r
WAR PLAYS
BY
ALLAN MONKHOUSE
1?
LONDON
UNSTABLE & COMPANY LTD.
THE UNIVERSITY
UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA, SAN
^ iA JOLLA. CALIFORNIfl
WAR PLAYS
*
"THE CHOICE" was performed by Miss
Horniman's Company six years ago, and
subsequently at Liverpool by a company
which initiated "repertory" there. The
other two plays have not yet been performed.
WAR PLAYS
BY
ALLAN MONKHOUSE
AUTHOR OF "MARY BROOME: A COMEDY,"
" FOUR TRAGEDIES," ETC.
LONDON
CONSTABLE AND COMPANY, LTD.
1916
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN.
CHISW1CK PRESS : CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.
SHAMED LIFE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
CHARACTERS
CLAUDE PLASSEY.
MRS. PLASSEY.
MRS. BOWES.
ISABEL ROWLAND.
SHAMED LIFE
SCENE
The sitting-room of a small house in a village street.
At the back is a French window opening to the garden.
On this summer morning the window is open. On
the left is the window looking down upon the street^
for the house is higher at that side than at the other.
On the right is the door leading to the other parts
of the house. The room is furnished well and in
good taste. CLAUDE is lying upon a sofa y smoking
a pipe and gazing gloomily into vacancy. MRS.
PLASSEY enters from the house.
MRS. PLASSEY.
BY the bye, Claude, Mrs. Bowes is coming this
morning for some eggs.
CLAUDE.
Is that girl with her?
MRS. PLASSEY.
She's there still. I don't know if she's coming.
CLAUDE.
Well, I hope she isn't.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Whj?
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
They give themselves airs these people with their
men at the front.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Now, don't talk about it, Claude.
CLAUDE.
Jim Bowes is coming home to marry her when he
gets leave.
MRS. PLASSEY.
They oughtn't to do it like that. They ought to
wait till it 's all over.
CLAUDE.
But he may be dead. Let the poor devil have
something.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Claude, I believe it would be good for you to get
away from here for a time. I don't see why you
should give up the idea of Oxford.
CLAUDE.
It's impossible. It's impossible to go there now.
And I 'm getting too old.
MRS. PLASSEY.
All the same, it isn't good for you to stay on here.
CLAUDE.
Well, you don't want me to go to the war.
MRS. PLASSEY.
No, no.
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
Of course, if it were not for you
MRS. PLASSEY.
I know. It 's my selfishness. I know I'm keeping
you.
CLAUDE.
Honestly, I can't say that the thing's in my line
but
MRS. PLASSEY.
It 's my fault. I can't let you go.
CLAUDE.
You've only to say the word. [She looks at him earn-
estly^ questioningly, and he continues rather hurriedly.]
It 's not the sort of thing I'm cut out for, I know.
You want blunt, hardy creatures; the old type of
mercenary. For a sensitive, modern man it 's im-
possible. They do it, but it's impossible.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Yes, it 's impossible.
CLAUDE. [Muttering.]
They'll get me yet.
MRS. PLASSEY.
What did you say ?
CLAUDE.
Of course I'm a single man a young man.
MRS. PLASSEY.
The only son of a widow is not a single man. It 's
mothers, mothers they should think about, not wives.
You may have a dozen wives.
5
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE. [Laughing mirthlessly.']
Easy, mother.
MRS. PLASSEY.
And why should they take the young? The old
should go first the middle-aged. They've had their
life. They've had something. It's so unfair.
CLAUDE.
But, my dear mother, the old can't fight.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Forty 's as good as twenty. Let them go first.
CLAUDE.
I don't think it 's quite practicable.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Youth is the time for joy, love, adventure.
[She stops suddenly.
CLAUDE.
Adventure !
MRS. PLASSEY. [In a lower key.}
Everything is an adventure then.
CLAUDE.
Love and adventure. That's what Jim Bowes is
getting. [He rises from the sofa, goes to the window
and looks out upon the street.} By God ! He 's getting
the quintessence of it.
MRS. PLASSEY. [Eagerly.]
What? What, Claude?
6
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
Nothing. What's that?
[The distant sound of drum and fife is heard.
They stand listening as it comes nearer.
MRS. PLASSEY.
They're recruiting here again.
CLAUDE.
They'll have me yet.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Don't talk like that, Claude. You've a free will.
CLAUDE.
Havel?
MRS. PLASSEY.
If you must go if you will go
CLAUDE.
Now, now, now. No more of that.
[The band comes nearer and the two move
about the room in nervous excitement.
CLAUDE takes up a newspaper, glances
at it and throws it down in irritation.
He crosses to the window and looks out,
returning immediately. Hismother picks
up the newspaper, watches him, reads
surreptitiously and puts it aside hastily.
As the band passes under the window
they are like tormented creatures hiding
their agitation from one another.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Horrible noise.
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
What have you done with the paper? Where is it?
MRS. PLASSEY.
Let 's stop the paper give it up.
CLAUDE.
It would look queer to do that.
\He takes the paper again but throws it down
after reading something.
MRS. PLASSEY.
It's time you fed the hens. And Mrs. Bowes will-
want a dozen eggs if you can get them.
CLAUDE. [Listening to the receding sound of the bandl\
The hens. Certainly. The hens.
[He goes into the garden. MRS. PLASSEY
watches him out, takes up the paper
again, reads, crushes it in her hands,
straightens it out again, hides it under
a cushion. MRS. BOWES and ISABEL
ROWLAND are seen passing the French
window.
MRS. PLASSEY. [Calls out to them.']
Come in this way. Good morning.
[They come in. Amenities.
MRS. BOWES.
What a lovely summer day!
MRS. PLASSEY.
Isn't it? Claude has just gone to see if he can find
any eggs for you. Perhaps you saw him ?
8
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
I think he was just going round the corner of the
house.
MRS. PLASSEY. [To MRS. BOWES, kindly and yet with
a little stiffness.]
Good news of your son, I hope.
MRS. BOWES.
We heard this morning. He 's all right.
MRS. PLASSEY.
It 's very dreadful for you.
MRS. BOWES.
They were going to attack.
MRS. PLASSEY. [To ISABEL.]
And you, my dear; I understand that when he
comes home soon, I hope you are to be married.
ISABEL.
Yes. He expects to have a few days leave in a week
or two.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Well, well ; I hope you'll be very happy.
ISABEL.
Thank you, Mrs. Plassey.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Excuse me. I'll just see what Claude is doing.
[She goes out.
ISABEL.
There 's something tragical about that woman.
9
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. BOWES.
Why should there be? She's got her son at home.
ISABEL.
Looking after the hens.
MRS. BOWES.
It's strange, is'nt it?
ISABEL.
How safe and pleasant it is! Oh! my dear, I can't
imagine anything happier than for you and me and
Jim to be here looking after the hens.
MRS. BOWES.
Do you think they're happy ?
ISABEL.
I think they must be wretched. She is.
MRS. BOWES.
Belle ! You told Sally where we were going.
ISABEL.
Yes, yes, dear.
MRS. BOWES.
And that if a telegram came
ISABEL.
Of course. Yes. You silly old thing, how often
must I tell you?
MRS. BOWES.
I ought to have spoken to her myself. I think I'll go
back. You'll bring the eggs along.
10
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
Nonsense. I told her plainly that if any telegram
came she must follow us here. But there'll be no
telegram. Why should there ?
MRS. BOWES.
What did she say ?
ISABEL.
She said she'd run all the way.
MRS. BOWES.
She 's a good girl.
ISABEL.
Now, don't bother.
MRS. BOWES.
I'm fey, my dear.
ISABEL.
Why do you say that? And it wouldn't be you that
was fey.
MRS. BOWES.
Isn't his doom mine?
ISABEL.
You musn't. You musn't.
MRS. BOWES.
I say to myself dead or wounded? Just a hope
that it may be wounded.
ISABEL.
And dead is better than feeding hens.
ii
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. BOWES.
Don't say it. Don't say it.
[MRS. PLASSEY appears at the French
window.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Mrs. Bowes!
[MRS. BOWES goes to her and the two move
out of sight. ISABEL makes to follow
and hesitates. She listens to a distant
drum. CLAUDE enters from the house.
CLAUDE.
Oh!
ISABEL.
Good morning. How d'you do ? [They shake hands
stiffly.]
CLAUDE. [Looking for a way of escape.]
I thought that you had beautiful morning, isn't it?
ISABEL.
Your mother and Mrs. Bowes have gone to look at
the hens, I think.
CLAUDE.
Oh ! Yes. The hens. I hope Jim's all right Jim
Bowes.
ISABEL.
Yes, thank you.
CLAUDE.
Getting along all right, I hope.
ISABEL.
I hope so.
12
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
Won't you sit down?
ISABEL.
I think I must go and look for Mrs. Bowes.
CLAUDE.
Oh, yes.
ISABEL.
How are the hens getting on, Mr. Plassey?
CLAUDE.
Are you interested in hens?
ISABEL.
Well, they're not very companionable, are they?
CLAUDE.
Think of a man without a friend in the world only
hens.
ISABEL.
What?
CLAUDE.
Oh, it's only an idea I had. I'll tell you a strange
thing, though. An old brooding hen, yonder, has
left her eggs.
ISABEL.
Why?
CLAUDE.
I think there was a dog fight that scared her. Got
excited. It 's unnatural to leave the eggs.
'3
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
Is this some sort of parable, Mr. Plassey?
CLAUDE.
What d'you mean? I'm telling you what happened.
ISABEL.
I suppose hens are very interesting.
CLAUDE.
No, they're not.
ISABEL.
Very well ; they're not.
CLAUDE.
You think looking after hens is a poor occupation
in these times.
ISABEL.
I don't say so.
CLAUDE.
No, but you think it.
ISABEL.
My thoughts are my own, Mr. Plassey.
CLAUDE.
I see what 's in your mind.
ISABEL.
I am curious about you. It's not for me to judge.
There 's your mother. When I see that poor woman
I mean Mrs. Bowes when I see her hankering
after her son I could think it wrong of him to go
to stay away from her.
14
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
But you why do you speak of her? It's you that 's
going to marry him.
ISABEL.
We will not talk of that.
CLAUDE.
You despise me.
ISABEL.
It 's not my business. And don't talk of despising. I
don't know you. I don't understand you.
CLAUDE.
But you're interested in my my psychology.
ISABEL.
Well if you'll let me be. I don't want to be im-
pertinent.
CLAUDE.
It 's simple enough. I'm her only child. It would
break her heart.
ISABEL.
It 's hard for you.
CLAUDE.
Well, but this war. It's not in my line. Don't
blame my mother. I suppose I could break away.
ISABEL.
Why not, then ?
CLAUDE.
I don't see why we should talk about this at all.
15
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
I agree, I agree, Mr. Plassey.
CLAUDE.
You're a high and mighty person with a lover at the
war. You're hard. You're like steel. Jim Bowes is
a hero, of course. You're all for heroes.
ISABEL.
Don't let 's talk of it. Come out and look for them.
CLAUDE.
I must talk to somebody. You don't know you
don't know.
ISABEL.
Yes, yes. Do talk to me. I don't think I'm hard.
I have to be. We're strung up we women but
perhaps I may understand. Oh ! We must all help
one another.
CLAUDE.
My mother I'll tell you something. You know
that she keeps me here.
ISABEL.
Yes.
CLAUDE.
And yet in her heart in her heart I believe she
would she would she wants me to go.
ISABEL.
Do you mean?
CLAUDE.
There's a confession. Now, do you despise me?
16
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
Not yet.
CLAUDE.
What more d'you want ?
ISABEL.
It 's very strange.
CLAUDE.
Isn't it?
ISABEL.
Let me understand.
CLAUDE.
We're not all heroes like Jim Bowes. How d'you
know he 's one ?
ISABEL.
Silence!
CLAUDE.
I beg your pardon.
ISABEL.
Go on.
CLAUDE.
My mother thinks I'm a coward. I suppose I am.
She dreads it for me. For herself, too, I daresay.
But she shields me. D'you see? She won't let me
go. If I went boldly, gallantly she would be
happy. Perhaps.
ISABEL.
What mothers are !
CLAUDE.
Curious case, isn't it?
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
And you?
CLAUDE.
Well, what do you think of me?
ISABEL.
I tell you I don't understand you.
CLAUDE.
I might have taken the plunge at first.
ISABEL.
Why not now?
CLAUDE.
I hate war. I hate war.
ISABEL.
So do we all.
CLAUDE.
Not like me.
ISABEL.
Are you like the Quakers ? Non-resistance ? That
sort of thing? I sometimes think Tolstoy's right. I
can respecl: anyone who honestly believes like that
and braves the world. Is that it?
CLAUDE.
I'd like to think that 's it.
ISABEL.
What then?
CLAUDE.
We've had enough of this.
18
ISABEL.
You can't stop now.
CLAUDE.
Jim Bowes may be dead. He may have a bullet in
his brain at this moment.
ISABEL.
You brute! Why do you say that?
CLAUDE.
Eh ! There was a time when I thought of old
England like the rest. And I liked to play at soldiers
when I was a boy. Why didn't I go? I might have
been at peace now.
ISABEL.
It 's not too late.
CLAUDE.
No.
ISABEL.
Are you simply a coward?
CLAUDE.
Simply a coward? There are a thousand ways of
being a coward.
ISABEL.
And only one way.
CLAUDE.
Why should I die? I love my life.
ISABEL.
Is that it?
CLAUDE.
What can you give me for it ?
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
He that loveth his life
CLAUDE.
Oh, yes, yes, yes. I know that. What does it mean ?
I want realities. I want to get to the bottom of
things. I know this talk about romance and honour
and sacrifice. Look out there; look in the garden.
Think of me no; think of Jim Bowes lying there
with a bullet in his heart ! What are the flowers and
the sunshine to him? What are your love and the
world's respeft? What's an epitaph and a word in
the newspapers? You're all stupid. He's dead.
ISABEL.
He lives. This life isn't all.
CLAUDE.
Let those who believe that go and fight.
ISABEL.
Brave men go, whatever they believe.
CLAUDE.
What is bravery?
ISABEL.
It's many things. It's unselfishness. It's justice.
It's imagination.
CLAUDE.
I'm young. I've not had my share.
ISABEL.
What is life if everyone despises you?
CLAUDE.
Yes, you force us to it. You hound us on.
20
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
It's you that's stupid. You're depraved. You're
a monster. Self, Self. No, no; I see it. I under-
stand you. But you mustn't speak of these things.
You mustn't betray yourself.
CLAUDE.
After all, what is life to me now? And we must die
some time. We can't escape.
ISABEL.
It is better to die a hero young than to live a long,
mean life.
CLAUDE.
Look out into the garden again. Look away at the
fields and the trees. What is there in these that will
despise me? I've the sun and the clouds. I've all
the animals and the birds. I'm one with them.
ISABEL.
They fight. They prey on one another.
CLAUDE.
Yes. But they've none of these points of honour.
They don't die willingly.
ISABEL.
A dog will die for his master.
CLAUDE.
Nonsense. It doesn't know what death is.
ISABEL.
Do we ?
21
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
It's to fall down and rot. To rot in the twinkling
of an eye.
ISABEL.
Oh, you're mad.
CLAUDE.
I've never said all this before. I've hardly thought
it.
ISABEL.
And why to me, now?
CLAUDE.
Why, indeed?
ISABEL.
And yet you have courage of a sort to say it.
CLAUDE.
It 's hardly decent, is it?
ISABEL.
You mustn't go so deep or you must go deeper.
CLAUDE.
Deeper ?
ISABEL. [Passionately.']
Don't you see that all the world will be wrong to
you ? It is it is, now. What good is the sunshine
to you and the clouds and things ? Why, the world's
gone sour. You can't live as you are. Yes, we are
all one with it. You can't be alone. You can't be
yourself. That's it. You want to be yourself, to
22
SHAMED LIFE
possess yourself, to be alone. You eat out your
heart, my poor boy. Give all you have. Give the
dearest thing you have.
[She breaks into sobs and turns away. He
stares past her into the garden. She
recovers^ and as he seems about to speak ,
raises her hand in warning. MRS.
PLASSEY and MRS. BOWES enter from
the garden. MRS. BOWES carries a
basket with eggs, which she presently
puts down.
MRS. BOWES.
Oh! Here you are. How d'you do, Claude?
CLAUDE.
How d'you do?
MRS. BOWES.
Well, we must be getting back.
CLAUDE.
I'm glad to hear Jim 's all right.
MRS. BOWES.
So far. Yes.
CLAUDE.
Oh, he'll be all right.
MRS. BOWES.
Why?
CLAUDE.
He'll have good luck. He'll get a D.S.O., you'll see.
MRS. BOWES.
That means he'll be in great danger.
23
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. PLASSEY.
I've been selfish. I wouldn't let Claude go.
MRS. BOWES.
He wants to go?
MRS. PLASSEY.
I couldn't bear it.
MRS. BOWES.
Can I bear it?
MRS. PLASSEY.
He has sacrificed himself for me.
CLAUDE.
Mother, mother [He looks at ISABEL.
MRS. BOWES.
Come, Belle. [They make to go out together. MRS.
BOWES hesitates and turns back. She walks up to
MRS. PLASSEY and speaks quietly.] You must let him
go. I know what you feel. I'm a happier woman
than you.
MRS. PLASSEY.
And yet, any day, you may hear
MRS. BOWES.
Sooner or later, I shall hear
ISABEL.
No.
MRS. BOWES.
No, my dear. You're right. I should not have
said that.
24
SHAMED LIFE
ISABEL.
You must not think it.
MRS. BOWES.
I'll try not to, dear. I ought to think more of you.
MRS. PLASSEY.
And you are happy?
MRS. BOWES.
Happier than you, I said. [After a pause.] Less
miserable.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Claude and I are happy here.
[CLAUDE laughs suddenly.
ISABEL. [To him in a low voice.'}'
You are cruel.
MRS. PLASSEY. [/ agitation.'}
Why should we let our boys go ?
MRS. BOWES.
We cannot keep them.
MRS. PLASSEY.
I am keeping Claude.
MRS. BOWES.
Does he want to go?
MRS. PLASSEY.
Yes.
CLAUDE.
No.
25
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. PLASSEY.
What do you mean? You know, Claude
CLAUDE.
I know that you are trying to protect me.
MRS. PLASSEY. [Fiercely.']
I will not let him go. He shall not go.
CLAUDE.
Poor mother! It hasn't been very difficult to keep
me.
MRS. PLASSEY.
What is it, Claude? I don't understand.
CLAUDE. [He turns to MRS. BOWES.]
Don't blame her. She knew I wouldn't go and so
she pretended that she kept me.
MRS. PLASSEY.
No.
CLAUDE.
Yes, mother.
MRS. BOWES.
Why did you let her keep you here?
CLAUDE.
I suppose I'm naturally a coward.
MRS. BOWES.
How can you say it? How can you acknowledge it?
ISABEL.
Because he has courage. He has courage.
26
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. BOWES.
Courage ?
ISABEL.
Yes, courage to look into his own soul.
CLAUDE.
Or am I so low that it doesn't matter?
MRS. BOWES.
But can he be afraid afraid to go? Are there men
like that?
ISABEL.
There are thousands. Thousands. But they pretend.
CLAUDE.
Yes, I read a funny story the other day. Quite a
funny story. It was about three men who didn't
volunteer for something. The captain or the colonel
or somebody asked them for their reasons. The first
said that he had rheumatism and the second that he
had heart disease. But the third man said : 'Same as
t'others. I'm feart'. [He laughs hysterically.
MRS. PLASSEY.
How can you how can you
ISABEL.
It 's horrible. It's horrible. You make a mockery of
yourself.
CLAUDE.
Yes. Can death be worse than this?
ISABEL.
There 's time to choose, yet.
27
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. PLASSEY. [Doggedly.']
I cannot permit him to go.
CLAUDE.
It 's such a narrow line that divides. Go or stay.
Hero or coward. Such a little step. One might be
either. Skulking behind the hens or running to
meet danger. Running [he has wandered to the
window and stands looking out] like this woman
running up the street.
MRS. BOWES.
What!
ISABEL. [At the window.]
It is. [She rushes out.
MRS. PLASSEY.
What is it?
MRS. BOWES.
A telegram, perhaps. Why does she run? It may
be good news or it may be no news at all. She said
she would run. It will be to say when he is coming
home. There is no cause for apprehension. [ISABEL
comes in hastily, holding a telegram in her hands.]
Open it.
[As ISABEL does so MRS. BOWES snatches and
the telegram falls to the ground. They
pounce on it together. They are on their
knees when MRS. BOWES opens it and
they scan it together. They remain
huddled together on the Jioor.
CLAUDE.
What is it? What is it?
28
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. BOWES. [As MRS. PLASSEY reaches out her
hand for the telegram.]
What have you to do with it ? [She rises. They both
rise. She hands the telegram courteously to MRS.
PLASSEY.] Forgive me.
CLAUDE. [Looting over his mothers shoulder.]
He 's dead then.
MRS. BOWES,.
You may envy him.
MRS. PLASSEY. [To MRS. BOWES.]
I don't know what to say to you. I am so grieved.
MRS. BOWES.
I am very sorry for you.
MRS. PLASSEY.
For me?
MRS. BOWES.
And for your son.
MRS. PLASSEY. [Looting at the two women in their
pride.]
I cannot bear it, Claude.
CLAUDE.
You shall bear it no longer.
MRS. BOWES.
Come, Isabel.
ISABEL.
Yes. What did he say?
29
SHAMED LIFE
CLAUDE.
Listen !
[Far away is the sound of the drum. It
grows nearer, fitfully.
MRS. PLASSEY.
I have held him back. I would not let him go.
CLAUDE.
There 's the call. I hear it now.
MRS. BOWES.
Come, Isabel.
ISABEL.
What is he saying?
MRS. BOWES.
It cannot matter now. How can you think of that
now?
ISABEL. [To CLAUDE.]
What is it? Tell me.
MRS. BOWES.
Isabel !
ISABEL.
Jim 's killed. Oh, yes ; I know. [To CLAUDE.]
You'll go now ?
CLAUDE. Yes.
[ISABEL looks at him steadily and then takes
MRS. BOWES'S arm.
3
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. BOWES.
We must not forget our eggs.
[She takes up the basket and she and ISABEL
pass out through the open window.
MRS. BOWES turns slightly and inclines
her head.
MRS. PLASSEY.
What does it mean ?
CLAUDE.
I think it means, for me, that the bitterness of death
is past.
MRS. PLASSEY.
Why?
CLAUDE.
I don't know. One makes a choice.
MRS. PLASSEY.
What did she say to you? What were you talking
about with that girl?
CLAUDE.
I made a confession. Yes, I confessed my sins.
MRS. PLASSEY.
To her!
CLAUDE.
Ah ! You loved me too much.
MRS. PLASSEY.
You are not going to the war? I cannot bear
CLAUDE.
No more of that, mother.
3 1
SHAMED LIFE
MRS. PLASSEY.
What has changed you ? What has happened ?
*
CLAUDE.
Jim Bowes is killed. How can I stay?
MRS. PLASSEY.
But thousands were killed before.
CLAUDE.
It 's strange, I know.
MRS. PLASSEY.
That girl that girl
CLAUDE.
No, mother; she's nothing tome. Only a voice. A
voice. Hark ! [The band is coming nearer.
MRS. PLASSEY. {Cries out.}
Yes, yes ; you must go.
[They embrace. He disengages himself and
goes out, pausing for a moment to watch
her as she falls on her knees with
her face to the window. The band
approaches playing clamorously. Then
a chorus of voices breaks out y the band
accompanying.
"Lovers and sons and husbands dear,
Hark to the call ;
Farewell sloth and farewell fear,
One and all;
Hark! It's the call of the drum and fife
To the great adventure death or life;
One and all
Hark to the call."
[The voices cease and the band breaks out
again as the curtain falls.
32
NIGHT WATCHES
A COMEDY IN ONE ACT
CHARACTERS
A NURSE.
A NIGHT-ORDERLY.
FIRST SOLDIER.
SECOND SOLDIER.
NIGHT WATCHES
SCENE
An ante-room to the wards in a small R.ed Cross
Hospital. The door is at the back and it leads to
a landing out of which the wards a large and a
small bedroom open. In the room are a clock
showing clearly the time a few minutes after ten
a fire with an armchair before //, a coalscuttle,
a low camp bed covered by a blanket, a small
table on which is a tray covered by a tablecloth,
a stand with a spirit lamp and kettle, etc. A
nurse enters with the night-orderly, tie is an
ordinary citizen of middle age; she is a comely
woman of middle age.
NURSE.
^ I "HIS is your room. Plenty of coal, I think? It
JL gets rather chilly in the middle of the night.
ORDERLY.
Thank you very much. What about that bed ? Am
I supposed to go to sleep?
NURSE.
Oh, I think so. Unless you're a very heavy sleeper.
Of course, you make your rounds every two or three
hours. But you'll find all quiet, I think. We've no
troublesome cases unless no, I don't think you'll
be disturbed.
35
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY. [Pointing to the tray.]
What's that?
NURSE.
That 's your tray. [She half uncovers it, displaying
teapot, loaf, etc.] There are biscuits in this paper bag.
ORDERLY.
I shan't want anything.
NURSE.
Yes, they all say that at first.
ORDERLY.
No, but really
NURSE.
Here 's the tea-caddy.
ORDERLY.
I never take anything after dinner.
NURSE.
And here's the toasting fork.
ORDERLY.
I don't think I shall want it.
NURSE. [Looting into the kettle.]
You'd better light this spirit lamp in good time. It
takes some time to boil. Or you could use the fire.
ORDERLY.
You're very good. But
NURSE.
If you can spend a night with a good cup of tea
staring at you you're very different from most people.
36
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY. [Relenting.']
Oh, I'm quite an ordinary person.
NURSE.
Yes ; most people are.
ORDERLY.
I do rather like the idea of a round of hot buttered
toast.
NURSE.
I don't think you'll be satisfied with the idea.
ORDERLY.
Perhaps not. Well, nurse, what are my instructions ?
NURSE.
You'd better read that paper on the wall.
ORDERLY.
I see.
NURSE.
The door just opposite is the big ward. Eight of
them there. The little ward is the room at the end
of the passage to the right. [She indicates it.] Only
two in that. They've been getting a little restless.
I'm not sure that we shan't have to make a change
there.
ORDERLY.
What sort of a change?
NURSE.
Well, we might put one of them in the big ward
and somebody else in there. I think they're getting
a bit on one another's nerves those two. One of
37
NIGHT WATCHES
them 's the deaf and dumb man, you know. You'd
better have a look at him when you go round. But
he 's near the bell.
ORDERLY.
A deaf and dumb man ?
NURSE.
Dreadful, isn't it ? A shell burst near him ; he wasn't
wounded but he can't speak a word now and can't
hear.
ORDERLY.
Will he get right?
NURSE.
They hope so. There 's a chance.
ORDERLY.
Well, you're sure I needn't keep awake all the time?
NURSE.
I don't think you will.
ORDERLY.
I'll spend the night pinching myself if you tell me to.
NURSE.
Do it if you like.
ORDERLY.
You're not going?
NURSE.
Yes.
38
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
Won't you sit down and have half-an-hour's chat?
Have a cup of tea?
NURSE. [She shahs her head smilingly.]
If there's anything wrong anything you can't
tackle call me. There 's a bell we've rigged up
here to my room. See? I think you've got every-
thing. Good night.
ORDERLY.
Good night, nurse. Thank you.
NURSE. [She stands at the door, listening.]
They are all sleeping. Poor boys, poor boys.
[She goes. The orderly looks after her wist-
fully. He takes a turn about the room,
examines the toasting-fork, takes up a
book, puts it down, sits in the armchair
and begins to fill his pipe thoughtfully.
The curtain falls for a moment to indi-
cate the passage of time. When it rises
the orderly is dozing in the chair and
the clock shows that it is half-past two.
He reuses gradually and listens. A
soldier pushes the door open and looks in.
His dress is a rough compromise between
day and night. He is youngish, a typical
private, now rather perturbed. His
head is bandaged.
ORDERLY.
What's up now?
FIRST SOLDIER.
'Scuse me, sir. [He salutes.] May I have a word
with you, sir ?
39
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
Certainly. Come in.
FIRST SOLDIER. [Advancing.]
I didn't ought to be put in there with 'im.
ORDERLY.
In where ? With whom ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Little ward, they call it. There's only two of us:
me an' 'im.
ORDERLY.
Little ward ? Well, but there 's a deaf and dumb
man there. He can't disturb you.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Can't he r
ORDERLY.
How can he if he 's but perhaps you're the deaf and
dumb man ?
FIRST SOLDIER. [Laughs uneasily.']
About as much as 'e is.
ORDERLY.
Do you mean to say that he's shamming?
FIRST SOLDIER.
I didn't say that. But he might be pretendin'.
ORDERLY.
He might be What 's the difference ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, one's worse than the other, isn't it?
40
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
D'you think so ? Shamming sounds worse, doesn't it ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Of course it does. I'd never say a man was shammin'
unless I knew. It wouldn't be fair.
ORDERLY.
But you'd say he was pretending ? Well, now, that 's
interesting. Sit down and explain the difference.
Have a cigarette ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Thanky, sir. [He takes one and sits down.
ORDERLY.
Now, then.
FIRST SOLDIER.
They wanted to get 'im out o' that big ward an'
they did.
ORDERLY.
Did they? Why?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Deaf an' dumb is 'e ?
ORDERLY.
Well, isn't he?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Shall I tell y' somethin', sir ?
ORDERLY.
Do.
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
I'm not one to blab.
ORDERLY.
No ; don't blab. Just tell me.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What shall I telly'?
ORDERLY.
Oh, heavens! Tell me the difference between sham-
ming and pretending.
FIRST SOLDIER.
It 's a rum thing. I never thought he was that sort
of feller.
ORDERLY.
What sort?
FIRST SOLDIER.
You think it's only pretendin'?
ORDERLY.
What's only pretending?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Shall I tell y'?
ORDERLY.
No; not unless you like. Don't tell me anything.
Go to bed.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I'm bound to tell y'.
42
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
Fire away, then.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Calls himself deaf and dumb?
ORDERLY.
Does he ? Funny that he should call himself anything.
FIRST SOLDIER.
He can talk right enough.
ORDERLY.
How d'you know?
FIRST SOLDIER.
I've heard him. Others too. That's what they
didn't like. Them in the big ward.
ORDERLY.
When have you heard him?
FIRST SOLDIER. [Impressively.]
In his sleep.
ORDERLY.
I see. I see.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Thought y'd see.
ORDERLY.
Has he done it often ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Pretty reg'lar.
43
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
Can you make out what he says?
FIRST SOLDIER.
No, he 's a bit too clever for that.
ORDERLY.
Too clever? Oh, come. How can that be?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Looks like pretendin'? What?
ORDERLY.
And why not shamming? Why don't you call it
shamming?
FIRST SOLDIER.
I'll tell y'. Because he 's deaf right enough.
ORDERLY.
How d'you know?
FIRST SOLDIER.
'Cause y' may make a noise like hell behind 'im and
he doesn't move. Y' may burst a paper bag agen 'is
ear 'ole. He 's deaf, 'e is, so I wouldn't go so far as
to say 'e 's shammin'.
ORDERLY.
Yes, I begin to see the difference.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Thought y' would.
ORDERLY.
Now, look here. I don't think he's shamming or
pretending or anything.
44
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
I tell y' I've 'card Mm many a time. It used to make
me go creeps. It does still but I'm more vexed now.
When y' curse 'im for it he can't 'ear a word.
ORDERLY.
Look here. Have you any of you told him that
he talks in his sleep?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Tell 'im? 'E wouldn't 'ear.
ORDERLY.
Yes, yes, yes ; but you can write it. He can read, I
suppose ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
I don't set much store by that way of writin'.
ORDERLY.
Now, that's no reason.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I don't want 'im on to me.
ORDERLY.
What d'you mean ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
You don't know what a feller like that'll do.
ORDERLY.
What have you against him ?
FIRST SOLDIER. [Testify.]
'Aven't I been tellin' y'?
45
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
Not a word.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Are you off your nut or am I?
ORDERLY.
Both of us, perhaps.
FIRST SOLDIER.
He gives out as 'e 's dumb. Is 'e?
ORDERLY.
Yes. When he's awake.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, now
ORDERLY.
Let me explain or try to. What is this dumbness?
He has had a great shock and it has completely
shattered paralysed of course, I don't understand
it as a doftor would or a scientific man it has put
all his nerves wrong, it has cut off or paralysed
the connections between his will what he wants to
do and what he can do. D'you see ? Well, he 's
all, as it were, dithering. And then he goes to
sleep.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Ah! That 'sit.
ORDERLY. [Encouraged.']
He goes to sleep. And do you know have you
thought what a beautiful thing sleep is? We relax,
we sink into nature, we you don't read Shakespeare ?
46
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
I've 'card tell of 'im.
ORDERLY.
Well, he once wrote a play about a murderer.
FIRST SOLDIER. [Starting.']
A murderer!
ORDERLY.
Yes; and when this murderer knew that he would
never sleep peacefully again he reeled off the most
beautiful praises of sleep and what sleep could do
devil take you, I believe you're too stupid to
understand.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I'll understand if you'll talk sense.
ORDERLY.
Yes. I beg your pardon. It 's my fault. Well, sleep
will do wonders. It will heal you, it will put things
right for the time, it will help you to put them right
altogether. It accomplishes miracles. You awake
and there you are again.
FIRST SOLDIER.
D'you believe all this yourself, sir?
ORDERLY.
I think so. Yes.
FIRST SOLDIER.
You said a murderer.
ORDERLY.
That was Macbeth. A chap called Macbeth.
47
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
Talked in 'is sleep, did 'e?
ORDERLY.
Well, his wife did. She was a murderer too.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Yes, you may be sure there 's summat wrong when
they do that.
ORDERLY.
No, no. The most innocent people may do it.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Innercent, indeed! He's got a bad conscience, that
chap.
ORDERLY.
What is a bad conscience? It's only an uncomfort-
able mind. Most of you have that. Most of us, I
should say.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Are y' sayin' I've a bad conscience?
ORDERLY.
No; but I can believe that if you've been out to the
war and seen horrible things you may have them on
your mind. You may even talk in your sleep.
FIRST SOLDIER.
That 's a lie.
ORDERLY.
You mustn't speak to me like that.
48
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER. [Saluting.]
Beg y'r pard'n, sir.
ORDERLY.
I'm not making myself out any better than you.
I've a bad conscience.
FIRST SOLDIER.
You, sir?
ORDERLY.
Oh, this war finds us out. All the things that we
might have done or left undone.
FIRST SOLDIER.
D'you talk in y'r sleep ?
ORDERLY. [Laughing.]
Oh ! I won't admit that.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I sh'd think not.
ORDERLY.
Now, look here. You're a fair-minded man. What
have you against this poor chap in your room? Just
look at it calmly as if you were judge or jury. What
has he done?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Y' talk of 'orrible things. I've seen some and I don't
mention 'em we tell y' a lot but there are some
things we may 'av seen 'em or we may 'av thought
'em. Better forget; better forget.
ORDERLY.
Well, my dear fellow, that's just it. That should
make you sympathize with him.
49 E
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
Or we may 'av done 'em.
ORDERLY.
Yes, I see.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Y' can't be sure. Of anyone else I mean.
ORDERLY.
Of course you can't. You can't be sure of anything.
But you musn't condemn others.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What 'as that feller seen? What 'as he done? I'm
alone with 'im in that little ward. I can't make out
a word, but it's talkin' right enough. I've stood
over 'im listenin'. It's 'orrible langwidge. I can't
make out a word. 'Ardly.
ORDERLY.
Oh! come, you know
FIRST SOLDIER.
He's done somethin'. I know 'e 'as.
ORDERLEY.
Oh, well, my friend, if it comes to that you've done
a bit of killing or tried to.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I 'ad to kill them bloody Germans.
ORDERLY.
I know that. That's all right.
50
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
It's all so 'orrible sir that you want things to be done
right. You don't want any 'anky-panky.
ORDERLY.
Yes, I see.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Them Germans ! I reckon they're all like 'im.
ORDERLY.
How like him?
FIRST SOLDIER.
All talkin' in their sleep.
ORDERLY.
That 's a dreadful idea.
FIRST SOLDIER.
An' there am I with 'im in the night. And in the
big ward they're sleepin' peaceful. What did that
Shakespeare say of sleep?
ORDERLY.
He said a lot of things.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Tell me one.
ORDERLY.
" The death of each day's life "
FIRST SOLDIER.
An 'orrible idea. Damn 'im.
ORDERLY.
You musn't damn Shakespeare.
5'
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
I will if 'e talks like that. No disrespec' to you sir.
What else did 'e say?
ORDERLY. " Sore labour's bath,
Balm of hurt minds, great nature's second course,
Chief nourisher in life's feast."
FIRST SOLDIER. [Humbly.]
I don't understand. [Resentfully.] Why, it might
be 'im talkin' in 'is sleep. [He jerks a thumb.
ORDERLY.
Yes, he may be saying the most beautiful things.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Nay, 'e's a devil, that feller is.
ORDERLY.
Hullo! What's that?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Begod, 'e's comin'.
[They both look towards the door and the
second soldier appears there. He
stands surveying them timidly and yet
morosely. He wears an old dressing-
gown over pyjamas.
ORDERLY.
This is most irregular. I shall get into a row.
[Seeing him speak the second soldier straightens
himself and salutes. Then he advances
slowly into the room.
FIRST SOLDIER. [In a stentorian voice.'}
Y're on fire. [The second soldier takes no notice.
52
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
What the dickens d'you mean ? You'll wake every-
body.
FIRST SOLDIER.
It 's all right, sir. Best try 'im now and then. He
might get back 'is 'earin' sudden. I think y' may
talk free before 'im now.
ORDERLY.
I don't know that I want to talk before him. I want
you both to go back to bed.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I'm not goin' back before 'e does.
ORDERLY.
Why?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Lyin' there in the dark and thinkin' 'e may come in.
[The second soldier makes a gesture to Indicate that he
wants the other sent away. It is intended to be sur-
reptitious , but the first soldier observes /'/.] Look at
that! See Mm? No, you don't. \Ttie second soldier
fumbles in the pockets of his gown and produces a small
slate and a pencil. He writes. T7je first soldier tries
to see what he is writing, and there is a mild scuffle.
The second soldier seeks the protection of the orderly, who
overlooks his writing and waves the first soldier away.]
Fair do's.
ORDERLY.
Let him write.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Yes, but let me see it.
53
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY.
Why should you ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
'Tisn't polite to whisper in company.
ORDERLY.
Whisper ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Same thing if you don't let me look.
ORDERLY. [Looting at the slate.']
Well, the fat is he wants a little private conversa-
tion with me.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Oh! Indeed! Wants me to go? Well, I'm not
'aving any. That 's straight.
ORDERLY.
If I tell you to go you'll have to.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Cert'nly, sir; but he oughtn't to write about me
be'ind my back.
ORDERLY.
You've been talking about him behind his back.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Yes, but he couldn't 'ear any 'ow.
ORDERLY.
What 's that to do with it ?
54
NIGHT WATCHES
FIRST SOLDIER.
An' I can read writin'.
ORDERLY.
Your distinctions are too fine for me.
[ The second soldier has been writing on the
slate^ and now hands it to the orderly^
who reads and laughs.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What 'she say ?
ORDERLY.
He says you're very restless and he thinks you have-
something on your mind.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, I never.
ORDERLY.
He says he doesn't know what you've been doing,
but you must have a bad conscience.
FIRST SOLDIER.
'E's like them Germans. They always say as it 's us
does their dirty tricks. P'raps 'e is one.
ORDERLY.
Now, you've no right to say that.
FIRST SOLDIER.
No, sir; I 'aven't. \Ttie second soldier grasps the slate
again^ rubs out his messages with fingers moistened at
his mouth and writes eagerly. The first soldier manages
to look over. He backs away. Feebly.] 'E says I'm a
bad man.
55
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY. [Looking at the slate as the second soldier
writes.]
He says he caught you bending over him and going
to stick something in him.
"V
FIRST SOLDIER.
'E's a liar.
ORDERLY.
And that you must be sent away.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I'll bash 'is 'ed in.
ORDERLY.
Silence.
[The two soldiers glare at one another^ snarl-
ing and menacing. The orderly steps
between.
FIRST SOLDIER.
If 'e wants a scrap I'm 'is man.
ORDERLY.
You two fools. [To first soldier.'] You should be
sorry for the poor fellow. It 's the old tale. Fear
breeds cruelty.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Fear!
ORDERLY.
Yes, fear. You're brave enough when it comes to
killing Germans, I daresay, but you're afraid of
nothing at all. There 's something here you can't
understand, and, like a coward, you blame this poor
56
NIGHT WATCHES
fellow. You should help him. He 's your comrade
your pal. It's the way with all of us. We fear
and fear and then we'll do any beastly cruel thing.
[He takes the slate and pencil and begins to
write.
FIRST SOLDIER. [Sullenly.']
What'r y' tellin' 'im?
ORDERLY.
Very much what I've been saying to you.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I 'aven't touched Mm.
ORDERLY.
Why! If you two fellows were back in the trenches
together you'd die for one another.
[He gives the slate to the second soldier, who
reads /'/, grabs the pencil^ turns to the
other side of the slate and writes
furiously.
FIRST SOLDIER.
I dessay. What's 'e writin' now?
ORDERLY.
I don't know.
[The second soldier throws the slate on the
table and moves towards the door. The
first soldier tries to get it, but the orderly
is before him.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What's 'e say?
NIGHT WATCHES
ORDERLY. [Angrily in a loud voice to second soldier
after reading.]
Don't be a fool. Deuce take it, I'm forgetting now.
FIRST SOLDIER.
What does 'e say?
ORDERLY.
He says he'll blow his brains out.
FIRST SOLDIER. [Daunted.]
I don't wish 'im no 'arm. Not a bit.
[The orderly gets hold of the second soldier and
leads him forward to a chair toward
the front, where he sits down dejectedly.
T/ie orderly picks up the slate.
ORDERLY.
Where's that pencil?
\As he is looting for it the first soldier, who
has been in a state of uncomfortable
hesitancy, approaches the second soldier
from behind and brings his mouth close
to the other's ear.
FIRST SOLDIER. [/ a terrific voice.]
Bill ! [The second soldier starts slightly and then rises
unsteadily. He turns slowly to loot at the first soldier.
In an awed voice] 'E 'card me. [Trembling, the
second soldier stretches out his hand for the slate. The
orderly hands him the pencil and he tries to write, but
his agitation overcomes him and he sits down. In the
meantime the first soldier empties the bag of biscuits and
again approaches the second soldier, this time blowing
out the bag into a balloon. He explodes it at ear of the
second soldier, who rises again and sees the torn bag.
58
NIGHT WATCHES
With an inarticulate cry he falls on the neck of the first
soldier. ~\ I made 'irn 'ear.
[They waltz round the room together and
passing the orderly drag him in. He
joins in the dance and they knock over
a chair or two. The nurse in dressing-
gown^ etc., enters.
NURSE.
Well!
[They separate^looking rather sheepish^ but the
first soldier soon recovers and cautiously
gets hold of the poker and tongs.
ORDERLY.
You've caught us this time, nurse.
NURSE.
Whatever are you doing; You'll wake everybody.
Really, sir
ORDERLY.
Oh, you must forgive us, nurse. There's been a
great reconciliation. And more than that.
[The second soldier seizes the nurse's arm.
He simulates shouting^ taps his ears and
gesticulates explanations and delight.
NURSE.
Can he hear?
ORDERLY.
Not much yet, but something.
[The first soldier makes a sudden and great
clanging with the fire-irons.
59
NIGHT WATCHES
NURSE.
Whatever 's that?
ORDERLY.
Stop, confound you.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Give 'im a bit o' pleasure.
[The two soldiers shake hands.
NURSE.
Well, I don't know what to say. It 's most irregular.
ORDERLY.
Report us, nurse ; report tis. Blame me.
FIRST SOLDIER. [Confidentially, to orderly]
'E 's not 'alf a bad chap.
[The two soldiers shake hands.
NURSE.
Now, you two be off to bed. [She gesticulates to the
second soldier. ] Where 's his slate ? The pencil ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Oh, never mind that! 'E'll be talkin' d'reftly. 'E
talks in 'is sleep now. My Gawd! I used to be
frightened of 'im. At nights you get thinkin'.
NURSE.
Well, be off, be off, that 's good boys.
{They start off" arm in arm.
FIRST SOLDIER. [Turning.]
What time may I start talkin' to 'im?
60
NIGHT WATCHES
NURSE.
What time ?
FIRST SOLDIER.
Yes, I'm goin' to make Mm 'ear proper in the mornin'.
NURSE.
I'll box your ears if I hear a sound before eight o'clock.
FIRST SOLDIER.
Well, look out then. [They go off" laughing.
ORDERLY.
You'll have to report me.
NURSE.
Shall I?
ORDERLY.
Won't your We must have awakened all of them?
NURSE.
It wasn't quite so bad as shells bursting, after all.
ORDERLY.
Well, do you want a full explanation ?
NURSE.
It'll do in the morning. You can make a report. But
I think I know. [She goes to the door and listens.]
They're all sleeping quietly.
ORDERLY.
Good lads!
61
NIGHT WATCHES
NURSE.
They've all sorts of fancies. They're so different in
the daytime. Now they're breathing like one.
Even those two very soon they'll be asleep.
ORDERLY.
We're groping among strange things, nurse.
NURSE.
I don't know that I understand you. They're like
children to me. These two naughty ones well, you
know what I mean.
ORDERLY.
Do I ? Don't let us understand everything.
NURSE.
Good night, again.
ORDERLY.
Good night, nurse.
NURSE. [GoingJ]
You have a cup of tea now and that toast.
ORDERLY.
Am I one of your children too ?
NURSE.
Are you wounded and ill ?
ORDERLY.
No; only rather melancholy.
62
NIGHT WATCHES
NURSE. [She shakes her head.]
Try a cup of tea.
[She goes out. The orderly gazes after her.
Then he lifts up the teapot and looks at
it. The curtain falls.
THE CHOICE
A PLAY IN ONE ACT
CHARACTERS
MRS. LILLEY.
ELLA CHRISTIE.
ANNE.
MAJOR GREIG.
THE CHOICE
SCENE
The sitting-room of a country cottage. There is a French
window leading into the garden at the back, and
a door at the side of the scene.
ELLA comes through the garden entrance with flowers
in her hands. ANNE (middle-aged] enters from the
side door with a letter on a tray. She offers it to
ELLA.
ANNE.
THE postman says it's been delayed, Miss Ella.
You see it's addressed to you at Mrs. Leslie's.
ELLA.
Leslie Lilley. They're not very near. Well put
it down please, Anne. I suppose it 's somebody that
doesn't know
[She glances at the letter which ANNE has
put on the table and some of the flowers
fall from her hands.
ANNE.
It is for you all right, Miss, I suppose?
ELLA.
It 's for me, sure enough, Anne.
67
THE CHOICE
ANNE.
Well, I do hope it 's not anything to call you away,
Miss Ella if I may say so. You know it's done
the mistress a world of good to have you here. She
holds her head very high and yet she frets since Mr.
Walter's death and, oh dear! I shouldn't speak of
it to you. What am I thinking of? Forgive me,
Miss Ella.
ELLA.
Since Mr. Walter's death ?
ANNE.
Well, when anyone's there she seems proud and
almost happy like, but not when she 's alone. And
she 5 s different with you more natural, because, of
course, you too but oh ! Miss Ella, you're young.
I'm talking to you very free you're young. A
mother 's not the same.
ELLA.
I'm young. Well ?
ANNE.
I don't care, Miss Ella, if you do think me cheeky.
I do care but I can't stop. I've known you since you
were a girl and him too poor young man ever
since his father died. I mind the day Mr. Walter
went off to fight against them Boers and she said to
me the mistress said " Anne, I shall never see him
again." I said " Nonsense, ma'am," but I believed
her. I never saw anyone look like him. Miss Ella,
he didn't like going and no wonder leaving you
behind and you only engaged a month. But now,
Miss Ella, you'll forgive me, and I've known you a
long time, and what I do say is one 's enough to go
68
THE CHOICE
on sorrowing. His mother well, she 's got nothing
else. But I do say and you may be angry if you
like I wish that letter there was from another
from your sweetheart there!
ELLA, [dfter a short pause.~\
How do you know it isn't, Anne ?
ANNE.
Oh! Miss Ella, is it?
ELLA.
Well, perhaps he would like to be.
ANNE.
Then if he 's good and if you like him don't send
him away. I'm speaking as one woman to another.
Don't miss the chance. You'd have plenty more
but if you do like him
MRS. LILLEY enters.
MRS. LILLEY.
Was it the postman, Anne?
ANNE.
It was a letter for Miss Ella, ma'am. [Exit ANNE.
ELLA.
It 's from Major Greig.
MRS. LILLEY.
Ah! my dear Ella and you havn't opened it.
ELLA.
I've hardly had time. Anne has been talking to me,
and besides, I'm trying to think a bit first.
69
THE CHOICE
MRS. LILLEY.
Let me help you.
ELLA. [Takes up the letter.']
He 's got your name wrong Mrs. Leslie. I wonder
how he got your address. And I came here to be
quiet and to think and to talk to you. I don't know
whether I am glad or sorry that he has found me out.
Anne says it has been good for you my being here
but I came quite selfishly. I wanted to see things
through your eyes.
MRS. LILLEY.
My dear, what I can say is only, again and again,
Walter is dead and you are young.
ELLA.
It 's fine of you to say it. And yet yes, there are
times when you want me to leave you alone. I think
I understand you. I shall never forget Walter no
you don't want that. But if I well, if I marry
you'll seem to have him more to yourself. You want
that. You love me, but you would like me out of the
way. You are a little jealous, you know.
MRS. LILLEY.
I'm his mother, my dear, and you are young. It 's
all natural.
ELLA.
Yes, I'm young. I keep hearing that. Oh! I know
it's intolerable to renounce youth. I can't live on
memories, I know. And yet it seems like giving
him up. It 's a kind of treachery. I want a milder
word. Fickle? But I wouldn't have been fickle.
70
THE CHOICE
MRS. LILLEY.
No, no, my dear. He would have wished for this.
Nay, I am confident he does wish it. He wants you
to be happy. This Major Greig I should like to see
him. I only want to know that he's good enough for
you and then Ella, was he at the War? Do
you think he could ever have met Walter?
ELLA.
He was at the war. He won't talk about it.
MRS. LILLEY.
No, these brave men won't talk. If Walter had come
home we should never have got anything out of him.
But it's hard that we shouldn't know how it all
happened. I think they might have found out more.
I thought if I'd gone out there but it's too late now.
I know he died nobly heroically. I know that. Had
Major Greig heard of him ?
ELLA.
Of Walter ? I never spoke of him. He knows I was
engaged, but I never mentioned Walter's name.
MRS. LILLEY.
Of course, he hadn't time to make himself famous.
ANNE enters
ANNE.
If you please, ma'am, there's a gentleman at the
garden gate. He seems to be looking at the house,
but he doesn't come in.
7*
THE CHOICE
MRS. LILLEY.
Ask him if there is anything we can do for him,
Anne.
[ANNE approaches the garden entrance^ but
ELLA is there before her and looks out.
ELLA.
It's Major Greig.
MRS. LILLEY.
Oh ! go and bring him in, Ella. [LLA does not stir.']
Then I will. [She goes out.]
ANNE.
Oh! Is it him, Miss Ella?
ELLA.
Hush ! Anne.
ANNE.
Oh, Miss Ella, I wish I could be at hand to advise
you.
ELLA.
Well, really ! Anne. [She laughs.'] I'll call you if
I'm in any difficulty.
ANNE.
Do, Miss.
[ANNE goes out as MRS. LILLEY returns
through the garden entrance with
MAJOR GREIG.
GREIG.
It 's extremely good of you. I thought this must be
the house, but the people I asked didn't know your
72
THE CHOICE
name. Ah ! [He sees ELLA and comes forward to her.
They shake hands. ,] You got my letter ? I hope Miss
Christie has already made my apologies for such an
unceremonious visit, Mrs. Leslie.
ELLA.
Your letter's there. It's just come.
GREIG.
I thought you'd get it this morning. It doesn't
matter. It was only to say . [He looks at MRS.
LILLEY with friendly, inquiring eyes. She smiles
responsively and he laughs.'] I had to come, you see.
MRS. LILLEY.
And we're delighted to see you, Major Greig. We
have tea at half-past four, and till then where are
you, by the by? The Dragon? Yes. Well, come
here whenever you can. You've found the best way
-^through the garden. You and Ella will want to
talk and I must have my afternoon nap.
[She nods and smiles and goes out.
GREIG.
That 's a very charming lady.
ELLA.
She 's a dear woman.
GREIG.
Well, I've found you out, you see.
ELLA.
Was I in hiding ?
GREIG.
You didn't tell me where you were going.
73
THE CHOICE
ELLA.
And why should I ?
GREIG.
Because you knew it interested me enormously.
ELLA.
It would have been foolish of me to tell you.
GREIG.
Why?
ELLA.
Because I came here to get away from you.
GREIG. {After a pause.]
Why?
ELLA.
I wanted to be alone to think. Or, rather, I wanted
to see myself from outside with another's eyes.
GREIG.
Whose eyes? This old lady's?
ELLA.
Yes.
GREIG.
I don't quite understand, but whatever you do is
right, I'm sure. She 's a charming, sad old creature.
And, of course, you do well to think to pause. I
agree with that. I want you to look at it every way
and to look at me too. My dear, my dear girl, there
are lots of things about me that ought to be better,
but I'm pretty sound. If you like me enough you
won't reject me on examination. It's the conven-
74
THE CHOICE
tional thing to say that you're far too good for me,
and I'll say it. You are and yet I don't know. A
man is tossed about in the world ; he goes through
black, grim things and he comes back to this to you.
It's peaceful here and the sun shines on the pretty
little garden, and you are dainty and beautiful, and
have been all the time. Here I am and I'm all right,
but it hasn't been all rosewater. I hardly know the
woman's point of view. What should such fellows
as I do crawling between heaven and earth? And
yet it 's poor fun for you to go into a nunnery.
ELLA.
A nunnery ? Yes. If I had been a French girl I
might have thought of a nunnery.
GREIG.
I believe we are a little bit at cross purposes yet.
ELLA.
I told you that I had been engaged and that he my
lover died.
GREIG.
Yes.
ELLA.
He was the son of the lady you have just seen.
GREIG.
I might have guessed that.
ELLA.
She is good to me. She doesn't reproach me though
she knows about you. I think, sometimes, that she
likes to believe that she alone is worthy to cherish
to remember him.
75
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
Why should she reproach you ?
ELLA.
He was her son.
GREIG.
Do you think so poorly of mothers?
ELLA.
I suppose you're right. Yet when I told her about
you it seemed a humiliation. Can't you understand ?
Oh! it 's unfair to you, I know. I want to make my
confessions.
GREIG.
Your confessions?
ELLA.
No. They're not that, but I feel that there 's some-
thing to be said. I've not talked to you about it, but
you know I belonged to him and not half-heartedly.
And to come to you now! I resent that you should
efface him like this and yet and yet Oh! I can't
be right and happy anyhow. And it 's so unfair to
you. It's all a jumble in my mind. I'm stupid and
unintelligible. I want to be frank with you and I've
nothing to say and there are infinite things to be said.
GREIG.
Don't say them if they hurt you. I think I can
understand and imagine a good deal. And don't let
us have too much of this looking backward. Con-
fessions! I suppose that when people marry it's the
time to make a clean breast of it. I might suspecl
you I don't, I don't I might suspedt you of making
76
THE CHOICE
a kind of sham confession to bring out my real one.
No no. Don't think I suspeft it. I knew this must
come and I've dreaded it. Probably I'm quite wrong
to tell you, but I can't help it. I'm afraid I alarm
you. It 's nothing now, it 's all over. You're a
generous woman and not a squeamish one. You
won't judge too rapidly instinftively against me.
It's an incident a strange incident. Oh! nothing
to do with a woman.
ELLA.
I'm not unforgiving. I could forgive you a good deal.
But tell me quickly.
GREIG.
I've not talked to you much about the war. Out
there a man may see some queer things. He may do
some queer things that never see the light. They're
not part of the romantic convention.
ELLA.
I'm not afraid of anything you've done.
GREIG.
No. You're a priceless woman a woman apart. I
think I'm not afraid to tell you. There 's dirty work
to be done in the world. There 's blood to be shed,
poor hapless things to be struck down. [Pause.] Do
you know, your hostess's face Mrs. Leslie gave
me a little shock when I saw her. She reminded me
of a boy
ELLA.
Oh! Tell me and be done. You stray from the
point.
77
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
Not entirely. Mrs. Leslie
ELLA.
Mrs. Lilley.
GREIG.
What?
ELLA.
It 's Mrs. Lilley. You keep saying Mrs. Leslie.
GREIG.
Her name is Lilley?
ELLA.
Yes. You got it wrong.
GREIG.
She had a son of course. What am I thinking
about? He died where?
ELLA.
Do you forget that I told you I was to marry him?
GREIG.
And he died ?
ELLA.
He was killed in South Africa.
GREIG. [Staring at her.']
Yes, yes, of course, of course.
ELLA.
Go on. Go on.
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
Well, what was I saying? There's not much to be
said. One feels it that way, you know. Here you
are all spick and span, and there are we hacking and
slashing. Of course there isn't much of that now-
adays. The sword the sword, you know, is rather
an antiquated instrument -
ELLA. [Goes to him and seizes his
Will you tell me what you were going to say ?
GREIG.
I was saying that we have to do a bit of dirty work.
You can't touch pitch without being a bit defiled,
you know.
ELLA.
What are you keeping back? What is it? What
do you mean? Why do you talk this rubbish?
There's something about him. What is it?
GREIG.
About whom?
ELLA.
You know. Walter Lilley.
GREIG.
Not at all. I assure you you're quite mistaken -
ELLA.
Oh! It's useless useless. You are lying. I see it.
I know it. What did you do? Don't think you can
keep it from me. I must know ; can't you see that ?
Go on.
79
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
I can't go on.
ELLA.
Is he alive?
GREIG.
No.
ELLA.
Tell me of him. Tell me of Walter Lilley. Walter
Walter Lilley.
GREIG.
You think only of him.
ELLA.
Of him? Only of him? No oh! no of you too.
This is horrible. You lost him? You deserted him?
Oh! don't let me guess such things. Worse than
that? You couldn't kill him? That's impossible;
you were on the same side.
GREIG.
You confuse me. Give me a moment's peace.
ELLA. [She sinks into a chair watching him.~\
The truth.
GREIG.
I've believed in the truth all my life: it's helped me
out of some bad places. I only want to help you.
ELLA.
The truth.
80
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
I might concocl: some story even now, but I won't.
The truth is very bitter and ugly. I tell you, and I'm
a broken man but you well, you're a woman to
do and bear great things.
ELLA.
I can wait no longer.
GREIG.
It was when I was with Riddick in the Transvaal.
He gave me a ticklish job. We were at a place called
Edderdorp. Perhaps you remember that there was
an engagement there. I had to make a march with
a kind of dummy convoy. It was meant to draw the
Boers, and Riddick only gave me enough men to
make a show. The wagons were empty. The main
force went another way to catch them if they drew
out to attack us. It was a good notion, but of course
we stood the chance of being mauled before the real
business began. Among others I had given me a
dozen men of Bilton's horse. I wouldn't have taken
them had I known that they had never been in aftion.
Let me come to the point. We were attacked
prematurely, I think as we rested for a meal, and I
ordered an advance. It was awkward. It didn't look
nice. These raw lads to go into aftion for the first
time is uncomfortable work anyhow I couldn't
steady them. There was one who wouldn't or
couldn't mount. I think now that he was paralysed
with fear that he was physically incapable. It 's
pitiable: there are such cases. The thing was hurried,
confused : you can hardly understand : everything
hung in the balance. The fellows had their orders
but it was a question which way they would ride. I
had my revolver out. I shall never forget that boy's
8l G
THE CHOICE
face: it was enough to unman a battalion. For God's
sake let me make myself clear I can't go over it
twice his name was Walter Lilley. I had no pity,
I think, but I did right: I did what I must. I shot
him in the head.
ELLA. [Rises.]
You killed him? You killed him? Your
GREIG.
I killed him. Yes. Take care what you say. Wait,
stop.
ELLA.
As if the words mattered.
GREIG.
Don't they? Don't the words matter? I think you
might make me miserable for ever with a word.
ELLA.
Murderer. [A pause.
GREIG.
No. You are right. It's only a word. What else
could you say ? What else could I hope for now ?
You can't be infinitely wise and charitable in a
moment. There seemed to be no other way. There
are no reserves now : it 's only truth that can help us.
ELLA.
Go go.
GREIG.
Not now. Not yet. I must say something. How
can I leave you to remember me so? You're not
82
THE CHOICE
cruel, you'll pity me, and I only ask for justice. The
thing 's bigger than ourselves : it wasn't for myself I
struck. Do you know that many a time since I've
said to myself that it was for England. Well, I say
it to you now. Is this a false note? I'm confused
and I want to put my case and I'm losing precious
time: I might say something that you'd remember
and think over. Does it all seem monstrous to you?
It 's all over, of course, and I must go, but I can't
bear that you should think of me like that.
ELLA.
And he served England too. Ah ! You don't under-
stand how it is with me. We should fly apart like
two guilty creatures two murderers.
GREIG.
Two?
ELLA. \After a short pause.]
I made him go. I knew he was not not very
courageous. He went to please me to propitiate
me. I wanted him to conquer himself. Wasn't it
brave, wasn't it noble of him? I sacrificed him.
Hush! Hush! There's someone moving Mrs.
Lilley. She mustn't know: she must never know.
Will it come out? Can it be kept secret?
GREIG.
It won't come out. There was a kind of private
enquiry and a swearing to secrecy. The truth is that
not many of us were left but we did the work all
right. If anyone blabbed I've men I could trust to
contradidt it. Of course I'm not thinking of myself.
And I'm ready to swear on the Book that he died
heroically.
83
THE CHOICE
ELLA.
And he did he did. It 's his agony that I can't bear
that moment when he couldn't he couldn't
were you in a passion ? I don't understand.
GREIG.
Would you dwell on it? Understand that we were
in a desperate strait, and that a big disaster might
have followed our failure: the whole thing depended
on us. I don't want merely to make a case: I'm
ready to confess to the uttermost. I believe I was
conscious of doing a big, fine thing. No one has
emotions afterwards and it's hard to distinguish.
There are times when I'm haunted like a criminal.
ELLA.
Hush!
[MRS. LILLEY enters with a photograph in
her hand.
MRS. LILLEY.
Pardon me. I was afraid that Major Greig might go
before I had the opportunity to speak to him again.
But you did say you would stay to tea, I think.
GREIG. [Glancing at ELLA.]
I'm afraid that I shall have to go directly, Mrs.
Lilley.
MRS. LILLEY.
Well, then, come back and dine. The Dragon 's a
dreary place in the evening, I should think. Ella
[She turns to ELLA and pauses^ looking intently at her
for a moment.'] you must persuade Major Greig to
come.
84
THE CHOICE
ELLA.
If you can't, dear-
s. LILLEY looks from one to the other
silently and then at the photograph in
her hands.
MRS. LILLEY.
You were in South Africa, Major Greig?
GREIG.
For nearly two years.
MRS. LILLEY.
Of course it 's- a big place. You know I lost my
son there. Ella has told you, perhaps.
GREIG.
have been grieved to hear it, Mrs. Lilley.
MRS. LILLEY. [Anxiously.]
Did you meet him? Did you know him? He was
in Bilton's Horse Walter Lilley.
GREIG.
No, I don't think I ever met him.
MRS. LILLEY.
I have a photograph here. It was taken just before
he went out. Possibly you might
[She hands it to him.
GREIG. [Takes photograph. A pause.]
No. I think I should have remembered him.
MRS. LILLEY.
We never heard how it happened, Major. That 's
hard, isn't it? They told us what they could, but it
85
THE CHOICE
wasn't much. It was at Edderdorp he fell in the
battle there. I should have liked to know. I know
he died bravely. I don't complain of my sacrifice.
Many mothers made it. Well, I thought you might
have heard. I shall never know now.
GREIG. [Slowly and stumblingly^ still holding the photo-
graph in his handJ]
Mrs. Lilley, it's enough that he went out there on
a generous impulse to serve his country and that he
died. It can't help you to know the manner of his
death ; that 's nothing nothing. He went out : he
did what he could. Success and failure were inex-
tricably mixed. There were deaths that seemed fine
and picturesque they almost brought the illusion of
happiness : and some that seemed common or terrible
or ignoble. I don't want to distinguish: they were
all my comrades. [He gives her the photograph.
MRS. LILLE Y.
I shall like to think of you as his comrade.
[GREiG bows. MRS. LILLEY looks from one
to the other , bows y and goes out.
GREIG.
I feel it 's impossible to go : I know it 's impossible
to stay.
ELLA.
She must never know. It would be too terrible for
her. [Rises.
GREIG.
And for you ?
86
THE CHOICE
ELLA.
I'm sorry for you now. No, it would be worse for
her than for me. Now that you're going I want to
unsay some things. I wouldn't do it but I shan't see
you again. I don't want you to think of what I've
said. [She breals o/l] Oh! He failed, then, he failed.
And you were strong and terrible and angry. You
towered above him. I resent that. I hate those
strong and masterful men. But it's not dreadful
enough to me. I don't feel it enough. No I don't
rightly know what I'm saying. Why are you here?
Why do you stay ?
GREIG.
Good-bye, then? [LLA sits down^ not looking at him.
GREIG finds his hat and stick and walks towards the
garden entrance. He pauses there. Then he comes
forward and speaks emphatically.^ No!
[ELLA starts and looks round. GREIG puts
down his hat and stick.
ELLA.
What is it? What's the matter?
GREIG.
I have decided that I won't go. It 's not all over.
ELLA.
I don't understand what you mean by that. Are you
mad?
GREIG.
I am sane to the very heart of me, and you must be
too.
ELLA.
Oh ! leave me in peace. I can bear no more.
87
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
It must be now. I should be a fool to leave you, and
if I did I should come back. But it's to be now.
What! Is this poor lad and his memory to be the
end of you? I'll yield to another man never to a
shadow. I've seen him and I know him : those were
your salad days. A poor weak lad that you mothered
and yet capable of effort, capable of agony. We
must face that, if it has to be faced, together. I could
go mad and melancholy myself about it. Don't let
me do that. Don't leave me alone.
ELLA.
I can't listen to this.
GREIG.
But you must. You must listen. This is your
chance our chance. I'm appealing to your reason.
And it 's not only to your reason. I'm your lover
I I not another. Oh! my dear, be frank, be
honest now. Don't think of people condemning you.
Think of me: help me. I wouldn't ask it but it's
life for you and not death. Don't choose a death by
inches. Don't follow this dear old lady and live on
photographs and bits of faded ribbon and locks of
hair. I can offer you something better.
ELLA.
Oh! this is impossible.
GREIG.
No. It 's a sharp turn : it 's a sudden call on all your
faculties on your character.
ELLA.
It 's intolerable. What woman ever submitted to
such solicitations? What woman would marry the
man who had killed her lover?
88
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
A thousand. The history of the world 's full of them.
ELLA.
What can you mean?
GREIG.
Did you never hear of the Sabine women? The
Romans killed the men and the women made them
good wives. A legend? But there's truth in it.
And how many times in the primitive strife for a
mate has the stronger struck the weaker down ? You
think this an insult? It would be to any bread-and-
butter miss: you're different. The world's a great
place. My parallels aren't parallels, I daresay, but
you'll understand. It 's true I killed the poor lad :
it 's a pity, but great God ! what is he to us now?
You have to think of me. I'm not the worse for it.
You would have forgiven some lapse that showed I
was crumbling away my brain, my heart.
ELLA. [Slowly.]
You can't dispose of memories and affections like
that.
GREIG.
That 's it. Begin to argue. That 's what I want.
ELLA.
This is no case for reason.
GREIG.
It is.
ELLA.
I want to treat you respectfully kindly but
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
But it 's a concession that you fear to make.
ELLA.
You've startled me. How can I reason or think?
GREIG.
Your deepest instinft will do.
ELLA.
I can't live as fast as this. I can't move at this rate.
GREIG.
You can live as fast as thought.
ELLA.
Why! You're like Richard the Third in the play
and I'm the wretched Lady Anne, I suppose. Are
you preparing to crow over me?
GREIG.
I'm past timidities and squeamishness. Let us believe
in ourselves.
ELLA.
The all-conquering male!
GREIG.
You're fencing. You don't think so of me.
ELLA. [After a pause.]
I think I understand. I see your point of view. Nay,
I could almost see it as possible
GREIG. [Interrupting.]
Why! then
90
THE CHOICE
ELLA.
Stop! I can almost see myself in a mood to consent.
Yes. I can see it as you see it a great chance. It'll
be misery for me either way. If it were a matter of
a moment you might overcome me. But it 's not.
We should have to get through the years and we
couldn't be excited all the time. Oh! yes. You can
be eloquent and rouse me, but there are the long,
quiet days, there would be time to think. You
couldn't always be with me.
GREIG.
We must risk something, of course.
ELLA.
For every little thing in which you displeased me a
great resentment would come rushing up it would
always be just out of sight.
GREIG.
We'll chance that.
ELLA.
It 's not possible.
GREIG.
All these are vapourish things and we'll forget them
together. We'll go where you please do what you
please. And it 's happiness that I offer you a home
children.
ELLA.
I will not. I will not.
91
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
Come.
[He takes her hands and draws her towards
him. She yields for a moment and then
breaks away towards the door.
ELLA. [Cries out.]
Mother! Oh! Mother!
GREIG.
Whom are you calling? What do you want?
ELLA.
I must tell her. I must tell her everything.
GREIG.
Who?
ELLA.
I call her mother.
GREIG.
What ! What can you mean ?
ELLA.
I'm yielding to you. I will not yield. I will not.
GREIG.
But Mrs. Lilley! You forget
ELLA.
If I tell her I'm safe from you : I could never do it
then.
GREIG.
But think of her!
92
THE CHOICE
ELLA.
Myself! I'll think of myself. I want to possess
myself. I want to be alone.
GREIG.
I'll leave you then.
ELLA.
You promise not to return.
GREIG.
No.
ELLA.
I tell her then.
GREIG.
It 's monstrous. It 's unthinkable. You can't do it.
ELLA.
You promise?
GREIG.
No.
ELLA. [.Again making for the door.]
Come! oh! come, mother!
GREIG. [Dragging her back.']
You must not. You shall not do this.
ELLA. [Cries out.]
He killed him! He killed Walter. He killed Walter
GREIG.
Stop stop. I beg you I entreat you I couldn't
bear that. I'll go. I'll leave you. I promise. Any-
93
THE CHOICE
thing but this. But it 's not fair it 's not fair. She 's
coming be silent she 's coming.
MRS. LILLEY enters hurriedly. ELLA sinks
down sobbing.
MRS. LILLEY.
What is it, Ella? What is it? You cried out. I
heard Walter's name. What is it?
ELLA.
Oh help me! Help me'
GREIG. [Standing beside ELLA.]
Mrs. Lilley, I am an unfortunate man. I have dis-
tressed her with my appeals. It's a shame that you
should be called in: it's my fault. She cannot make
this sacrifice this sacrifice of an ideal. I have been
importunate and she resents it. I'm punished. I
must go and I shall not return.
MRS. LILLEY.
But I had hoped Ella, dear
ELLA.
It can't be.
GREIG.
Good-bye, Mrs. Lilley. I can never forget your
kindness. \He walks to where ELLA is sitting and
stands beside her.] It 's good-bye, then ?
[MRS. LILLEY watching them goes quickly
out of the room.
ELLA.
Good-bye.
94
THE CHOICE
GREIG.
I'll only say this. If you see, if you feel that I'm
right, you'll not hold off in pride and resentment.
I leave you now and I shan't molest you. I shall be
waiting, always, for a word.
ELLA. [Stands.]
Anything but that. Everything but that.
GREIG.
What is everything?
ELLA.
Oh ! I admire you. You're a great, strong man.
My weakness won't let me come up to your ideal.
I'm the wrong woman, and I see that so clearly now
that I don't fear you any more. Poor Mrs. Lilley is
safe from me. I was madly wicked to think of telling
her.
GREIG.
You don't fear me now?
ELLA.
I don't think I do.
GREIG.
Then you don't forbid me to see you?
ELLA.
Oh! I can't bear to have it all over again.
GREIG.
Good-bye.
[He gathers hat and stick and goes out slowly
the garden way, turning to look at her
but not stopping*
95
THE .CHOICE
MRS. LILLEY. [-Entering.]
He has gone?
ELLA.
Yes.
MRS. LILLEY.
My poor Ella. You've sent him away?
ELLA.
Yes.
MRS. LILLEY.
But, Ella, our dear Walter would have rejoiced in it.
I can believe that this is a disappointment to him as
it is to me. Ella, think that he, too, desires your
happiness.
ELLA.
Oh! my dear, you don't know what you're saying.
MRS. LILLEY.
Well, well perhaps he will come back.
[ELLA walks slowly to the window entrance
and stands looking out.
CHISWICK PRESS : PRINTED BY CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO.
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