HEATH. Why, Aladdin’s Palace is nothing to this. Have these people the genius of the lamp at their command?
MATT. No! but they have a silver mine in Mexico. But it’s time for your lunch, (rings bell.) You must have your game.
HEATH. I say, little woman, is not game rather an expensive luxury for a man in my circumstances. No large amount in my treasury when I made you secretary — it must be running dry.
MATT. Oh, no, plenty! We shall get on very comfortably till you sell your lovely picture, (gets tray at r d. She arranges tray on table, pulls it up to his chair, etc. Then comes down l front, where she sits on a stool, and mends a sock.
HEATH. Have a wing?
MATT. Thanks, no — game is too high for yours faithfully, (aside.) And I do so love it! Poor fellow! if he only knew that his last money went a week ago, and we have nothing but my poor little purse to depend upon. (HEATHCOTE has finished a bird.) There goes the worth of my keep for a week!
HEATH. Please tell me about the new-comers — (eating.)
MATT. On another! (aloud.) You would be more than faintly interested if you could see them.
HEATH. SO very attractive, —
MATT. As partridge itself! She is.
HEATH. Who is?
MATT. The daughter — an only daughter. Father is rather a commonplace person, don’t you know? sort of man who begins life on nothing and ends it owing a million. Bought a silver mine for a barrel of whiskey, a coon dog, and a sun-umbrella. Silver mine figured up to be worthless till he took it in hand when he found the silver lying in slabs like bricks.
HEATH. ‘Bout the girl — pretty?
MATT. Pretty is no word for her — absolutely lovely.
HEATH. I never think much of a woman’s taste in beauty. Please describe. Fair or dark?
MATT. Complexion fair — exquisitely fair, — something between alabaster and ivory, with a faint rose tint. Eyes liquid blue, dark, like those dewy violets, or sapphires — in short, the loveliest shade of blue you can imagine.
HEATH. Why not say ultra-marine at once? Well, get along.
MATT. Features strictly classic, forehead low, nose delicately Greek, hair gently waving — dark chestnut in shadow, pure gold where the sun touches it.
HEATH. Very sweet, but those Greek beauties are very apt to be namby-pamby.
MATT. Not with her expression I such a speaking countenance — such variety — every emotion reflected in her face.
HEATH. I see — face perfect, but figure imperfect.
MATT. Figure as perfect as her face. About the middle height, slender yet plump — dignified, yet full of graceful movement, waist willowy — shoulders a poem — arms a sculptor’s dream —
HEATH. If you are not exaggerating —
MATT. Exaggerate! Did you ever know me exaggerate?
HEATH. Not you are the essence of truth. And if your enthusiasm has not run away with you in this particular instance, Miss What’s-her-name must be a very sweet creature. By the way, or rather, over the way — what’s her name?
MATT, (puzzled.) Name? her name? (rocking herself on the stool, hums to herself.
HEATH. Yes. She has a name, I suppose.
MATT, (singing in a low voice), “See-saw, Marjorie Daw!”)
HEATH. I say, do you say (raising his voice) your womanly curiosity has not found out the name of these Silver King people?
MATT. Why yes, of course. Her name is Daw!
HEATH. Pshaw!
MATT. No, Daw — D — A — W.
HEATH. Queer — unromantic.
MATT. But don’t you see, Frank, her father rose from the ranks, bought his silver mine for a barrel of apples, a mule, and a hand-organ.
HEATH. Eh? you said for a dog, an umbrella, and whiskey!
MATT. Did I? well, they differ in the tale, (aside.) That mule has driven him off the trail.
HEATH. What is Miss Daw’s front name?
MATT. Er, er — her name is Marjorie. Now that is romantic.
HEATH. Rather Arcadian. Marjorie Daw!
MATT. Novel?
HEATH. Very much novel! I’ve seen a book of that name. The Marjorie is pretty! but Daw — I cannot admire Daw —
MATT. Luckily that’s the one she can change.
HEATH. True. Tell me all about this Mexican millionairess. You women have a marvellous knack of picking up information from the tinker and the tailor, the soldier and the sailor, and the- baker and candle-stick maker! Is she what the girls call “a daisy?”
MATT. She is simply perfect. And (dignified) I am happy to say my knowledge of her character has not been obtained from butchers, retailers or candlestick bakers, but from personal experience. Miss Daw and I are acquainted.
HEATH. Wha-aat! only in the neighborhood two days, and “chummy”! Did you call on her? I had no idea you were so pushing.
MATT. I am not pushing, and I did not what you call call on her, though I had a right as the older inhabitant (loftily.) Accident made us friends. You remember the shower yesterday?
HEATH. Yes, I heard the rain, and could not help thinking how exquisite the spring foliage would look after it.
MATT. I was out in that shower.
HEATH. Poor little woman! (wheeling his chair down front, without rising.)
MATT. And what’s more, I had on my best bonnet — to give a lesson to my swell pupil — 1 had just left to come to you when I was caught in that deluge. No car, no umbrella! I suppose my distress was visible in my attitude and countenance, for the big house door suddenly opened and a servant ran to me with an immense carriage umbrella — as big as a dome — and most politely requested me to step indoors.
HEATH. Good gracious, child, why didn’t you come here? You must have been as near us as that one? Why stand in the street — a spectacle for a servant? why not have crossed?
MATT. (laughing faintly.) Never crossed my mind! Well, the footman was so crushingly polite I could not say a word. I went across the street like a lamb — and allowed myself to be ushered up into Miss Daw’s morning room, on the floor opposite this. I feel powerless to describe that room!
HEATH. Skip it — I don’t care for still life, except in my own pictures — and come to the heroine.
MATT. Oh, but the lady and the room made an harmonious whole — picture a lovely dark-haired girl against a background of creamy satin —
HEATH. Dark! why, you said she was fair!
MATT. Did I? Ye-es, of course, she is fairly fair — complexion alabaster, but hair chestnut — I think I am positive sure I said dark chestnut.
HEATH. Well, perhaps you did. Women have so little feeling for color —
MATT. But then they have so much color for feelings! (touches her cheek with book of her hand.)
HEATH. But I know there was something about sunshine, and golden lights, and I have pictured my Miss Daw with golden hair —
MATT. Golden hair against sage-green velvet —
HEATH. Eh? you said creamy satin!
MATT. The — the room was — in panels — alternate green velvet and cream satin —
HEATH. Awfully spotty effect.
MATT. Not in the least — the gilding carried that off. I tell you the room is an ideal room — not its like anywhere. And, she’s unequalled — so sweet, so caressing — she received me like a sister.
HEATH. Bad. I detest gush.
MATT. Oh, but you would like it in her, she’s so natural — quite my fancy!
HEATH. And this beautiful bird lives in a golden cage opposite? I see her in my mind’s eye, with her eyes of liquid grey —
MATT. Grey! yes I (aside) I must look to that, “(repeats “grey” to herself like a school girl.)
HEATH. What does the pretty bird do all day?
MATT. Sings, of course! divinely! the old mellow ballads — if it were warmer (aside) I’m warm enough! (aloud) and the windows open (aside) I’d no idea telling crams was such hot work! (aloud) you’d hear her.
HEATH. That would be a treat.
MAT
T, (aside.) I have roused him.
HEATH. Any other amusements has Miss Daw?
MATT. Why not Marjorie? So much softer.
HEATH. So it is! (fatuously) Marjorie! sweet Marjoram — no, no, fie! “My Marjorie” — what alliteration!
MATT. She paints — flowers, fruit, china — our tea was in eggshells of her own tinting —
HEATH. Over which you swore eternal friendship — of course.
MATT. And we agreed to go shopping.
HEATH. Then you’ll quarrel over a remnant! your Daw is as vain as a Peacock! Vivid portraiture, though for her appearance I could stand the twaddle you talked —
MATT. Our subject was you!
HEATH. Me? Come, that’s too much of a good thing!
MATT. Not to her — she wanted to hear more! I was afraid you’d be angry. But when one is eternally thinking of a person, it’s almost Impossible to keep that person out of the talk (fondly) and since you have been a sufferer, I have never had you out of my thoughts.
HEATH, (takes her hanging hand.) Dear, tender-hearted, little Mattie, how shall I ever be grateful enough to you for all your goodness? And so you spoke of me to Marjorie?
MATT. Yes, dear, at length, full length. I told her what a genius you were, and how you were getting on famously before this unfortunate business with your eyes, and she was so interested, so sympathetic. You should have heard her say “Poor fellow!” like that, with tears in her eyes (aside) like these! (wipes her eyes.)
HEATH. Deuced tender hearted! “Poor fellow!” like that — how balmy it falls.
MATT. I told her of your picture, too.
HEATH. Mattie, you are a silly little thing; but your foolishness is more comforting than other people’s wisdom in the hour of trouble. And so Marjorie was really interested in — my picture?
MATT. And you, ‘specially you. She likes your eyes, and doats on such a forehead, and if she has a fault to find, it’s with your chin —
HEATH. Chin-music.
MATT. I forgot — I showed her your photo.
HEATH. How absurd to make an exhibition of me. (pleased.) Which one?
MATT. Oh, the dreamy! (throws herself into attitude.) You are gazing into space, with that far away look —
HEATH. As one evading a creditor’s eye. Ha! ha! you are too ridiculous for anything.
MATT. She thought it lovely.
HEATH. But could not get over the chin —
MATT. She thought it showed weakness — faltering in pursuit of a purpose.
HEATH. Not if it were worth pursuing. Now an object like Marjo —
MATT. Do you call her an object?
HEATH. Lovely, innocent, fresh —
MATT. And millions!
HEATH. Bah! why raise that barrier! impassable money!
MATT. Not a bit of it! You don’t know what a liberal-minded man her father is! — passionately devoted to Art. I believe he would be proud of a son-in-law celebrated as a painter.
HEATH. Then I must make myself famous — to win such admiration as this — if the light of day ever dawn again on my miserable- life. But, there! I will give way to despondency no more! (rises) I feel that my sight will be restored — under a blessing — that I shall be able to work at the art I love — win wealth, reputation, and — Marjorie — (walking to and fro) — To think the beauty is yonder, near me, in all her brightness, and (at window) no ray thrills me!
MATT. Pray be careful!
HEATH, (opens window.) Oh, for the blessed sense of sight! if but for a moment — for a glimpse of that fair young face! (eagerly) Is she there?
MATT. N-no! it’s her hour to go out for a ride.
Enter LUTTRELL, R. D.
LUTT. Frank! Up and about! (MATTIE hushes him. In a lower voice) Why what have you been doing to him? lie’s positively transfigured!
MATT. He’s in love!
LUTT. Love? with —
MATT. Miss Marjorie Daw.
LUTT. Where does she hail from?
MATT. From my head! (aside) From my heart!
ALL form picture. HEATHCOTE up at window, LUTTRELL, by K. D., MATTIE up R. C.
CURTAIN.
ACT II.
SCENE — No change. Window open, and lights up at back. MATTIE discovered dusting.
MATT. There, all bright and at its best to-day, when our poor Frank is to see it all again, after living so long in sorrow and darkness, uncertainty and fear. I am glad it’s a fine day! rainy and dull, it would have seemed unkind of the clerk of the weather. (Sits) Oh, dear, dear! I don’t think I ever felt so unhappy — just when I ought to feel so intensely the opposite.
Enter LUTTRELL, E. D.
LUTT. Joy, joy, Mattie!
MATT. Yes. I know the operation was a success, (rises.)
HEATH. Not that! that’s all serene. But such delightful news! Frank’s picture has been accepted, and will be hung on the line — a benevolent member of the Hanging Committee, too old to paint now, has left off being spiteful to rising talent! Why, so solemn?
MATT. I am miserable! It’s all your fault, Mr. Luttrell! You told me to draw on my imagination: he accepted the draft, and now what will I say when he protests?
LUTT. Tut, tut!
MATT. For the last six days Frank has been living on Daw! Marjorie has been his all-absorbing idea by day, his dream by night; and to-day that he comes out of his black-hole, he expects to see her!
LUTT. Pooh! The success of his picture will put that out of his head!
[Clock striker twelve.
Voice of HEATHCOTE, l d.) Any body here? Luttrell! Mattie! (Enter HEATHCOTE, l d., with silk handkerchief over eyes.)
BOTH. Ah! (they go to him and lead him to c., a little down.)
HEATH. But I tell you this Hoodman Blind business is all superfluous — the surgeon said I might come out, and said nothing of a blinker.
LUTT. But he meant it. To bring you into the glare would never do. We must let you down gently —
MATT. Gently is the word, (they force him to sit down) In your favorite easy chair, with your favorite roses at your elbow.
HEATH. A hothouse Marshal Neil — did she send it?
LUTT. Yes, she made the gift.
MATT, (aside) She did, with her last quarter, though you will show her none when the battle begins.
HEATH. Bless her! (trying to remove handkerchief, they present it.)
LUTT. I say, old fellow, such glorious news for you!
HEATH, (starting up.) She’s coming.
LUTT. Oh, better than that.
MATT. Your picture is accepted!
LUTT. Accepted with rapture!
MATT, Already you are greeted as the painter of the future.
HEATH. And she will see it! Have you told her?
LUTT. Told whom?
HEATH. Marjorie!
Matt, (in an emotionless tone.) He alludes to Miss Daw, of course.
LUTT. There’s not been time enough —
HEATH. She must be told. And she will be at the window at twelve — you know yon asked her to agree to that. Let me go, Luttrell — what’s the matter?
MATT. The fact is — we have a sort of a — surprise for you —
HEATH. Ah, a surprise party, over at her house?
MATT. Her house is empty —
HEATH. Ah! she is — is dead —
MATT. Not that, but g-g-one!
HEATH. Gone? You are trembling — your voice, too. — Oh, she is ill? (tears off bandages.) Why do you try to humbug me? You stop me from going to thank her, a lady so attentive during my ailment — to whose sympathy I owe — ah! the house is empty —
LUTT. It’s never been let I HEATH. Then the Mexican millionaire — the beauteous girl?
MATT. All my imagination, to keep you amused! (Heathcote comes down o., disconsolate, they following perplexed, Mattie on his left.) You were so dreadfully low-spirited that Mr. Luttrell said you must be diverted.
HEATH. And Marjorie — Marjorie —
MATT. Dwells nowhere save in the n
ursery jingle — (sings)
Seesaw, Marjorie Daw!
Delphi Works of M. E. Braddon Page 1143
