Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated)

by William Somerset Maugham

  Mrs. Dot.

  [To Gerald.] I thought you were on the river.

  Gerald.

  Hang the river!

  [She goes to the door, which Blenkinsop opens for her. She goes out. As Aunt Eliza follows, he speaks to her in a low tone.

  Blenkinsop.

  There’s passion for you.

  Aunt Eliza.

  You brutes, you can all do it. You positively made my heart beat.

  [She goes out.

  Gerald.

  What did Miss MacGregor say?

  Blenkinsop.

  A vague suggestion of bigamy if I understood correctly.

  Gerald.

  [Frigidly.] I’m afraid I came at an inopportune moment.

  Blenkinsop.

  It appears to be one of your happy little ways.

  Gerald.

  Every one seems to kiss every one else in this house.

  Blenkinsop.

  [With effrontery.] You have only to envelop Lady Sellenger in your arms, and the picture will be complete.

  Gerald.

  Would you kindly explain this incident?

  Blenkinsop.

  If you’ll allow me to say so, I really can’t see that it’s any business of yours.

  Gerald.

  [Hotly.] Look here, Blenkinsop, you’ve got no right to play your fool-tricks with Mrs. Dot. She’s a very excitable and thoughtless woman. She’s....

  Blenkinsop.

  Well?

  Gerald.

  Oh, damn you!

  Blenkinsop.

  Not at all, not at all.

  Gerald.

  [Angrily.] What the deuce is the meaning of all this tomfoolery?

  Blenkinsop.

  [Blandly.] I suppose you couldn’t be a little more civil, could you?

  Gerald.

  Look here, Blenkinsop, the best thing you can do is to receive a telegram that requires your immediate presence in town.

  Blenkinsop.

  Thanks very much, but I’m extremely comfortable down here.

  Gerald.

  You’d be rather surprised if I threw you out of the window, wouldn’t you?

  Blenkinsop.

  I should not only be surprised, but I should look upon it as an odious familiarity.

  Gerald.

  Would you like to know my private opinion of you?

  Blenkinsop.

  Spare me my blushes, dear boy. It always embarrasses me to be flattered to my face.

  Gerald.

  You silly old fool.

  Blenkinsop.

  I believe you’re considerably annoyed.

  Gerald.

  Not in the least. What the dickens is there about you that should annoy me?

  Blenkinsop.

  Now that I come to think of it, you are certainly in a passion. Your face is red, your attire is disordered, and you have a slight squint in your eye.

  Gerald.

  My dear fellow, if I hadn’t the best temper in the world, I should kick you.

  Blenkinsop.

  You’d far better go and lie down. You’ll only say something which you’ll regret.

  Gerald.

  I suppose you’re not for a moment under the impression that Mrs. Dot cares twopence about you.

  Blenkinsop.

  May I ask how that can in the least concern you?

  Gerald.

  Mrs. Dot is an old friend of mine. I’m not going to see her made ridiculous by a conceited nincompoop.

  Blenkinsop.

  By the way, has it slipped your memory that you’re engaged to Miss Sellenger?

  Gerald.

  Good Lord, no!

  Blenkinsop.

  I daresay you wish it had.

  Gerald.

  That’s a confounded impertinent thing to say.

  Blenkinsop.

  My dear fellow, I never saw any one with less common sense in my life. Surely it’s not very extraordinary that the same tender passion which inflames the chaste breasts of yourself and Miss Sellenger, should attack the equally chaste breasts of myself and Mrs. Worthley.

  Gerald.

  Don’t talk such twaddle.

  Blenkinsop.

  I suppose you’d be considerably astonished if I told you that I’d just asked Mrs. Dot to be my wife.

  Gerald.

  She must have screamed with laughter.

  Blenkinsop.

  You noticed her unconcealed hilarity when you came in.

  Gerald.

  [Going up to him quickly.] You don’t mean it!

  Blenkinsop.

  No man is quite safe from the toils of women till he’s safely in his grave. And even then a feminine worm probably makes a dead set at him.

  Gerald.

  And does Mrs. Dot — reciprocate your affection?

  Blenkinsop.

  Really you ask me a very delicate question.

  Gerald.

  By the great Harry, the man thinks she’s in love with him.

  Blenkinsop.

  [Rather indignant.] And pray, why shouldn’t she be just as much in love with me as with you?

  Gerald.

  [With a burst of laughter.] Ha, ha, ha.

  Blenkinsop.

  What the blazes are you laughing at?

  Gerald.

  Ha! ha! ha!

  Blenkinsop.

  Shut up, you blithering idiot!

  Gerald.

  [Still laughing.] She has made a fool of you. Ha! ha! ha! [Seriously.] And did you really think any woman would care for you? My poor Blenkinsop! My poor, poor Blenkinsop!

  Blenkinsop.

  You’re a jackanapes, sir, you’re an impudent jackanapes. And why not, pray?

  Gerald.

  [Furiously.] Because you’re revolting to look upon, and your conversation is inexpressibly tedious.

  Blenkinsop.

  It’s charming of you to say so.

  Gerald.

  If you want to marry any one, marry Lady Sellenger.

  Blenkinsop.

  You are evidently under the impression that if a woman can’t be so fortunate as to marry you, she had far better retire into a nunnery.

  Gerald.

  You’re a cantankerous cynic and a fatuous donkey.

  Blenkinsop.

  I like the delicacy with which you express your appreciation of my merits.

  Gerald.

  Listen to me, Blenkinsop! Clear out of the house before you make a greater mess of things than you have already. Mrs. Dot would as soon marry her groom as marry you.

  Blenkinsop.

  You think it’s quite impossible that she should ever have dreamt of such a thing?

  Gerald.

  Not only impossible, but grotesque.

  [Blenkinsop goes to the drawer in which is the licence and takes it out.

  Blenkinsop.

  Perhaps, then, it would interest you to inspect this document.

  [Gerald takes it and looks at it, dumfounded.

  Gerald.

  It’s a special licence.

  Blenkinsop.

  So much less bother than banns, you know.

  Gerald.

  James Blenkinsop.

  Blenkinsop.

  And Frances Annandale Worthley.

  Gerald.

  It’s a mistake! It’s all a preposterous mistake.

  Blenkinsop.

  You see, the Archbishop of Canterbury calls me his right well-beloved brother. Friendly, isn’t it?

  [Gerald violently tears it in pieces and flings them on the ground. Blenkinsop gives a sigh of relief. Gerald stalks out of the room into the garden. Blenkinsop goes to the door and waves his hand at him. Mrs. Dot comes in. She has discovered that Blenkinsop has been making a fool of her.

  Blenkinsop.

  He’s torn up your precious licence.

  Mrs. Dot.

  [Quickly.] Which one?

  Blenkinsop.

  Ours, of course. Three guineas gone bang, my dear.

  Mrs. Dot.<
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  [Counting on her fingers.] I’m reckoning how many bottles of beer the British public will have to drink for us to buy another.

  Blenkinsop.

  But your refusal of my hand will happily prevent you from going to that expense. Thereby considerably forwarding the cause of temperance.

  Mrs. Dot.

  [With an assumption of overwhelming gravity.]

  James, I have been thinking over all you said, and I am willing to marry you.

  Blenkinsop.

  [A chill going down his spine.] I thank you from the bottom of my heart, but I cannot accept this sacrifice.

  Mrs. Dot.

  It is no sacrifice when I think that I can make you happy.

  Blenkinsop.

  But you mustn’t think of me. It’s your happiness that we have to consider. Don’t let a momentary impulse ruin your whole life.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I’ve thought it over very carefully. I cannot resist your passionate pleading.

  Blenkinsop.

  I will not be outdone in generosity. You have refused me. I accept your refusal as final.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I never realised that your nature was so great and tender. Every word you say makes me more determined to devote my life to your happiness.

  Blenkinsop.

  My dear Dot, much as I appreciate the beauty of your sentiments, I must confess that I could never marry a woman who did not love me.

  Mrs. Dot.

  [As though she were struggling with her modesty.] I see that you want to force from me the avowal that is so hard to make. Oh, you men!

  Blenkinsop.

  Good God, you don’t mean to say you’re in love with me?

  Mrs. Dot.

  [Languishing.] James. Is it so very wonderful?

  Blenkinsop.

  Half an hour ago you said you couldn’t stand me at any price.

  Mrs. Dot.

  It’s a woman’s privilege to change her mind. The passion which you threw into your proposal has completely changed me. I am touched by the vehemence with which you flung your heart at my feet. I have struggled, but I cannot resist. Take me in your arms, James, and never let me go.

  Blenkinsop.

  Dot, I have a confession to make to you. I didn’t mean a word I said.

  Mrs. Dot.

  Ah, James, do not jest.

  Blenkinsop.

  I assure you I’m perfectly serious. You taunted me that I couldn’t make love, so I just let myself go to show you I could. I daresay it was a silly joke, but it certainly was a joke.

  Mrs. Dot.

  [Unmoved.] James, every word you say increases my admiration for you. I can’t think now how I was ever blind to your great affection.

  Blenkinsop.

  But don’t you hear what I say?

  Mrs. Dot.

  Do you think you can take me in so easily?

  Blenkinsop.

  You don’t believe me?

  Mrs. Dot.

  Not a word.

  Blenkinsop.

  [Thoroughly alarmed.] Now, look here. I don’t love you, I’ve never loved you, and I never shall love you. I can’t put it any clearer than that.

  Mrs. Dot.

  [With rapture.] God, how he adores me!

  Blenkinsop.

  I say, look here, this is a bit too thick.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I know you only say these cruel things because you think I should be throwing myself away on you.

  Blenkinsop.

  [Huffily.] I don’t know about that.

  Mrs. Dot.

  You cannot bear to think that I should accept you from pity. But it isn’t that, James. You are handsome and noble and chivalrous. How shouldn’t a woman love you?

  Blenkinsop.

  I repeat that I do not reciprocate your passion.

  Mrs. Dot.

  You can’t deceive me so easily as that, James. I know you love me. We women have such quick intuitions.

  Blenkinsop.

  So you always say.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I see you simply quivering with restrained emotion. Oh, James, James, you’ve made me so happy.

  [She flings herself on his bosom and pretends to burst into tears.

  Blenkinsop.

  I say, take care. Supposing somebody saw us.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I should like all the world to see us.

  Blenkinsop.

  But it’s devilish compromising.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I want to compromise myself. Only thus can I make you certain of my love. Oh, think of the many happy years we shall spend in one another’s arms, James.

  Blenkinsop.

  [Extricating himself from her embrace.] Is there nothing I can say to undeceive you?

  Mrs. Dot.

  Nothing! I am yours till death.

  Blenkinsop.

  I will never give way to my sense of humour again.

  Mrs. Dot.

  [Archly.] Do you mind if I leave you just for one minute? After so much agitation I must really go and powder my nose.

  Blenkinsop.

  [Ironically.] Pray don’t let me detain you.

  Mrs. Dot.

  Remember I am yours till death.

  Blenkinsop.

  It is very good of you to say so.

  [She goes out. He rings the bell impatiently. The Butler comes in.

  Blenkinsop.

  Tell my servant I want him.

  [The Butler goes out. Blenkinsop walks up and down, wringing his hands. The Servant enters.

  George, pack up my things at once and get the motor. There’s not a moment to lose.

  George.

  Are you going away, sir?

  Blenkinsop.

  [Flying into a passion.] You blithering fool, do you suppose I should want my things packed if I were staying? I’m going abroad to-night.

  George.

  Very well, sir.

  Blenkinsop.

  You must take the train and go to Cook’s at once and get some tickets.

  George.

  Very well, sir. Where to, sir?

  Blenkinsop.

  Don’t argue, sir, but do as I tell you.

  George.

  I must know where to get the tickets for, sir.

  Blenkinsop.

  Oh, what it is to have a fool for a servant! Take a month’s notice. I dismiss you. Where to, sir? Anywhere, sir? Somewhere that’s a damned long way off. South Africa! I’ll go and shoot lions in Uganda. And if there isn’t a boat sailing at once, I’ll go to America and shoot grizzlies in the Rocky Mountains.

  George.

  Very dangerous climate, sir.

  Blenkinsop.

  Dangerous climate, sir? I would have you know it’s not half such a dangerous climate as the valley of the Thames.

  George.

  Very good, sir.

  [He goes out. Mrs. Dot comes in. At the sight of her Blenkinsop at once cools down.

  Mrs. Dot.

  James, dear, did I hear you give orders for your things to be packed up?

  Blenkinsop.

  [Calmly.] No, my love. What could have put such an idea in your head?

  Mrs. Dot.

  You wouldn’t leave me — darling?

  Blenkinsop.

  My angel, nothing now shall tear me from your side.

  Mrs. Dot.

  Dearest!

  Blenkinsop.

  [Trying to restrain himself.] Pet!

  [He goes into the garden. Mrs. Dot begins to laugh. Freddie comes in, with letters in his hand.

  Freddie.

  I say, I wish you’d just have a look at these letters.

  Mrs. Dot.

  Oh, yes. I want to have a little talk with you, Freddie. [She takes one of the letters and reads.] “I am directed by Mrs. Worthley to congratulate you on the recent addition to your family, but to express her regret that she cannot accede to your request.” How brutal you are, Freddie! Surely Mrs. Murphy is an old friend.


  Freddie.

  I looked her out in my note-book. Six months ago we sent her fifteen pounds because she had nine children. Now she has eleven.

  Mrs. Dot.

  And yet they complain that the birth-rate is falling. I think we’d better send her five pounds.

  Freddie.

  You really can’t encourage a woman who has twins twice a year, when her husband is not only bed-ridden but a hopeless lunatic.

  Mrs. Dot.

  Perhaps she is a little prolific.

  Freddie.

  Here is my answer to Mrs. MacTavish, who wants help to bury a husband.

  Mrs. Dot.

  Poor thing! You’d better send her ten pounds.

  Freddie.

  I’ve answered: “Madam, I regret to see that this is the third time you have lost your husband within two years. The mortality among the unhappy gentlemen on whom you bestow your hand is so great that I can only recommend you in future to remain a widow. Yours faithfully, Frederick Perkins.”

  Mrs. Dot.

  [Reading a letter which he hands to her.] “I am pleased to hear that the wooden leg for which Mrs. Worthley paid for last year has proved satisfactory, but I cannot recommend her to provide you with another. To lose one leg in a railway accident is a misfortune, but to lose a second in a colliery explosion points to carelessness.” That’s not original, Freddie.

  Freddie.

  I’m so hard up, I can only afford to make other people’s jokes.

  Mrs. Dot.

  [With a shrewd look at him.] Freddie, I’ve been exceedingly pleased with your behaviour during the last week. I’ve watched you carefully, and I’m glad to see that you’ve done all that was possible to destroy poor Nellie’s affection for you.

  Freddie.

  [Gravely.] I’ve tried to do my duty.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I know. And in recognition of this I want you to accept a little present. Where is my cheque-book?

  Freddie.

  [Producing it promptly.] Oh, no, really, I shouldn’t like you to do anything of the sort. [Putting it in front of her, and giving her a pen.] I feel that I’m amply paid for all that I do for you. I simply can’t accept anything more.

  Mrs. Dot.

  I was afraid you would object.

  [She writes, and he watches her carefully.

  Freddie.

  Five hundred pounds. Oh, you are a ripper! But why on earth do you give me that?

  Mrs. Dot.

  It may be useful to you. Suppose you had an idea of getting married, for instance, it would be very convenient to have a sum like that in your pocket.

  Freddie.

  But I’m not thinking of getting married.

  Mrs. Dot.

  Aren’t you? I suppose you know that when you do, I’m proposing to give you two thousand a year.

  Freddie.