Complete Works of J. M. Barrie

by Unknown

  PHOEBE (in growing horror of herself). I partial to her! I am laughing at both of you. Miss Phoebe. La, that old thing.

  VALENTINE (sternly). Silence!

  PHOEBE. I hate her and despise her. If you knew what she is ——

  (He stops her with a gesture.)

  VALENTINE. I know what you are.

  PHOEBE. That paragon who has never been guilty of the slightest deviation from the strictest propriety.

  VALENTINE. Never.

  PHOEBE. That garden ——

  VALENTINE. Miss Livvy, for shame.

  PHOEBE. Your garden has been destroyed, sir; the weeds have entered it, and all the flowers are choked.

  VALENTINE. You false woman, what do you mean?

  PHOEBE. I will tell you. (But his confidence awes her.) What faith you have in her.

  VALENTINE. As in my God. Speak.

  PHOEBE. I cannot tell you.

  VALENTINE. No, you cannot.

  PHOEBE. It is too horrible.

  VALENTINE. You are too horrible. Is not that it?

  PHOEBE. Yes, that is it.

  (MISS SUSAN has entered and caught the last words.)

  MISS SUSAN (shrinking as from a coming blow). What is too horrible?

  VALENTINE. Ma’am, I leave the telling of it to her, if she dare. And I devoutly hope those are the last words I shall ever address to this lady.

  (He bows and goes out in dudgeon. MISS SUSAN believes all is discovered and that MISS PHOEBE is for ever shamed.)

  MISS SUSAN (taking PHOEBE in her arms). My love, my dear, what terrible thing has he said to you?

  PHOEBE (forgetting everything but that she is loved). Not terrible — glorious! Susan, ‘tis Phoebe he loves, ‘tis me, not Livvy! He loves me, he loves me! Me — Phoebe!

  (MISS SUSAN’S bosom swells. It is her great hour as much as PHOEBE’S.)

  ACT IV

  THE BLUE AND WHITE ROOM

  If we could shut our eyes to the two sisters sitting here in woe, this would be, to the male eye at least, the identical blue and white room of ten years ago; the same sun shining into it and playing familiarly with Miss Susan’s treasures. But the ladies are changed. It is not merely that Miss Phoebe has again donned her schoolmistress’s gown and hidden her curls under the cap. To see her thus once more, her real self, after the escapade of the ball, is not unpleasant, and the cap and gown do not ill become the quiet room. But she now turns guiltily from the sun that used to be her intimate, her face is drawn, her form condensed into the smallest space, and her hands lie trembling in her lap. It is disquieting to note that any life there is in the room comes not from her but from Miss Susan. If the house were to go on fire now it would be she who would have to carry out Miss Phoebe.

  Whatever of import has happened since the ball, Patty knows it, and is enjoying it. We see this as she ushers in Miss Willoughby. Note also, with concern, that at mention of the visitor’s name the eyes of the sisters turn affrightedly, not to the door by which their old friend enters, but to the closed door of the spare bedchamber. Patty also gives it a meaning glance; then the three look at each other, and two of them blanch.

  MISS WILLOUGHBY (the fourth to look at the door). I am just run across, Susan, to inquire how Miss Livvy does now.

  MISS SUSAN. She is still very poorly, Mary.

  MISS WILLOUGHBY. I am so unhappy of that. I conceive it to be a nervous disorder?

  MISS SUSAN (almost too glibly). Accompanied by trembling, flutterings, and spasms.

  MISS WILLOUGHBY. The excitements of the ball. You have summoned the apothecary at last, I trust, Phoebe?

  (MISS PHOEBE, once so ready of defence, can say nothing.)

  MISS SUSAN (to the rescue). It is Livvy’s own wish that he should not be consulted.

  Miss WILLOUGHBY (looking longingly at the door). May I go in to see her?

  MISS SUSAN. I fear not, Mary. She is almost asleep, and it is best not to disturb her. (Peeping into the bedroom.) Lie quite still, Livvy, my love, quite still.

  (Somehow this makes PATTY smile so broadly that she finds it advisable to retire. MISS WILLOUGHBY sighs, and produces a small bowl from the folds of her cloak.)

  Miss WILLOUGHBY. This is a little arrowroot, of which I hope Miss Livvy will be so obliging as to partake.

  MISS SUSAN (taking the bowl). I thank you, Mary.

  PHOEBE (ashamed). Susan, we ought not ——

  MISS SUSAN (shameless). I will take it to her while it is still warm.

  (She goes into the bedroom. MISS WILLOUGHBY gazes at MISS PHOEBE, who certainly shrinks. It has not escaped the notice of the visitor that MISS PHOEBE has become the more timid of the sisters, and she has evolved an explanation.)

  MISS WILLOUGHBY. Phoebe, has Captain Brown been apprised of Miss Livvy’s illness?

  PHOEBE (uncomfortably). I think not, Miss Willoughby.

  MISS WILLOUGHBY (sorry for PHOEBE, and speaking very kindly). Is this right, Phoebe? You informed Fanny and Henrietta at the ball of his partiality for Livvy. My dear, it is hard for you, but have you any right to keep them apart?

  PHOEBE (discovering only now what are the suspicions of her friends). Is that what you think I am doing, Miss Willoughby?

  MISS WILLOUGHBY. Such a mysterious illness. (Sweetly) Long ago, Phoebe, I once caused much unhappiness through foolish jealousy. That is why I venture to hope that you will not be as I was, my dear.

  PHOEBE. I jealous of Livvy!

  MISS WILLOUGHBY (with a sigh). I thought as little of the lady I refer to, but he thought otherwise.

  PHOEBE. Indeed, Miss Willoughby, you wrong me.

  (But MISS WILLOUGHBY does not entirely believe her, and there is a pause, so long a pause that unfortunately MISS SUSAN thinks she has left the house.)

  MISS SUSAN (peeping in). Is she gone?

  MISS WILLOUGHBY (hurt). No, Susan, but I am going.

  MISS SUSAN (distressed). Mary!

  (She follows her out, but MISS WILLOUGHBY will not be comforted, and there is a coldness between them for the rest of the day. MISS SUSAN is not so abashed as she ought to be. She returns, and partakes with avidity of the arrowroot.)

  MISS SUSAN. Phoebe, I am well aware that this is wrong of me, but Mary’s arrowroot is so delicious. The ladies’-fingers and petticoat-tails those officers sent to Livvy, I ate them also! (Once on a time this would have amused MISS PHOEBE, but her sense of humour has gone. She is crying.) Phoebe, if you have such remorse you will weep yourself to death.

  PHOEBE. Oh, sister, were it not for you, how gladly would I go into a decline.

  MISS SUSAN (after she has soothed PHOEBE a little). My dear, what is to be done about her? We cannot have her supposed to be here for ever.

  PHOEBE. We had to pretend that she was ill to keep her out of sight; and now we cannot say she has gone away, for the Miss Willoughby’s windows command our door, and they are always watching.

  MISS SUSAN (peeping from the window). I see Fanny watching now. I feel, Phoebe, as if Livvy really existed.

  PHOEBE (mournfully). We shall never be able to esteem ourselves again.

  MISS SUSAN (who has in her the makings of a desperate criminal). Phoebe, why not marry him? If only we could make him think that Livvy had gone home. Then he need never know.

  PHOEBE. Susan, you pain me. She who marries without telling all — hers must ever be a false face. They are his own words.

  (PATTY enters importantly.)

  PATTY. Captain Brown.

  PHOEBE (starting up). I wrote to him, begging him not to come.

  MISS SUSAN (quickly). Patty, I am sorry we are out.

  (But VALENTINE has entered in time to hear her words.)

  VALENTINE (not unmindful that this is the room in which he is esteemed a wit). I regret that they are out, Patty, but I will await their return. (The astonishing man sits on the ottoman beside MISS SUSAN, but politely ignores her presence.) It is not my wish to detain you, Patty.

  (PATTY goes reluctantly, and the sisters think how like him,
and how delightful it would be if they were still the patterns of propriety he considers them.)

  PHOEBE (bravely). Captain Brown.

  VALENTINE (rising). You, Miss Phoebe. I hear Miss Livvy is indisposed?

  PHOEBE. She is — very poorly.

  VALENTINE. But it is not that unpleasant girl I have come to see, it is you.

  MISS SUSAN (meekly). How do you do?

  VALENTINE (ignoring her). And I am happy, Miss Phoebe, to find you alone.

  MISS SUSAN (appealingly). How do you do, sir?

  PHOEBE. You know quite well, sir, that Susan is here.

  VALENTINE. Nay, ma’am, excuse me. I heard Miss Susan say she was gone out. Miss Susan is incapable of prevarication.

  MISS SUSAN (rising — helpless). What am I to do?

  PHOEBE. Don’t go, Susan—’tis what he wants.

  VALENTINE. I have her word that she is not present.

  MISS SUSAN. Oh dear.

  VALENTINE. My faith in Miss Susan is absolute. (At this she retires into the bedroom, and immediately his manner changes. He takes MISS PHOEBE’S hands into his own kind ones.) You coward, Miss Phoebe, to be afraid of Valentine Brown.

  PHOEBE. I wrote and begged you not to come.

  VALENTINE. You implied as a lover, Miss Phoebe, but surely always as a friend.

  PHOEBE. Oh yes, yes.

  VALENTINE. You told Miss Livvy that you loved me once. How carefully you hid it from me!

  PHOEBE (more firmly). A woman must never tell. You went away to the great battles. I was left to fight in a little one. Women have a flag to fly, Mr. Brown, as well as men, and old maids have a flag as well as women. I tried to keep mine flying.

  VALENTINE. But you ceased to care for me. (Tenderly.) I dare ask your love no more, but I still ask you to put yourself into my keeping. Miss Phoebe, let me take care of you.

  PHOEBE. It cannot be.

  VALENTINE. This weary teaching! Let me close your school.

  PHOEBE. Please, sir.

  VALENTINE. If not for your own sake, I ask you, Miss Phoebe, to do it for mine. In memory of the thoughtless recruit who went off laughing to the wars. They say ladies cannot quite forget the man who has used them ill; Miss Phoebe, do it for me because I used you ill.

  PHOEBE. I beg you — no more.

  VALENTINE (manfully). There, it is all ended. Miss Phoebe, here is my hand on it.

  PHOEBE. What will you do now?

  VALENTINE. I also must work. I will become a physician again, with some drab old housekeeper to neglect me and the house. Do you foresee the cobwebs gathering and gathering, Miss Phoebe?

  PHOEBE. Oh, sir!

  VALENTINE. You shall yet see me in Quality Street, wearing my stock all awry.

  PHOEBE. Oh, oh!

  VALENTINE. And with snuff upon my sleeve.

  PHOEBE. Sir, sir!

  VALENTINE. No skulker, ma’am, I hope, but gradually turning into a grumpy, crusty, bottle-nosed old bachelor.

  PHOEBE. Oh, Mr. Brown!

  VALENTINE. And all because you will not walk across the street with me.

  PHOEBE. Indeed, sir, you must marry — and I hope it may be some one who is really like a garden.

  VALENTINE. I know but one. That reminds me, Miss Phoebe, of something I had forgot. (He produces a paper from his pocket.) ‘Tis a trifle I have wrote about you. But I fear to trouble you.

  (PHOEBE’S hands go out longingly for it.)

  PHOEBE (reading). ‘Lines to a Certain Lady, who is Modestly unaware of her Resemblance to a Garden. Wrote by her servant, V. B.’

  (The beauty of this makes her falter. She looks up.)

  VALENTINE (with a poet’s pride). There is more of it, ma’am.

  PHOEBE (reading)

  The lilies are her pretty thoughts,

  Her shoulders are the may,

  Her smiles are all forget-me-nots,

  The path ‘s her gracious way,

  The roses that do line it are

  Her fancies walking round,

  ‘Tis sweetly smelling lavender

  In which my lady’s gowned.

  (MISS PHOEBE has thought herself strong, but she is not able to read such exquisite lines without betraying herself to a lover’s gaze.)

  VALENTINE (excitedly). Miss Phoebe, when did you cease to care for me?

  PHOEBE (retreating from him but clinging to her poem). You promised not to ask.

  VALENTINE. I know not why you should, Miss Phoebe, but I believe you love me still!

  (MISS PHOEBE has the terrified appearance of a detected felon.)

  (MISS SUSAN returns.)

  MISS SUSAN. You are talking so loudly.

  VALENTINE. Miss Susan, does she care for me still?

  MISS SUSAN (forgetting her pride of sex). Oh, sir, how could she help it.

  VALENTINE. Then by Gad, Miss Phoebe, you shall marry me though I have to carry you in my arms to the church.

  PHOEBE. Sir, how can you!

  (But MISS SUSAN gives her a look which means that it must be done if only to avoid such a scandal. It is at this inopportune moment that MISS HENRIETTA and MISS FANNY are announced.)

  MISS HENRIETTA. I think Miss Willoughby has already popped in.

  PHOEBE (with a little spirit). Yes, indeed.

  MISS SUSAN (a mistress of sarcasm). How is Mary, Fanny? She has not been to see us for several minutes.

  MISS FANNY (somewhat daunted). Mary is so partial to you, Susan.

  VALENTINE. Your servant, Miss Henrietta, Miss Fanny.

  MISS FANNY. How do you do, sir?

  MISS HENRIETTA (wistfully). And how do you find Miss Livvy, sir?

  VALENTINE. I have not seen her, Miss Henrietta.

  MISS HENRIETTA. Indeed!

  MISS FANNY. Not even you?

  VALENTINE. You seem surprised?

  MISS FANNY. Nay, sir, you must not say so; but really, Phoebe!

  PHOEBE. Fanny, you presume!

  VALENTINE (puzzled). If one of you ladies would deign to enlighten me. To begin with, what is Miss Livvy’s malady?

  MISS HENRIETTA. He does not know? Oh, Phoebe.

  VALENTINE. Ladies, have pity on a dull man, and explain.

  MISS FANNY (timidly). Please not to ask us to explain. I fear we have already said more than was proper. Phoebe, forgive.

  (To CAPTAIN BROWN this but adds to the mystery, and he looks to PHOEBE for enlightenment.)

  PHOEBE (desperate). I understand, sir, there is a belief that I keep Livvy in confinement because of your passion for her.

  VALENTINE. My passion for Miss Livvy? Why, Miss Fanny, I cannot abide her — nor she me. (Looking manfully at MISS PHOEBE.) Furthermore, I am proud to tell you that this is the lady whom I adore.

  MISS FANNY. Phoebe?

  VALENTINE. Yes, ma’am.

  (The ladies are for a moment bereft of speech, and the uplifted PHOEBE cannot refrain from a movement which, if completed, would be a curtsy. Her punishment follows promptly.)

  MISS HENRIETTA (from her heart). Phoebe, I am so happy ‘tis you.

  MISS FANNY. Dear Phoebe, I give you joy. And you also, sir. (MISS PHOEBE sends her sister a glance of unutterable woe, and escapes from the room. It is most ill-bred of her.) Miss Susan, I do not understand!

  MISS HENRIETTA. Is it that Miss Livvy is an obstacle?

  MISS SUSAN (who knows that there is no hope for her but in flight). I think I hear Phoebe calling me — a sudden indisposition. Pray excuse me, Henrietta. (She goes.)

  MISS HENRIETTA. We know not, sir, whether to offer you our felicitations?

  VALENTINE (cogitating). May I ask, ma’am, what you mean by an obstacle? Is there some mystery about Miss Livvy?

  MISS HENRIETTA. So much so, sir, that we at one time thought she and Miss Phoebe were the same person.

  VALENTINE. Pshaw!

  MISS FANNY. Why will they admit no physician into her presence?

  MISS HENRIETTA. The blinds of her room are kept most artfully drawn.

  MISS FANNY (plaintively). W
e have never seen her, sir. Neither Miss Susan nor Miss Phoebe will present her to us.