[Peyton comes in to announce the Golightlys, then goes out.
Peyton.
Professor and Mrs. Golightly.
[The Golightlys come in.
Penelope.
[Kissing Mrs. Golightly.] Well, mother ... Papa, Dickie wants to separate from me because I won’t divorce him.
Golightly.
That doesn’t sound very logical.
Mrs. Golightly.
What has happened?
Penelope.
Nothing’s happened. I can’t make out why Dickie’s so cross.
Dickie.
[Indignantly.] Nothing!
Penelope.
I didn’t mean to say anything about it, but Dickie found out that we knew all about his little love affair.
Golightly.
My dear, how tactless of you! A man likes to keep those things from his wife.
Dickie.
And d’you know the attitude Penelope takes up?
Golightly.
She hasn’t been making a scene?
Dickie.
That’s just it. Any woman of feeling would make a scene. There must be something radically wrong about her, or she would have wept and stamped and torn her hair.
Golightly.
[Mildly.] Oh, my dear boy, don’t you exaggerate the enormity of your offence?
Dickie.
There are no excuses for me.
Golightly.
It was a mere trifle. It would show a lamentable want of humour in Penelope if she took it seriously.
Dickie.
D’you mean to say you agree with her?
Golightly.
My dear fellow, we’re in the twentieth century.
Dickie.
Oh! Mrs. Golightly, you spend your time in converting the heathen. Don’t you think your own family needs some of your attention?
[Penelope, unseen by Dickie, makes a face at Mrs. Golightly to induce her to keep up the scene.
Mrs. Golightly.
A long acquaintance with savage races has led me to the conclusion that man is naturally a polygamous animal.
Dickie.
My brain reels.
Mrs. Golightly.
I confess I was relieved to hear it was a married woman. It seems to make it so much more respectable.
Dickie.
It appears to me I’m the only moral man here.
Penelope.
Dickie, darling, I haven’t been having an affair with the policeman.
Dickie.
I wish you had. I wouldn’t have treated you like this.
Penelope.
I thought of it, but I didn’t like the colour of his moustache.
Dickie.
I know I’m to blame. I’ve behaved like a perfect brute.
Penelope.
Oh, nonsense.
Dickie.
Don’t contradict, Penelope. I’m thoroughly ashamed of myself.
Golightly.
Come, come!
Dickie.
I repeat, there are no excuses for me.
Mrs. Golightly.
Poor fellow, he seems quite cut up.
Dickie.
I haven’t a leg to stand on, but, by Jove, I’ve got a moral sense, and I tell you all that I’m simply outraged. You’re overthrowing the foundations of society. Whatever I’ve done, I’ve got more respect for the sanctity of the home and the decencies of family life than all of you put together.
[He flings towards the door, stops, and turns round to shake his fist at them.
Dickie.
A moral sense. That’s what I’ve got.
[He goes out, slamming the door behind him.
Penelope.
[With a laugh.] Poor darling.
Golightly.
What on earth made you blurt it all out?
Penelope.
She came here to-day, and I saw that he was sick to death of her.... Mamma, you behaved like a heroine of romance.
Mrs. Golightly.
I shall never forgive myself for the dreadful things you’ve made me say.
Penelope.
Oh, yes, you will, mother. Fast an extra day all through next Lent. It’ll be equally good for your soul and for your figure.
Mrs. Golightly.
Penelope!
Penelope.
[To Golightly.] I suddenly felt the moment had come.
Golightly.
Take care.
[Dickie bursts violently into the room.
Dickie.
I say, what are these two confounded women doing in the hall?
Penelope.
What women? Oh, I know.... [She goes to the door.] Please come in. They’re from Françoise. The Modiste.
[The girls come in, laden with hat boxes.
Penelope.
You told me I might get a hat or two to console myself for your trip to Paris.
Golightly.
Very nice of you, Dickie. That shows you haven’t a selfish nature.
[Penelope makes another face at her mother.
Mrs. Golightly.
You’ve never given me a free hand to buy hats, Charles.
Golightly.
On the other hand, I’ve never taken little jaunts to Paris without you, my dear.
Mrs. Golightly.
Some women are so lucky in their husbands.
[Meanwhile the girls have been taking hats out, and Penelope puts one on. She is perfectly delighted.
Penelope.
Oh, isn’t this a dream? [Looking at the other.] Oh! oh! Did you ever see anything so lovely? Dickie, you are a dear. I’m so glad you’re going to Paris.
Dickie.
[Furiously.] I’m not going to Paris.
Penelope.
What!
Dickie.
Take all these hats away.
Penelope.
But Mrs. Mack?
Dickie.
Mrs. Mack can go to the devil.
[He seizes the telephone.
Dickie.
Hulloa, hulloa. Gerrard 1234. Tell Mrs. Fergusson that Mrs. Mack has had a relapse, and will not be able to go to Paris to-night.
End of the Second Act.
THE THIRD ACT
Scene: Penelope’s boudoir. It is an attractive room, furnished with bright-coloured chintzes, and gay with autumn flowers and great bunches of leaves. There is a large looking-glass. It is a room to live in, and there are books and magazines scattered about. Photographs of Dickie in every imaginable attitude.
Pen, in a ravishing costume, is alone, standing in the middle of the room. She looks at herself in the glass and turns right round, smiling with satisfaction. She preens herself. Suddenly she sees something she does not quite like; she frowns a little, then she makes a face at herself, solemnly and elaborately curtsies, and gaily throws herself a kiss.
Peyton comes in, followed by the Golightlys.
Peyton.
Professor and Mrs. Golightly.
Penelope.
[Stretching out her arms.] Oh, my sainted mother!
Mrs. Golightly.
[Out of breath.] I’ve never climbed up so many stairs in my life.
Penelope.
I told Peyton to bring you up here so that no one should come and bother us. [With a dramatic gesture.] My noble father!
Golightly.
My chiyld!
Mrs. Golightly.
Don’t be ridiculous, Pen.
Penelope.
Sit down, mamma, and get your breath back, because I’m just going to take it away again.
Mrs. Golightly.
It sounds hardly worth while.
Penelope.
Dickie adores me.
Mrs. Golightly.
Is that all?
Penelope.
But it’s the most surprising, exquisite, wonderful thing in the world, and I’m in the seventh heaven of delight.
Golightly.
But has he told you so?
Penelope
.
Oh, no, we’re not on speaking terms at present.
Golightly.
Ah, I suppose you express your mutual affection in dumb show.
Penelope.
He went out immediately after you left last night, and didn’t come home till past twelve. I heard him stop at my door, so I huddled myself under the bed-clothes and pretended to be fast asleep, but I just let my hand drop carelessly over one side of the bed. Then he gave a tiny little knock, and as I didn’t answer he came in, and he crept up on tip-toe, and he looked at me as if — as if he’d like to eat me up.
Golightly.
Penelope, you’re romancing. How on earth could you know that?
Penelope.
[Putting her finger at the back of her head.] I saw him through the back of my head — there. And then he bent down and just touched my hand with his lips. [Showing her hand to Golightly.] Look, that’s where he kissed it — just on the knuckle.
Golightly.
[Gravely looking at her hand.] It seems to have left no mark.
Penelope.
Don’t be silly. And then he crept softly out again, and I had the first really good sleep I’ve had for a month. And this morning I had my breakfast in bed, and when I got up he’d gone out.
Mrs. Golightly.
You haven’t seen him to-day at all?
Penelope.
No, he didn’t come in to luncheon.
Mrs. Golightly.
Well, Charles, I’m grateful that you never showed your passion for me by keeping systematically out of my way.
Penelope.
But, my dear, it’s so simple. Of course, he’s in a dreadful temper. I’ve made him feel a perfect fool, and he hates it. But, good heavens! after five years I know how to deal with him when I’ve hurt his pride. I’ll just give him a chance of saving his face, and then we’ll fall into one another’s arms and be happy ever afterwards.
[Golightly, who has been sitting near a table, draws a sheet of paper towards him and begins, meditatively, to write.
Mrs. Golightly.
But, darling, don’t waste the precious hours, do it at once.
Penelope.
No, I’m wiser than that. I’m not going to do anything till Ada Fergusson is quite disposed of.
Mrs. Golightly.
Has anything been seen of her?
Penelope.
No, but I expect her here every minute.
Mrs. Golightly.
[With a gasp.] Here?
Penelope.
She rang up last night and spoke [imitating a man’s tones] in a deep voice, like this, so that I shouldn’t recognise her. She asked if Dickie was at home, and I said he wasn’t. [Imitating the man’s voice again.] Will you ask him to ring up Mrs. Mack as soon as he comes back? Oh! I said, I think he’s been at Mrs. Mack’s all the evening, and I rang off quickly. And this morning I just took the receiver off, and I think by now Ada must be in a pretty temper.
[She catches sight of Golightly and goes up to look at what he is writing.
Penelope.
[Tapping the table sharply with her open hand.] Two and two don’t make five, father.
Golightly.
I never said they did, darling.
Penelope.
Then why are you writing it down?
Golightly.
You seem to think they do, my dear; and I have the highest respect for your intelligence.
Penelope.
Mamma, if you thought it absolutely necessary to provide a father for your offspring, I wish you had chosen one who wasn’t quite so irritating.
[Golightly does not answer, but quietly adds two and two together. Penelope watches him for a moment.
Penelope.
D’you think I’m a perfect fool, father?
Golightly.
Yes, my dear.
Penelope.
Why?
Golightly.
You’re preparing for Dickie once more an uninterrupted diet of strawberry ices.
[Penelope goes up to her father and sits down opposite to him. She takes the pencil out of his hand.
Penelope.
Put that down, father, and tell me what you’re talking about.
Golightly.
[Joining his hands and leaning back in his chair.] How are you going to keep your husband’s love now you have got it back?
Penelope.
[With a nod and a smile.] I’m never going to bore him with demonstrations of affection. I’m never going to ask him if he loves me. And when he goes out I’m never going to inquire at what time he’ll be back.
Golightly.
[Calmly.] And what will you do when the next pretty little grass-widow throws herself at his head?
Penelope.
[Rather outraged at the mere thought.] I hope he’ll duck and dodge her.
Golightly.
[With a deprecating shrug of the shoulders.] Your mother, from her unrivalled knowledge of heathen races, has told you that man is naturally a polygamous animal.
Mrs. Golightly.
I shall never forgive myself.
Penelope.
Do you mean to say I’m to expect Dickie to have flirtations with half a dozen different women?
Golightly.
I only see one way to avoid it.
Penelope.
And what is that?
Golightly.
Be half a dozen different women yourself.
Penelope.
It sounds dreadfully exhausting.
Golightly.
Remember that man is by nature a hunter. But how the dickens can he pursue if you’re always flinging yourself in his arms? Even the barndoor hen gives her lawful mate a run for his money.
[Penelope looks from her father to her mother. She gives a little sigh.
Penelope.
It was so easy for me to love, honour, and obey him, and so delightful. It never struck me that I ought to keep watch over my feelings.
Golightly.
We all strive for happiness, but what would happiness be if it clung to us like a poor relation?
Penelope.
[Nodding her head.] Strawberry ice for breakfast, strawberry ice for luncheon, and strawberry ice for tea.
Golightly.
Put a Rembrandt on your walls, and in a week you’ll pass it without a glance.
Penelope.
[Pulling out deprecating hands.] Papa, don’t batter me with metaphors.
Golightly.
[With a smile.] Well, you made your love too cheap, my dear. You should have let your husband beg for it, and you made it a drug in the market. Dole out your riches. Make yourself a fortress that must be freshly stormed each day. Let him never know that he has all your heart. He must think always that at the bottom of your soul there is a jewel of great price that is beyond his reach.
Penelope.
Do you mean to say that I must be always on my guard?
Golightly.
A wise woman never lets her husband be quite, quite sure of her. The moment he is — [with a shrug of the shoulders] — Cupid puts on a top-hat and becomes a churchwarden.
Penelope.
[Huskily.] D’you think it’s worth all that?
Golightly.
That is a question only you can answer.
Penelope.
I suppose you mean it depends on how much I love Dickie. [A pause. Tremulously.] I love him with all my heart, and if I can keep his love everything is worth while. [She rests her face on her hands, and looks straight in front of her. Her voice is filled with tears.] But, oh, father, why can’t we go back to the beginning when we loved one another without a thought of wisdom or prudence? That was the real love. Why couldn’t it last?
Golightly.
[Tenderly.] Because you and Dickie are man and woman, my dear.
Penelope.
[With a flash of her old spirit.] But my friends have husbands, and they don’t philander with every pretty woman they meet.
Scylla and Charybdis. The price they pay is satiety. Would you rather have the placid indifference of nine couples out of ten, or at the cost of a little trouble and a little common sense keep Dickie loving you passionately to the end of his days?
Penelope.
[With a roguish twinkle.] You and mamma show no signs of being bored to death with one another.
Golightly.
Your sainted mother has been systematically unfaithful to me for twenty years.
Mrs. Golightly.
Charles!
Golightly.
She has had an affair with the Additional Curates’ Society, and an intrigue with the English Church Mission. She has flirted with Christian Science, made eyes at Homœopathy, and her relations with vegetarianism have left a distinct mark on her figure. How could I help adoring a woman so depraved?
Mrs. Golightly.
[Good-humouredly.] It’s monstrous of you to reproach me, Charles, when you have conducted for years a harem of algebraical symbols.
Penelope.
[Lifting up her hands in mock horror.] And to think that I never knew how immoral my parents were!
Golightly.
[Patting his wife’s hand.] I think we must be the lucky ones, dear. We’ve been married for twenty years....
Penelope.
[Interrupting.] Make it a quarter of a century, father. I really can’t pass for less than twenty-four.
Golightly.
[To his wife.] And we seem to have got on pretty well, don’t we?
Mrs. Golightly.
[Affectionately.] You’ve been very good to me, Charles, dear.
Golightly.
We’ve clomb the hill together....
Penelope.
Sh! sh! sh! I cannot allow my parents to flirt in my presence. I never heard of such a thing.
Golightly.
We tender our apologies.
Penelope.
[Hearing a sound.] Listen. There’s Dickie. Father, quickly — what must I do to make him love me always?
Golightly.
In two words, lead him a devil of a life.
Penelope.
[Ruefully.] If you only knew how I want to fly into his arms and forget the wretched past!
Golightly.
Don’t, but tell him you’re going for a motor trip.
Penelope.
[Her face falling.] Supposing he lets me go?
Golightly.
My dear, a merciful providence has given you roguish eyes and a sharp tongue. Make use of them.
Mrs. Golightly.
Charles, I shall be thankful when you return to your mathematics. The morals of that hussy X are already so bad that you can’t make them much worse.
Delphi Collected Works of W. Somerset Maugham (Illustrated) Page 352
