envelope and seals
and addresses it,'] "Mr. — Dennis — Heron. With —
my — love." \Going to the window and tapping at it]
Miss Brent — ^Dennis !
[Camilla, Philliter, and Dennis enter,]
Dennis.
[ To Margaret.] Beginning to rim before you've
learnt to walk. Ill tell Dr. Mordaunt.
Margaret.
Ah, no tales, and I won't disobey again !
[Dennis arranges the chair in its former posi-
tion. As he does so Margaret slips her
letter into Camilla's hand.
Dennis.
Meg, dear. [Places the shawl around her,]
Margaret.
Is it settled?
Dennis.
A week from to-morrow.
Margaret.
I am ready. [^ITeputs her in the arm-chair.]
160 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Sm RiCHABD.
And now, as Mrs. Heron looks fatigued it is very
lucky that I have to run away with Miss Brent.
She Jaas a night journey before her, to Paris. Ca-
milla, Aunt A^e is pacing the room impatiently at
the hotel.
Camilla.
Yes — ^I'm forgetting.
Sm RiCHABD.
My dear Mrs. Heron, please remember an old
friend of your husband's.
Mabgabet.
[ Timidly.'] Good-bye, sir.
Sib RiCHABD.
I know I shall hear frequently of your health,
your happiness, and your welfare in the bright, new
country you have chosen. [^Tuming to Dennis,
heartily,'] Dennis.
Camilla.
[ To Mabgabet.] I shall write to you from Paris,
to-morrow. Think of me always, and I'll think
much of you.
Mabgabet.
Ah, indeed I will.
Camilla.
Yes — ^but whom /will you think of?
Mabgabet.
Miss Brent.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 161
Camilla.
Miss Brent is my aunt. Try again — ^Meg.
Mabgaret.
Camilla.
Camilla.
That's right. [ The two women kiss silently/.
Sir Richard.
Camilla, my dear.
Camilla.
Yes, yes.
[Margaret is sitting in deep thought.
With a quick movement, Camilla, un-
observed, takes a simple necklace from,
her throat and drops it into the cradle.
Camilla.
IJETurriedly,'] No, no, we'll not take Dennis from
Margaret. Follow me, Richard ! No farewells !
[^jShe goes guickly out without looking
hack.
Sir Richard.
{^Following her, cheerily, '] Ha, ha ! We always
humour her. No farewells, my dear Dennis, no fare-
wells!
[Camilla and Sir Richard ascend the steps^
and disappear.
Denihs.
[ Watching their going from the window, then com-
ing down to Margaret.] They wouldn't let me take
'em to the door — ^they've run up the steps.
11
162 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Mabgabet.
Fancy, Dennis ! A gentleman and a lady going
up our poor steps ! That's like the fairies who al-
ways prefer the chimney. Dennis.
Dbnihs.
Yes Meg? \_Se sits beside her.
Mabgabet. •
I've made friends with her now, and talked to her.
She's a good woman.
Dennis.
Yes — she's a good woman.
Mabgabet.
And, Dennis dear, I — I've told her.
Dennis.
Told her ?
Mabgabet.
About my jealousy, and how I once hated her
because she'd been your sweetheart.
Dennis.
There was no need, dear one — ^there was no need.
Mabgabet.
Ah, but there was — ^because Fm so much easier
for it now. She's kissed me, and let me call her
Camilla. Camilla. I wonder whether — our child —
will ever learn — ^to love her.
Dennis.
Why, you shall teach the little one to do that, if
you like, Meg.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 163
Margaret.
[^Leaning back with a sorrowful sigh.'] Ah !
Dennis.
You're very tired. I must carry you upstairs
again.
Margaret.
Ah, not yet ; it's like sending me back to prison.
Keep me here a little longer.
Dennis.
But what will Dr. Mordaunt say ?
Margaret.
He won't mind — ^will he — if we pay his bill before
we leave.
Dennis.
[^Laughing,'] Ha, ha !
Margaret.
Ah, now I've made you laugh I know I'll have my
own way. Go and smoke your pipe while I shut my
eyes and rest.
[-06 rises and arranges the shaiol about her
shoulders.
Dennis.
\ Softly r\ That's a good Meg — a very good Meg !
\Jt'illing his pipe he bends over the cradle. Margaret
opens her eyes watching him.']
Dennis.
Yes, Meg !
Margaret.
Dennis.
%
166 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
you? Well, look here! You're going to a new
country, you are — do you know that? To a fine,
new country where your mother will soon be a
strong mother again. And you've got to spring up
into a tall, young woman — mother's companion,
mother's right-hand ; loving me a little, but think-
ing and believing that nothing in the world is so
good and sweet as your mother is. Ah, you hear
that, do you ? [Z?6 moves the cradle gently.'] What
are you staring at ? The clock ? That 11 tick for
us in our new home through many a happy day,
please God ! \_Raising his head^ listening,] Doesn't
it tick, eh? [//i a whisper^ wonderingly.'] How
loudly it ticks ! \^IIe tums^ looking at Marga^ret.
She is lying in the position in which he left her but
with her eyes closed. He listens to the clock again^
then rises and creeps over to Margaret. Looking
into her face in a whisper,] Meg! Meg dear! He
touches her hand^ which lies across the arm of the '
chair — the hand falls into her lap, \^He goes back a
little^ staring at her^ then throws himself at her feet
with a piteous cry,'] Meg ! dont leave me like that !
don't leave me hke that !
END OF THE THIRD ACT.
LABT BOUNTIFUL. 167
THE FOURTH ACT.
CAMILLA GOES TO THE ALTAR-
The scene is the interior of an old country churchy with
plain stonewalls andpiUars. The nave is sepa^
rated from the aisle by three pillars spanned by
arches. The church is decorated with flowers. It
is late in the afternoon and the light is fading.
Fiveyears have passed since the death of Margaret.
Mrs. Hodnutt, a little old woman^ dressed in blacky
enters and as she does so, Pedgript, a withered,
bald-headed old man, ascends the spiral stair which
leads from the crypt, carrying apiece of flat orna-
mental brass which he is anxiously rubbing with a
rag.
Mrs. Hodntitt.
I didn't know you was in the cryp', Mr. Pedgrift.
Pedgrift.
. {^Glancing at her under his brows."] TJgh! Fm alius
at work, Mrs. Hodnutt, ma'am — alius at work.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
To be sure — on them brasses.
Pedgript.
Aye. I've lighted on some more bits under the
rubbidge in the Hethelbert chapel. If I were schol-
ard enough to 'cipher the 'scriptions I could piece
'em together. Lovely brasses ! Beautiful brasses !
168 LABT BOUNTIFUL.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Can I be of 'elp, Mr. Pedgrift?
Pbdgript.
\_SUpping the brass under his coatJ] Nay. I don't
require no women folk a' interferin' and reaping my
glory. So, 'old 'ee tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt 1
Mbs. Hodnutt.
[ With asperity.'] Oh, to be sure ! Turning away
and arranging two chairs.] I wouldn't waste my
precious time.
Pbdgript.
Waste o' time ! In discoverin' and preservin' the
splendidest monyments ever set up to mortal men 1
'Old 'ee tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt ! It's a cheap age we
live in, ma'am, and soft stone's good enough for noo
folk. But it's brasses what perpetuates the days o'
England's greatness, and it's old Pedgrift what per-
petuates brasses !
Mrs. Hodnutt,
[ Contemptuously.'] Oh, to be sure I
Pbdgript.
What are you doin' 'ere at six o'clock in the arter-
noon, Mrs. Hodnutt ?
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Pm expectin' Miss Camilly, and her good gentle-
man as is to be, to step down fromth' Grange to view
the school-children's flowers.
Pedgrift.
I thought the children was to show their decora-
tions to Miss Camilla and th' Grange party at mid-
day?
LAD T BOUNTIFUL. 169
Mrs. Hodnutt.
So they was to, the noisy imps! And, after
bringing all their mess and muddle into my church,
away comes a groom to say as Miss Camilly's got a
sick 'ead but 'opes to stroll down durin' the a'rter-
noon, [Mysteriously.'] A sick 'ead, Mr. Pedgrift!
Ahhh ! to be sure !
Pedgript.
If Miss Camilly gives her mind to a sick 'ead let
her enj'y it. You 'old 'ee tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt !
Mrs. Hodnutt.
It's a sad sight to see a young 'ooman aihn' and
frettin' the day before the weddin', Mr. Pedgrift.
Pedgrift.
[Polishing and breathing on the hrassJ] It's a sad
enough sight to see a young 'ooman anyways, 'cept-
ing they be carved on brasses.
- Mrs. Hodnutt.
Though, to be sure, I guess what's amiss wi' Miss
Camilly.
Pedgrift.
'Old 'ee tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt I
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Not but what Sir Richard's a fine, well-kep' gentle-
man; but I don't fancy bright eyes and red lips
comin' to my church wi' white 'air and wrinkles.
He's ripening for sixty, Sir Richard is.
170 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Pedgmft.
Aye — ^time he was thinkin' of his final brasses.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
To be sure! No, Mr. Pedgrift, Miss Camilly
missed her match when we lost yoimg Dennis Heron
out of Lydgate.
Pedgrift.
'Old 'ee tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt.
Mrs. . Hodnutt.
Many a time I've watched 'em standing together
in the Brent pew, both singin' out o' the one book
though they'd just knelt on a box full, and I've said
to myself, " there's man and wife for ye, and a gay
weddin' for St. Eanswythe ! " Ah, to be sure, that's
the man we ought to a' seen in our old church to-
morrow mornin'.
Pedgrift.
Aye, Mrs. Hodnutt, and don't 'ee be over certain
as 'ow you wont see young Dennis Heron in our
church to-morrow marnin'.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Eh ? Why, the young man run away to Lunnon,
and then sailed for Ameriky fortune seeking, five
year ago, folks say. He's in Ameriky, Samuel
Pedgrift.
Pedgrift.
Well, he warn't in Ameriky at ha'-past-f ower this
artemoon.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
You've seen 'im 1 Here in Lydgate !
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 171
Pedgbtpt.
'Old 'ee tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt !
Sir Tjuculs Brent and Beatrix enter through
the porch, LirciAN is now a young man with
an important manner and a moustache,
Beatrix is a fashionably-dressed ^^ grown-
up " girl^ bright and unaffected,
LirciAN.
Good afternoon, Mrs. Hodnutt ! Afternoon, Ped-
grif 1 1
Beatrix.
Well, Granny ! Well, Samuel, how are you?
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Good arternoon to you, Sir Looshan ! Bless you,
Miss Be'tric !
Pedgrift.
\ Pushing his brass up his waistcoat, "^ Arternoon,
sir! Arternoon, miss I
LUCIAN.
My sister and Sir Richard are coming over the
meadow
Beatrix.
They so want to look at the decorations, Granny
Hodnutt. Of course they will see them to-morrow
morning ; but that will be different, wont it ? [Look-
ing round,! And is this all the school-children's
handiwork r How delightful !
172 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
They 'ad my 'elp, the dear pets — ^my willin' 'elp.
Beatrix.
What a terrible disappomtment for them, my
sister's bad headache this morning ! Lucian, see!
How charming !
LirciAN.
[ With dignity.'] Very tasteful. The spread of
education among the masses engenders an apprecia-
tion of the beautiful.
Pedgrift.
[^Edging up to Lucian and whispering.] Sir Loo-
shan, Sir Looshan.
Lucian.
Eh?
Pedgript.
[^Producing the brass from beneath his waistcoat.]
I've got some bits o' brasses down below in my cry p' ;
like this ere bit.
Lucian.
Indeed ?
Pedgrift.
If you gave me a 'elpin 'and wi' the Latin that's
on 'em I could piece 'em together, Sir Looshan.
Lucian.
[ Uncomfortably/.] Latin inscriptions ?
Pedgrift.
I know you was a college gentleman. Sir Loo-
shan —
LABY BOUNTIFUL. 173
LUCIAN.
Exactly — ah — ^but my Latin, Pedgrift, is modem
Latin. [^Pointing to the brass!] That's old Latin —
different thing altogether. [Litcian walks towards
the porch.]
Pedgrift.
[Disappointed.] Oh, lor, yah, nah !
Beatrix.
Granny Hodnutt, do you think Pedgrift would let
me have the key of the organ ?
Mrs. Hodnutt.
[^ShaJcing her head negatively.] Ahhh !
Beatrix.
Oh! l^SJie goes to Pedgrift.] Samuel, I should
like to make friends again witn the dear old organ
of St. Eanswythe. Lend me the key.
Pedgrift.
Nay, nay, Mr. Fletcher don't fancy strange 'ands
on the organ.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
\To Beatrix who has moved away from Pedgrift.]
Bide a bit, missy. [To Pedgrift.] I want to open
the West Door, Mr. Pedgrift.
Pedgrift.
[Still contemplating his brass."] Yah ! nah 1
Mrs. Hodnutt.
D'ye hear me, Samuel Pedgrift?
1 74 LAD T BOUNTIFUL.
Pbdgeipt.
[ Taking his hunch of keys and passing them to
Mrs. Hodnutt.] 'Old 'ee tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt !
[Mrs. Hodnutt selects a key and hands it to
Beatrix with a courtesyJ\
Beatrix.
Dear Granny !
LUCIAN.
k Looking out through the porch.] Here are Camilla
Richard.
Beatrix.
Lucian, come and blow for me.
LirciAN.
[ With dignity,] My dear Beatrix! Really!
[Beatrix takes him off^ he protesting.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Tell me now — do'ee, Mr. Pedgrift! Where did
ye see Mr. Dennis ?
Pedgrift.
Oh, lor ! nah, nah !
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Quick !
Pedgrift.
Well, as I was runnin' up to Maister Taplin's, the
grocer's, to buy a morsel o' sweet ile to rub my
brasses wi', I see the folk wand'rin' down from rail-
way station.
LADT BOUNTIFUL. ^ 175
Mbs. Hodnutt.
To be sure!
Pedgrtpt.
And mongst 'em I observed Maister Dennis Heron !
'Twas him, changed though he be.
[ The sound of the church organ is h^eard.
Pedgrtpt.
Why theer's Maister Fletcher come in, on tfie quiet
like.
Mbs. Hodnutt.
Pedgrift, some'ow I don't believe th' Grange folks
know as Mr. Dennis is in Lydgate. Shall we ^?
Pbdgeipt.
[ Turning upon her sharply,"] Us I You 'old 'ee
tongue, Mrs. Hodnutt ! Fine folk's business beant
yower business ! Maister Dennis may be goin' to be
guest at weddin' to-morrow, or he mayn't ! Grange
folk may know he's in Lydgate, or they mayn't !
Maister Dennis may know Miss Camilly's about to
wife Sir Richard, or he mayn't ! But don't 'ee be a
busybodyin' sort of a elderly woman, Mrs. Hodnutt ;
and 'old 'ee tongue — d'ye 'ear me? — 'old 'ee tongue!
[Mrs. Hodnutt and Pedgrift separate as
Miss Brent enters^followed by Camilla
and Philliter. They all look older.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
[ With many courtesy s,] Our duty to you. [ To
Miss Brent.] And to you, ma'am, and I hope the
rheumaticks have left you. \To Sir Richard.]
And all good luck to bride and bridegroom — and
better late than never to yow, Sir Richard, if I may
pass the compliment.
176 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Sm RiCHABD.
[Xaw^Ai/i^.] Ha, ha I Um — ^thank you.
Miss Brbnt.
You must not talk too much this afternoon, Mrs.
Hodnutt. My niece's headache has hardly left her.
No wonder — the winds are sharp for harvest-time.
ptf iss Brent gfoes up the aisle looking at the
flowers through her pince-nez. Pbdgrift
/ollows her.
Camilla.
[ To Mrs. Hodnutt.] I was so miserable at not
meeting the children this morning. Were they
grieved?
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Ah, the lambs, that they was I
Miss Brent.
*
Mrs. Hodnutt I
[Mrs. Hodnutt goes to Miss Brent.
Camilla.
J^Going to the font, then turning to Philliter with
a smile,"] Here 1 was christened.
Sir Richard.
Bless me ! [Camella Joins Miss Brent and Mrs.
HoNDUTT. Sir Richard goes to the font and examines
it closely through his spectacles — to himself,'] My dear
Camilla ! Here she was christened — actually chris-
tened!
[Pedgrift, hugging his brass^ approaches
Sir Richard stealthily.
LAD r BO UNTIFUL. 177
Pbdgbift.
Tour honour — Sir Richard
Sib Richasd.
Eh?
Pbdgbift.
'Bleege me wi' a private word, sir.
[Pbdgbift exhibits his piece of brass to
Phillitbb; they talk in dumb show.
Miss Bbent and Mbs. Hodnxjtt are
looking at Camilla who is standing
in deep thought^ with her hands clasped
before her^ staring into the chancel.
Th^ light of the setting sun illumines
Camilla's ^^wre. .
Mbs. Hodnxjtt.
[ To Miss Brent,"] Look, ma'am I Look'ee there I
Miss Bbbnt.
Ah!
Mrs. Hodnutt.
She's thinking of to-morrow momin', ma'am, when
she'll stand there, wedded.
Miss Bbbnt.
My niece will be very happy, Hodnutt.
Mbs. Hodnittt.
Most like, ma'am, — ^but the sun's a-settin' on Miss
Camilly. The sun's a-settin' on Miss Camilly.
V.
178 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
[Miss Brbnt and Mrs. Hodnutt still talk'
ing disappear through porch,
Sm RiCHASD.
[ To Pedgript.] Bring your brass to me here, Ped-
grift — I won't go down into the crypt. One can't
be too careful of a cold at my age — at any age.
Pedgript.
[ Going,"] Yes, sir. \^Betuming,'] But, your hon-
our — Sir Richard — ^is your Latin noo Latin, or hold
Latin?
Sir Richard.
I fear it is rather old Latin, Pedgrift.
Pedgript.
[6?^%.] Ah I '
[Se disappears down the stairs. Sir
Richard walks over to Camilla.
Camilla.
Ah, Richard ! Do you see the flowers ?
Sir Richard.
[_Zooking into Tier face,'] Um ! Too much of the
lily and not enough of the carnation.
Camilla.
Now you mean my face. I'm always pale, Rich-
ard.
Sir Richard.
You are happy, Camilla?
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 179
Camilla.
Tes. I ougfht to be.
Snt RiCHAED.
And not doubtful, eh ? Not doubtful ?
Camilla.
Doubtful?
Sib Richard.
About the future, my dear — our future.
Camilla.
One must be doubtful, however hopeful.
Sib Richabd.
No, no — ^no, no.
Camilla.
Ah, Richard, a man dies but once, a woman twice
— ^the first time when she marries, and then, as at the
last, wondering at the thereafter.
Sib Richabd.
Then we begin our married life — doubtful,
Camilla?
Camilla.
And hopeful — ^I said that.
Sib Richabd.
[Brightening.'] Of course you did, my dear. Hope-
fully, eh ! Hopefully ! Hopefully ! [ They walk back
to the aisle,"] There's but one regret.
Camilla.
One regret ?
180 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Sm Richard.
To-morrow might have been six years old to-day,
had you willed it so, my dear.
Camilla.
You mean ^
Sm RlCHABD.
You could have married me more than six years
ago, Camilla — six precious years.
Camilla.
Ah, it is better now.
Sm RiCHABD.
IPkaaed.'] Is it, eh? Is it?
Camilla.
Six years ago I did not know
Sm RiCHABD.
Now you're going to say something about my
watchful patience, Camilla.
Camilla.
Yes.
Sm RiCHABD.
And my imtiring constancy ?
Camilla.
Yes.
Sm RiCHABD.
And my good heart? And my many other excel-
tent qualities.
Camilla.
Yes — ^yes.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 181
4
Sib Richard.
I knew it I But I won't endure it ! It always
embarrasses me, my dear, and I can't allow it — so
don't, don't !
Camilla.
But you like me to think you good ?
Sir Richard.
{_After a moment'^ s pause,"] Yes — I do.
Camilla.
And yet never to say it, never to say it ?
Sir Richard.
Ah, I'll always tell you the truth, my dear — I
dearly love to have to stop your saying it.
[ The music of the organ, soft and low^ is heard
again. The warm glow of sunset now fills
the church, hut from this m^oment the light
shows the gradual combing of eveni9ig.
Camilla.
[ Timidly,"] Richard.
Sir Richard.
My dear?
Camilla.
There is something I wish to give you — ^no, to
restore to you — ^while we are alone.
Sir Richard.
To restore to me ?
Camilla.
Something I robbed you of long ago and kept as a
memorial of your friendship. [jShe takes from her
182 ZADT BOUNTIFUL.
pocket the little volume of Horace seen in the First
Acty holding it behind Ther,"] But now — ^we are going
to be married, and so I pass the little token back to
you thinking you will care to cherish it in recollec-
tion of your wife's girlhood. There, Richard I
[^She places the little book in his hands.
Sib Richard.
Dear me! what's this? [-06 opens the book at
the title-page.'} My Horace I
Camilla.
[^Ifauffhingly.} Horace.
Sm Richard.
I knew I'd mislaid him I
Camilla.
It has slumbered in my desk for over six years.
That is what I ran back to the house for ; I wanted
this chance of giving it to you.
Sir Richard.
I must have left it behind me at Fauncourt
when
Camilla.
Yes.
[^/See turns away andy leaning against the
pence-boXy looks out through the porch.
Sir Richard.
Bless me, here's the leaf still turned down ! How
every action comes back to one! There's nothing
final in life — ^nothing final.
[JBfe is endeavouring to find the ribbon of
his pince-nez, when, unperceived by him^
LADT BO UNTIFUL. 183
a letter falls from between the pages of
the booh ana lies on the ground at his
feet. The music of the organ ends softly.
Sir Richapd.
Of course-^f course. [^JReading,
" Desine^ dulcium
** Mater sceva Cupidinum ^"
Camilla.
" Circa lustra decern, ^"
Sib Richabd.
You know it I
Camilla.
I learnt it afterwards.
Sib Richabd^
[ Clasping the book,"] This is more than precious
to me! It has been with you six years. To think
of it — to think of it ! [He pauses^ seeing she is still
turning from him,'] Camilla! [^She comes to him^
her expression is altered^ her eyes full of tears. It
is now twilight,
Camilla.
Oh, Richard, you have been so patient. I will try
to be a good wife to you !
Sib Richabd.
My dear I
Miss Bbent enters with Lucian and Bbatbix^ followed
by Mbs. Hodnutt.
Miss Bbekt.
[^Calling softly,'] Camilla; I. ^Approaching TbjL'
/
184 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
MTEB.] The church is a little chilly, Richard. We
are unwise in allowing Camilla to remain so long.
Sm RiCHABD.
Ah, Fm very thoughtless.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
[Joining them.'\ Sir Richard's kerridge 'ave come
for him, ma'am — it's at the West Door. [Luoian
gives his arm to Miss Brent and they all follow Mrs.
HoDNUTT up the aisle,"] Follow me, please — ^I'U save
you all an ugly walk round the churchyard, that I
will. Granny Hodnutt'U open the West Door for
you, that she will ! Follow Granny Hodnutt ! [In
the distance,! Jest a minute, my pretty ladies, while
Granny Hodiiutt unlocks the West Door. Blessin's
on you. Sir Looshan, and you, your honour, if I may
pass the compliment !
[Pedgrift comes up from the crypt laden
with some pieces of brass.
Pedgrift.
[Listening."] Gone. Gone — and not a scrap o'
Latin out of him ! [ There is a sound of bolting
doors].
Yah, nah, nah! [JSe discovers the letter on the
ground and picks it up with a grunt.] Ugh I [JETold-
ing the letter close to his eyes,] Theer's writin'^ on it.
Grange party must ha' dropped that. [Putting it
in his pocket,] I'll walk up to Grange wi' it arter
tea. Ugh ! [Picking up his brasses,] Who's that ?
Dennis Heron, a robust-looking man with hair
turning grey^ enters through the porch.
Pedgrift.
Maister Dennis.
LADY BOUNTIFUL, 185
Dennis.
Thank goodness I [ Wringing Pbdgbipt's hand."]
It's Pedgrif t !
PeDGRE3'T.
Aye — ^not dead yet, Maister Dennis.
Dennis.
Fm so glad to see a familiar face.
Pedgrift.
[ Grimly,'] Were you wand'rin' about churchyard
thinkin' to nnd old friends theer^ Maister Dennis ?
Dennis.
I strolled into the churchyard, I — Fm killing time.
Fve come all the way from America, Pedgrift —
arrived yesterday — ^got down this afternoon, and
turned into the " George."
Pedgrift.
Ah, the " George " beaint the house it used to be,
Maister Dennis.
Dennis.
No. A new landlord, new faces indoors, new
faces in the stables — ^not a soul knew me from Adam.
But I've sent a note to Sir Lucian, telling him where
I am, and I'm waiting for an answer. I know he's
at the Grange — ^I heard his name mentioned at the
station.
Pedgrift.
Aye, Sir Looshan's at the Grange right enough.
Dennis.
Have they — a full house at the Grange, Pedgrift ?
186 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Pbdgbift.
Aye.
Dennis.
Miss Anne Brent — and — Miss Beatrix ?
Pedgbift.
Aye — ^they're theer.
Dennis,
And — and Miss Camilla ?
Pbdgbift.
Aye.
Dennis.
All— all well ?
Pedgbift,
Aye — ^they be all wonderful surprisin' welL
Dennis.
Ah ! [^Looking about him,'] Flowers — English
flowers. Harvest — eh? Pedgrift, why don't you
talk to me I A good harvest ?
Pbdgbift.
Sodden wi' rain.
Dennis.
Dear old Lydgate ! [ To Pedgbift, who is collect^
ing his brasses.] What on earth have you got there ?
Pedgbift.
Maister Dennis, you was a college gentleman,
wasn't ye, eh ?
Dennis.
Ha ! yes.
LApr BOUNTIFUL, 187
Pedgript.
Theer's some durned Latin on my bits o' precious
brasses. If I could 'cipher it I coidd piece 'em to-
gether.
Dennis. ^ ^
The Vicar
Pedgrift.
I dursn't trust th' old Yicar, M aister Dennis ; he'd
rob me of all the credit, he would. If you'd lend me
a 'elping 'and wi' the Latin
Dennis.
I?
Pedgript.
Come down into my cryp', Maister Dennis — I've
got a lantern theer. fCfoing to the head of the stair,']
Do'ee come, Maister Dennis ! Do'ee come !
Dennis.
[^Following him,] 1 can't promise you much
assistance, Pedgrift.
Pedgrift.
IDescending slowly,] Do'ee best, Maister Dennis.
Bless ye ! bless ye !
Dennis.
Be quick ! I want to get back to the " George."
Pedgrift.
Guide yourself by wall, sir — that's right, that's
right.
[ TTieg descend the stair. As they disappear^
Mrs. Hodnutt enters. The faint light of
the moon enters, and spreads itself over
the church.
188 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
[ CaUingf.'] Pedgrift.
Pedgbift.
[JFrom below.] Yah ! nah ! 'old 'ee tongue I
Mrs. Hodnutt.
[ Calling.] The keys are on the font. ^Placing
the keys on the font.] I am gomg home to my tea.
[ There is a sound of knocking outside.] Eh ? That's
somebody at the West Door. \^TKe knocking is
repeated impatiently.] Nay, I'll not open the west
door again to-night, whoever ye may be, that I'll
promise ye. You must come the way round if ye' Ve
business at St. Eanswythe this night, and quick
about it. Late enough for an old woman's tea, to be
sure, to be sure !
[Camilla enters hurriedly^ through the porch.
Camilla.
Ah, granny I
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Miss CamiUy I
Camilla.
Something has been lost — a letter. Have you
seen it ?
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Not to my knowledge, Miss Camilly; though, to
be sure
Camilla.
[JOooking upon the ground.] Granny, it must be
found. It s an old letter — I placed it between the
leaves of a book years ago, and this afternoon I hur-
LAD r BOUNTIFUL. 189
riedly took the book from my desk and gave it to
Sir Richard, here — ^just here.
Mes. Hodniitt.
May be Sir Richard's carryin' it about with him.
Camilla.
No — for, as I left the church, the thought of the
letter came to me suddenly ; it was no longer in the
book. [She goes up the aisle searching for the letter,
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Well, well, like enough I'll find it in the morning,
^ome, come, missy. I'll see ye home across the
meadow.
Camilla.
No, thank you. I've told my brother ; he is com-
ing back to fetch me. [Metuming to the nave,'] 1
can't find it. Ah, it was written by a poor friend,
who died. Suppose I never find it, dear Granny!
Mrs. Hodnutt.
Now, dont'ee, now! dont'ee! There, there! Sit
ye down a bit, and Granny Hodnutt'll search in the
West Porch.
[^She disappears up the aisle. It is now
bright moonlight.
Camilla.
How could I have forgotten it ! To have hoarded
it for five years and then, in one minute of forgetful-
ness, to let it go from me! [She sits by the font,]
It was a trust. " If he wanders back to England
some day without me," poor Margaret said, " give it
to him, with your own hands." And now, if ever
he returns — ^if — ever Oh, I mustn't think about
190 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
that! No ! God bless me and Richard! God bless
me — and Richard !
[Dennis ascends the steps. He passes
Camilla, not seeing her^ and walks
across towards the porch. She rises
with a faint cry of fright^ at which he
turns sharply and faces her. They
stand staring at each other silently.
Camilla.
[^In a frightened whisper,"] Dennis!
Dennis.
Ah ! [ Going to her with outstretched hands, ] Ca-
milla! [^She stares at him^ still frightened — then
takes his hand for support, Mrs.
HoDNUTT comes down the aisle,]
Camilla.
You — ^you — ^frightened me. \^Faintly stooping over
his hand,] Ah! [^She droops^ and he gently places her
in a chair.
Dennis.
Why, Granny Hodnutt !
Mrs. Hodnutt,
Mr. Dennis ! Ah, to be sure !
Dennis.
I've been in the crypt with Pedgrif t, burrowing
among his brasses. Coming up rather silently I fear
I alarmed my cousin ^
Mrs. Hodnutt,
To be sure 1 to be sure I
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 191
Camilla.
[^Passing^ her hand over her eyes."] Granny,
Mrs. Hodnutt.
My deary ?
Camilla.
I — I am very glad to see Mr. Dennis Heron. But
I didn't expect to meet him — ^to-night — and I — was
startled. Wait in the church, Granny, till my
brother returns for me.
Mrs. Hodnutt.
That I will, Miss Camilly . [ Going to the head of
stairaJ] I'll borrow the old marr s lantern, sir, and you
can chat quite cheerful and comfortable, \_8he de-
scending,
Camilla.
Dennis.
Dennis.
My dear cousin.
Camilla.
You cannot — ^have received — my letter.
Dennis.
I've had no letter from you for many a day,
Camilla !
Camilla.
I wrote — some weeks ago.
Dennis.
It has missed me. And I wrote home — I mean, to
you — just before starting. But, at this time o' year,
I was sure you were in Switzerland. So that has
missed you ?
192 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
Camilla.
Yes. [J^atw%.] I have not gone aboard this
summer — ^because Ah 1
Dennis.
You are still trembling. I am so sorry,
[/SAe riaes^ commanding Iter self.
Camilla.
Why have you come back to England?
Dennis,
To see — my friends.
Camilla.
Is everything — well with you — ^in America ?
Dennis.
Everything. I have prospered, Camilla — ^prospered
beyond my furthest hope.
Camilla,
I am so thankful, Dennis.
Dennis.
[ OratefuUy.'\ Ah !
Camilla,
Are those around you well — ^the two old people you
have so generously cared for?
Dennis.
Well — ^well and happy.
Camilla.
Your father ?
Dennis.
Why — strangely enough-
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 198
Camilla.
What is strange, Dennis ?
Dennis.
Well, father has revealed capabilities we hardly
suspected in England. The simple, rough people up-
country were — ^rather — ^impressed by him.
Camilla.
Ah, Uncle Roderick!
Dbnnis.
Now he's the leading spirit of a big mining con-
cern, and is making money fast— and— he's not Uvihg
with us now.
Camilla.
[ To herself.'] Poor Dennis ! And last — ^but first
— ^your little girl ?
Dennis.
She ! She's beautiful ! It's foolish of me to say
that, perhaps, but — ^no, it isn't! She's beautifid!
Camilla.
Dear, dear little Margaret ! That is her name ?
Dennis.
Yes — ^her first name.
Camilla.
^In a low voice,'] Her second ?
Dennis.
Camilla.
Mes. Hodnutt.
& Ascending the stairs,] I'm coming, Mr. Dennis,
trouble enough to wean a light from Mr. Ped-
13
194 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
grift. Fve news for ye, Miss Camilly — Granny's got
news for ye. [^Appearing with a lighted lantern and
the lost letter.'^ To think that th' old man should
stand chattermg here to you, sir, and, all the time
[^looking at the letter by the light of the lanteml a letter
with Mr. Dennis Heron's name on it in his coat-
pocket.
Camilla.
Ah! \
Dennis.
My name?
Mbs. Hodnittt.
To be sure! [To Camilla.] It's Pedgrift as
found the letter, 'alf a blind man as he is.
Camilla.
{Loohinq at the letter^ hesitatingly^ without taking
Give it to Mr. Dennis, Granny.
Mbs. Hodnutt.
[Sanding the letter to Dennis with a courtesy."] To
be sure I will, Miss Camilly. [^Depositing the lantern
on the font. There's a light, sir and missy. [ Going
up the aisle.! Call Granny if it needs snuffing.
Granny's within caU.
[jShe disappears. The moonlight is gradu^
ally diminishing.
Dennis.
[Loohing at the letter by the lantern light."] Mar-
garet ! [ Turning to Camilla.] Meg !
Camilla.
Poor Meg gave me that, Dennis, on the morning
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 195
1 sat with her in Westminster — ^the morning —
she
Dennis.
Yes,
^ Camilla.
She believed she was not to live, and begged me
to keep that letter by me imtil you came back to
England alone — and then I was to give it to you
with my own hands.
Ah, then !
[i36 offers the letter to Camilla^ who takes it.
Camilla.
It's a kind word from her, she said, that she
dearly wanted to reach you through me. For five
years it has lain between the leaves of a book;
bringing the book into the church, the letter fell
from it, here. And now, we do meet — for the first
time since that day — and — [returning the letter'] — ^I
give it you with my own hands.
\_JBe takes the letter^ with his head bowed, and
she walks away from him. He opens
the letter and reads it by the light ofjhe
lantern. r^
Dennis.
{Reading to himself.'] " Dennis. Something tells
me that, if you lose me, you and Miss Camilla Brent
will meet again, and — marry. She's the lady whose
place I took, and it's only natural, and I've taught
myself to think of it without feeling wretched. So
I want you to be sure that no shadow of mine comes
between you, and that I — ^wish it." [Bousing him-
196 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
self and turning to Camilla.] Camilla. ' \^Ab %he
comes to him he gives her the letter.l It's for you, as
well as for me — she meant it.
[^She sits by the side of the font reading
under the light of the lantern. He leaves
her till she has read the letter. Then
shehides her eyes with her hand and he
returns and stands before her with his
hands clasped,
Dbitnis.
[in a whisper, "] Camilla. [/S%6 gives a little sob.
Let it be so — ^let it be so.
\^She removes her hand from her eyes and
sits staring at Aim.]
Camilla.
Demiis!
Dennis.
My motherless girl laughs and plays alone in my
home— the one young Ufe near me— but every chUd-
like sound seems to beg that she may know a living
mother. -Ajid I — Zam solitary. I've come back to
England thinking to discharge a debt. Be I^ady
Bountiful to me still and take the remaining years
of my life for it — the thought, the care, the service
of my life !
Camilla.
[^Rising and facing him^ like a woman in a
dreamJ] Dennis. Dennis — ^Heron. You — don't—
know? No one has — ^told you?
Dbnnis.
What?
\^8he looks round the churcTi^ he following
her gaze, >
-1:.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 197
• '. *
Camilla.
\y These flowers — ^placed here by the school-children,
Dennis.
Why ?
Camilla.
The — the marriage.
Dennis.
Marriage ?
Camilla.
To-morrow — ^to-morrow. [She stands trembling^
with her hands tightly clasped and her eyes downJ]
Richard's long friendship — growing out of that —
. into affection — ^years ago. His — untiring — solicitude
^ —his — deep — devotion — the prospect of a useful —
calm — good — life! My aunt— her dearest wish!
To-morrow — ^to-morrow — to-morrow.
Dennis.
Oh, forgive me — ^forgive me !
Camilla.
Yes. You did not know. Yes.
Dennis.
Ah, may Grod bless you and your husband,
Camilla ! To this church, where [you and I have
knelt together, I come back to worship once more
by our side ; and my prayer is — ^God bless you and
your husband !
Camilla.
That is right — and good. Everything else we
198 LADY BOUNTIFUL.
will forget. [^Jletuming^ him the letter J] Poor Mar-
garet!
[^Se places the letter reverently in the
breast of his coat,
Camilla.
Mind there are some things to forget ! \_Loo7eing
at him steadily,'] Dennis — forget I
Dbnnis.
Yes. Forget !
[Lucla^n's voice is heard in the distance.
[ Calling.'] Camilla ! Cam ! Cam ! Are you
there ?
Dennis.
[ Catting.] Holloa ! Lueian !
[Camilla goes up the aisle.
LUCIAN.
[^Nearer.] Dennte ! [JSJntering quickly and seiz-
ing Dennis by the shoulders.] My dear old chap !
My dear fellow ! After all these years ! Jolly, eh ?
Jolly?
Dennis.
Lueian.
LUCIAN.
Your scribble was waiting for me when I got
home, and I took the " Greorge " on my way here.
My dear old chap ! You've found Cam.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 199
Dennis.
Yes — I strolled into the church
LUCIAN.
So you know all our news — about to-morrow?
Dennis.
Yes, yes — ^yes, yes.
LuCIAN.
You'll be my guest, Dennis. I've sent a man to
the " George " to fetch your baggage. The Grange
is your home here, you know.
Dennis.
Ah, Lucian !
LUCIAN.
[ To Camilla.] Cam ! [Camilla comes and takes
Lucian' s arm,'} St. Eanswythe is not very inspirit-
ing at this hour. What fancies you have ! [ Going
toward the porch.\^ Come along, Dennis !
Dennis.
Go on — I — I'll follow you. I must go back into
the village.
Lucian.
What a fellow you are ! \^In the porch.'] Ugh !
cold and cloudy !] He disappears^ with Camilla, his
voice getting gradually distant.] Be quick, Dennis !
Dine at eight! No ladies to-night. Ha, ha, ha!
Men — gossip — smoke — good health to Richard — old
times 1 Dear old Dennis ! Dear old Dennis !
\^As Lucian' s voice dies away Dennis sinJcs
into a chair burying his head in his hands.
After a momenCs stillness^ there comes the
200 LADT BOUNTIFUL.
faint sound of apecU of church heUa a long
way off. Mbs. Hodnutt comes down the
aisle and at the same moment Pedgbift
ascends the crypt stairs.
Mbs. Hodnutt,
[^Seeinff Dennis — to herself.] Ah, deary me I To
be sure, to be sure ! [Aside to Fbdgbift— pointing
to Dennis.] Samuel Pedgrift, look'ee there !
[ They stand watching Dbnnis for a moment
silently.
Pedgeipt.
[GWmZy.] Ah! You 'old 'ee tongue. Mrs. Hod-
nutt!
[i3e closes and locfcs the crypt door.
Dennis.
[^XfOoking up at them and raising."] What bells
are those ?
Pedgrift.
St Paul's at Baverstoke — Sir Richard's own parish.
They're beginnin' their rejicin's^ hover night— we
don't ring here till marnin'.
Dennis.
Ah I [^Nbdding to Pedgeipt and Mbs. Hodnutt.]
Good night.
Pedgeipt and Mbs. Hodnutt.
Good night to ye, Mr. Dennis.
Mbs. Hodnutt.
Shall we see your kind face at the weddin', sir?
Dennis.
Yes. Good-night.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 201
[He waUca out through the porch, Mbs*
HoDNUTT and "Pedqioft sIowIt/ follow-
ing. Then there is the sound of the
shutting of a heavy door and the grat-
ing of a lock. The curtain faUs,
After a few moments the curtain rises^ showing the
church in bright sunlight. The pews are oc-
cupied by the village folk and the tradespeople^
a soldier^ a policeman^ grooms and other ser-
vants. In front of the pews are some children
carrying nosegays. OtJier village folk and
ladies and gentlemen are coming in, andMR&.
HoDNUTT is fussily directing them to their
places. The wedding party is assembled —
Sir Richard, his best man and some guests
in one group^ Miss Brent, Beatrix, dressed
as a bridesmaid , together with the rest of the
bridesmaids in another. Miss Brent is
greeting guests as they arrive. Some chil-
dren carrying flowers are waiting in the porch ;
Pedgript and two villagers are pulling the
bell ropes. The clergymen can just be seen
through a small arched opening.
A Man.
\ Turning to a woman in front of him.'] The sun
shines on her marryin', if that be owt of a good
sign.
A Woman.
Aye, they be rich folk — 'twere rainin* and blowy
when I were wed. Lordsakes! here's Gran'fer
Pilbeaml
202 LADY BOUNTIFUL,
[-4 very old man is led in through the porch
by a little girl, Mrs. Hodnutt beckons
him angrily^ then assists him into the
marHs place^ who makes way for him.
Dennis comes down the aisle^ and stands
by the font talking to a gentleman.
A Woman.
Look'ee theer ! Theer's young Heron.
A Man.
Young Heron !
A Woman.
Back t' Lydgate, grey-haired.
A Man.
Aye. He were Miss Camilly's fancy once't, they
do declare.
A Woman.
She's well saved. Why, he went rakey and ruined
his own f eyther — that be known for true.
[ The organ is played^ there is a general move-
ment of expectation, A little girl runs in
to speak to the bridesmaids^ who go out
excitedly through the porch.
A Man.
She's comin' !
A Woman.
She beaint !
A Man.
I tell'ee she's comin ! \^Looking across,"] Eh, but
she's sorry looking'. When my gel were wed she
were flamin' red i' th' face.
LADY BOUNTIFUL. 203
A Woman.
Thy gel wedded a lad. Sir Bichard be a elderly
man, and theer's now't to be 'shamed at.
[Camilla and LuclAlN enter through theporch
she leaning upon his arm, Beatrix and
the other bridesmaids follow. The porch
is then filled up by the children ana some
footman wearing wedding favours. As
Camilla passes Dennis, who is standing
by thefont^ she looks at him, m,omentarily.
Snt RiCHABD advances to m,eet Camilla,
they stand at the chancel rails^ the rest
taking their proper positions, Pbdgbipt
and his men cease their bell-ringing and
the organ stops. There is a m^oment of
silence^ then Camilla totters back with her
hxind to her brow.
Camilla.
\Almost inaudibly,"] Dennis !
[^She sinks into a ch>airby the font^ with her
head bowed and her hands covering her
face. There is a movement ofconstemor^
tionfrom aU^ then complete stillness.
Miss Brent.
[ Coming to Camilla's side,^ Camilla 1
[Camilla does not stir.
Sir Richard.
[_ Slowly approaching Miss Brent and touching her
arm,"] Anne. \^She turns to him,"] There shall
be no marriage to-day. I think I know — ^I think I
know.
the end.
\:
\\V
ii
;'■.*■ 'J, ■ '*
,i;."/
i: ■■• :> '
,» • , .
^■-'
r
*^-
' ■ - A' •
-^
1
>^:''i
1^
,-■1
< ;
.Vf,-V
It*'
i'.
•1.
'•*•■.. s ■■<!^ -7 ■,.- •- ■ •
■ \ 1
, J.
>•> . "4''' '''"'>•■ -■ • -' ■*■
■^
■'i i"^";
^'
« * 4?-'
'0. :
■ ^.^.
.n''
i
"V,
■i
■ ?'
V'-'
, ;
V
■ ' . 1 '
■ -. .-i }■ \i\
Live Music Archive
Librivox Free Audio
Metropolitan Museum
Cleveland Museum of Art
Internet Arcade
Console Living Room
Books to Borrow
Open Library
TV News
Understanding 9/11