Time: The Present Day.
Act I — Basil’s lodgings in Bloomsbury.
Acts II and IV — The drawing-room of Basil’s house at Putney.
Act III — Mrs. Murray’s house in Charles Street.
The Performing Rights of this Play are fully protected, and permission to perform it, whether by Amateurs or Professionals, must be obtained in advance from the author’s Sole Agent, R. Golding Bright, 20 Green Street, Leicester Square, London, W.C., from whom all particulars can be obtained.
A MAN OF HONOUR
THE FIRST ACT
Sitting-room of Basil’s Lodgings in Bloomsbury.
In the wall facing the auditorium, two windows with little iron balconies, giving a view of London roofs. Between the windows, against the wall, is a writing-desk littered with papers and books. On the right is a door, leading into the passage; on the left a fire-place with arm-chairs on either side; on the chimney-piece various smoking utensils. There are numerous bookshelves filled with books; while on the walls are one or two Delft plates, etchings after Rossetti, autotypes of paintings by Fra Angelico and Botticelli. The furniture is simple and inexpensive, but there is nothing ugly in the room. It is the dwelling-place of a person who reads a great deal and takes pleasure in beautiful things.
Basil Kent is leaning back in his chair, with his feet on the writing-table, smoking a pipe and cutting the pages of a book. He is a very good-looking man of six-and-twenty, clean-shaven, with a delicate face and clear-cut features. He is dressed in a lounge-suit.
[There is a knock at the door.
Basil.
Come in.
Mrs. Griggs.
Did you ring, sir?
Basil.
Yes. I expect a lady to tea. And there’s a cake that I bought on my way in.
Mrs. Griggs.
Very well, sir.
[She goes out, and immediately comes in with a
tray on which are two cups, sugar, milk,
&c.
Basil.
Oh, Mrs. Griggs, I want to give up these rooms this day week. I’m going to be married. I’m sorry to leave you. You’ve made me very comfortable.
Mrs. Griggs.
[With a sigh of resignation.] Ah, well, sir, that’s lodgers all over. If they’re gents they get married; and if they’re ladies they ain’t respectable.
[A ring is heard.
Basil.
There’s the bell, Mrs. Griggs. I dare say it’s the lady I expect. If any one else comes, I’m not at home.
Mrs. Griggs.
Very well, sir.
[She goes out, and Basil occupies himself for a
moment in putting things in order. Mrs.
Griggs, opening the door, ushers in the
new-comers.
Mrs. Griggs.
If you please, sir.
[She goes out again, and during the next few
speeches brings two more cups and the tea.
[Mabel and Hilda enter, followed by John
Halliwell. Basil going towards them
very cordially, half stops when he notices
who they are; and a slight expression of
embarrassment passes over his face. But
he immediately recovers himself and is
extremely gracious. Hilda Murray is a
tall, handsome woman, self-possessed and
admirably gowned. Mabel Halliwell is
smaller, pretty rather than beautiful,
younger than her sister, vivacious, very
talkative, and somewhat irresponsible.
John is of the same age as Basil, good-humoured,
neither handsome nor plain
blunt of speech and open.
Basil.
[Shaking hands.] How d’you do?
Mabel.
Look pleased to see us, Mr. Kent.
Basil.
I’m perfectly enchanted.
Hilda.
You did ask us to come and have tea with you, didn’t you?
Basil.
I’ve asked you fifty times. Hulloa, John! I didn’t see you.
John.
I’m the discreet husband, I keep in the background.
Mabel.
Why don’t you praise me instead of praising yourself? People would think it so much nicer.
John.
On the contrary, they’d be convinced that when we were alone I beat you. Besides, I couldn’t honestly say that you kept in the background.
Hilda.
[To Basil.] I feel rather ashamed at taking you unawares.
Basil.
I was only slacking. I was cutting a book.
Mabel.
That’s ever so much more fun than reading it, isn’t it? [She catches sight of the tea things.] Oh, what a beautiful cake — and two cups! [She looks at him, questioning.]
Basil.
[A little awkwardly.] Oh — I always have an extra cup in case some one turns up, you know.
Mabel.
How unselfish! And do you always have such expensive cake?
Hilda.
[With a smile, remonstrating.] Mabel!
Mabel.
Oh, but I know them well, and I love them dearly. They cost two shillings at the Army and Navy Stores, but I can’t afford them myself.
John.
I wish you’d explain why we’ve come, or Basil will think I’m responsible.
Mabel.
[Lightly.] I’ve been trying to remember ever since we arrived. You say it, Hilda; you invented it.
Hilda.
[With a laugh.] Mabel, I’ll never take you out again. They’re perfectly incorrigible, Mr. Kent.
Basil.
[To John and Mabel, smiling.] I don’t know why you’ve come. Mrs. Murry has promised to come and have tea with me for ages.
Mabel.
[Pretending to feel injured.] Well, you needn’t turn me out the moment we arrive. Besides, I refuse to go till I’ve had a piece of that cake.
Basil.
Well, here’s the tea! [Mrs. Griggs brings it in as he speaks. He turns to Hilda.] I wish you’d pour it out. I’m so clumsy.
Hilda.
[Smiling at him affectionately.] I shall be delighted.
[She proceeds to do so, and the conversation goes
on while Basil hands Mabel tea and cake.
John.
I told them it was improper for more than one woman at a time to call at a bachelor’s rooms, Basil.
Basil.
If you’d warned me I’d have made the show a bit tidier.
Mabel.
Oh, that’s just what we didn’t want. We wanted to see the Celebrity at Home, without lime-light.
Basil.
[Ironically.] You’re too flattering.
Mabel.
By the way, how is the book?
Basil.
Quite well, thanks.
Mabel.
I always forget to ask how it’s getting on.
Basil.
On the contrary, you never let slip an opportunity of making kind inquiries.
Mabel.
I don’t believe you’ve written a word of it.
Hilda.
Nonsense, Mabel. I’ve read it.
Mabel.
Oh, but you’re such a monster of discretion.... Now I want to see your medals, Mr. Kent.
Basil.
[Smiling.] What medals?
Mabel.
Don’t be coy! You know I mean the medals they gave you for going to the Cape.
Basil.
[Gets them from a drawer, and with a smile hands them to Mabel.] If you really care to see them, here they are.
Mabel.
[Taking one.] What’s this?
Basil.
Oh, that’s just the common or garden South African medal.
Mabel.
And the other one?
Basil.
That’s the D.S.M.
Mabel.
Why didn’
t they give you the D.S.O.?
Basil.
Oh, I was only a trooper, you know. They only give the D.S.O. to officers.
Mabel.
And what did you do to deserve it?
Basil.
[Smiling.] I really forget.
Hilda.
It’s given for distinguished service in the field, Mabel.
Mabel.
I knew. Only I wanted to see if Mr. Kent was modest or vain.
Basil.
[With a smile, taking the medals from her and putting them away.] How spiteful of you!
Mabel.
John, why didn’t you go to the Cape, and do heroic things?
John.
I confined my heroism to the British Isles. I married you, my angel.
Mabel.
Is that funny or vulgar?
Basil.
[Laughing.] Are there no more questions you want to ask me, Mrs. Halliwell?
Mabel.
Yes, I want to know why you live up six flights of stairs.
Basil.
[Amused.] For the view, simply and solely.
Mabel.
But, good heavens, there is no view. There are only chimney-pots.
Basil.
But they’re most æsthetic chimney-pots. Do come and look, Mrs. Murray. [Basil and Hilda approach one of the windows, and he opens it.] And at night they’re so mysterious. They look just like strange goblins playing on the house-tops. And you can’t think how gorgeous the sunsets are: sometimes, after the rain, the slate roofs glitter like burnished gold. [To Hilda.] Often I think I couldn’t have lived without my view, it says such wonderful things to me. [Turning to Mabel gaily.] Scoff, Mrs. Halliwell, I’m on the verge of being sentimental.
Mabel.
I was wondering if you’d made that up on the spur of the moment, or if you’d fished it out of an old note-book.
Hilda.
[With a look at Basil.] May I go out?
Basil.
Yes, do come.
[Hilda and Basil step out on the balcony,
whereupon John goes to Mabel and tries
to steal a kiss from her.
Mabel.
[Springing up.] Go away, you horror!
John.
Don’t be silly. I shall kiss you if I want to.
[She laughing, walks round the sofa while he pursues her.
Mabel.
I wish you’d treat life more seriously.
John.
I wish you wouldn’t wear such prominent hats.
Mabel.
[As he puts his arm round her waist.] John, some body’ll see us.
John.
Mabel, I command you to let yourself be kissed.
Mabel.
How much will you give me?
John.
Sixpence.
Mabel.
[Slipping away from him.] I can’t do it for less than half-a-crown.
John.
[Laughing.] I’ll give you two shillings.
Mabel.
[Coaxing.] Make it two-and-three.
[He kisses her.
John.
Now come and sit down quietly.
Mabel.
[Sitting down by his side.] John, you mustn’t make love to me. It would look so odd if they came in.
John.
After all, I am your husband.
Mabel.
That’s just it. If you wanted to make love to me you ought to have married somebody else. [He puts his arm round her waist.] John, don’t, I’m sure they’ll come in.
John.
I don’t care if they do.
Mabel.
[Sighing.] John, you do love me?
John.
Yes.
Mabel.
And you won’t ever care for anybody else?
John.
No.
Mabel.
[In the same tone.] And you will give me that two-and-threepence, won’t you?
John.
Mabel, it was only two shillings.
Mabel.
Oh, you cheat!
John.
[Getting up.] I’m going out on the balcony. I’m passionately devoted to chimney-pots.
Mabel.
No, John, I want you.
John.
Why?
Mabel.
Isn’t it enough for me to say I want you for you to hurl yourself at my feet immediately?
John.
Oh, you poor thing, can’t you do without me for two minutes?
Mabel.
Now you’re taking a mean advantage. It’s only this particular two minutes that I want you. Come and sit by me like a nice, dear boy.
John.
Now what have you been doing that you shouldn’t?
Mabel.
[Laughing.] Nothing. But I want you to do something for me.
John.
Ha, ha! I thought so.
Mabel.
It’s merely to tie up my shoe. [She puts out her foot.]
John.
Is that all — honour bright?
Mabel.
[Laughing.] Yes. [John kneels down.]
John.
But, my good girl, it’s not undone.
Mabel.
Then, my good boy, undo it and do it up again.
John.
[Starting up.] Mabel, are we playing gooseberry — at our time of life?
Mabel.
[Ironically.] Oh, you are clever! Do you think Hilda would have climbed six flights of stairs unless Love had lent her wings?
John.
I wish Love would provide wings for the chaperons as well.
Mabel.
Don’t be flippant. It’s a serious matter.
John.
My dear girl, you really can’t expect me to play the heavy father when we’ve only been married six months. It would be almost improper.
Mabel.
Don’t be horrid, John.
John.
It isn’t horrid, it’s natural history.
Mabel.
[Primly.] I was never taught it. It’s not thought nice for young girls to know.
John.
Why didn’t you tell me that Hilda was fond of Basil! Does he like her?
Mabel.
I don’t know. I expect that’s precisely what she’s asking him.
John.
Mabel, do you mean to say you brought me here, an inoffensive, harmless creature, for your sister to propose to a pal of mine? It’s an outrage.
Mabel.
She’s doing nothing of the sort.
John.
You needn’t look indignant. You can’t deny that you proposed to me.
Mabel.
I can, indeed. If I had I should never have taken such an unconscionably long time about it.
John.
I wonder why Hilda wants to marry poor Basil!
Mabel.
Well, Captain Murray left her five thousand a year, and she thinks Basil Kent a genius.
John.
There’s not a drawing-room in Regent’s Park or in Bayswater that hasn’t got its tame genius. I don’t know if Basil Kent is much more than very clever.
Mabel.
Anyhow, I’m sure it’s a mistake to marry geniuses. They’re horribly bad-tempered, and they invariably make love to other people’s wives.
John.
Hilda always has gone in for literary people. That’s the worst of marrying a cavalryman, it leads you to attach so much importance to brains.
Mabel.
Yes, but she needn’t marry them. If she wants to encourage Basil let her do it from a discreet distance. Genius always thrives best on bread and water and platonic attachments. If Hilda marries him he’ll only become fat and ugly and bald-headed and stupid.
John.
Why, then he’ll make an ideal Member of Parliament.
[Basil and Hilda come into the room again.
Mabel.
/> [Maliciously.] Well, what have you been talking about?
Hilda.
[Acidly.] The weather and the crops, Shakespeare and the Musical Glasses.
Mabel.
[Raising her eyebrows.] Oh!
Hilda.
It’s getting very late, Mabel. We really must be going.
Mabel.
[Getting up.] And I’ve got to pay at least twelve calls. I hope every one will be out.
Hilda.
People are so stupid, they’re always in when you call.
Mabel.
[Holding out her hand to Basil.] Good-bye.
Hilda.
[Coldly.] Thanks so much, Mr. Kent. I’m afraid we disturbed you awfully.
Basil.
[Shaking hands with her.] I’ve been enchanted to see you. Good-bye.
Mabel.
[Lightly.] We shall see you again before you go to Italy, shan’t we?
Basil.
Oh, I’m not going to Italy now, I’ve changed all my plans.
Mabel.
[Giving John a look.] Oh! Well, good-bye. Aren’t you coming, John.
John.
No: I think I’ll stay and have a little chat with Basil, while you tread the path of duty.
Mabel.
Well, mind you’re in early. We’ve got a lot of disgusting people coming to dinner.
Hilda.
[With a smile.] Poor things! Who are they?
Mabel.
I forget who they are. But I know they’re loathsome. That’s why I asked them.
[Basil opens the door, and the two women go out.
John.
[Sitting down and stretching himself.] Now that we’ve got rid of our womankind let’s make ourselves comfortable. [Taking a pipe out of his pocket.] I think I’ll sample your baccy if you’ll pass it along.
Basil.
[Handing him the jar.] I’m rather glad you stayed, John. I wanted to talk to you.
John.
Ha! ha!
[Basil pauses a moment, while John looks at
him with amusement. He fills his pipe.
John.
[Lighting his pipe.] Nice gal, Hilda — ain’t she?
Basil.
[Enthusiastically.] Oh, I think she’s perfectly charming.... But what makes you say that?
John.
[Innocently.] Oh, I don’t know. Passed through my head.
Basil.
I say, I’ve got something to tell you, John.
John.
Well, don’t be so beastly solemn about it.
Basil.
[Smiling.] It’s a solemn thing.
John.
No, it ain’t. I’ve done it myself. It’s like a high dive. When you look down at the water it fairly takes your breath away, but after you’ve done it — it’s not so bad as you think. You’re going to be married, my boy.
Basil.
[With a smile.] How the deuce d’you know?
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 312
