The Complete Plays of J. M. Barrie - 30 Titles in One Edition. Джеймс Барри

GILDING. Play!

      SIR GEORGE. Play! I assure you, Miss Goodwillie, you make a great mistake. (Sits on stook.)

      LADY GILDING. So much so, that George has completely exhausted himself, and I mean to consult Dr. Yellowlees about him.

      MISS GOODWILLIE. Do, and get the doctor to stop this tomfoolery, if I may call it so.

      SIR GEORGE. Tomfoolery! You don’t seem to understand, Miss Goodwillie, that I am cutting my own corn by the sweat of my brow, because, as a member of Parliament, I want to know by personal experience just how my constituents live.

      LADY GILDING. And I, as George’s wife, assist, so that manual labour may be elevated in the eyes of the wives of the working classes.

      DOWAGER. We are even wearing dresses such as those worn by the common things while harvesting.

      MISS GOODWILLIE. Hum! Bond Street?

      DOWAGER (confidentially). No, a clever little creature of a maid I have. I get her cheap because she drinks.

      (HENDERS enters. He draws near listening. He has an old letterbox in his hand.)

      MISS GOODWILLIE. And you really hold, Sir George, that there is no difference between your harvesting and that of the poor?

      SIR GEORGE. Absolutely none.

      (Enter gorgeous MALE SERVANT and PAGEBOY carrying lunch-basket and champagne.)

      SERVANT. Where shall we lay the luncheon, Sir George?

      SIR GEORGE (pointing). Down by the stream.

      (The SERVANTS leave, followed by SIR GEORGE, MISS GOODWILLIE and HENDERS laugh loudly.)

      MISS GOODWILLIE. What have you got there, Henders?

      HENDERS. I found it in the field when I was cutting — it’s your old letterbox.

      MISS GOODWILLIE (agitated). The old letterbox!

      HENDERS. Ay, it had blown down in the winter, I suppose.

      MISS GOODWILLIE. The old letterbox! What are you going to do with it?

      HENDERS. It hasna been in use this dozen years, except for starlings to build in.

      MISS GOODWILLIE. I know.

      HENDERS. So I meant to nail it up in my garden and see if they would build in it there, but if you want it — I —

      MISS GOODWILLIE. I want it? No! Give it to me.

      (He starts to hand it to her.)

      Take it away, but don’t nail it up anywhere. Burn it.

      (She goes agitatedly.)

      DOWAGER. Why has Miss Goodwillie gone, man?

      HENDERS. I wonder. She’s shaking like a leaf.

      DOWAGER. Shaking? Why?

      LADY GILDING. I heard and understand.

      HENDERS. It’s mair than I do. It’s queer. (Exit.)

      DOWAGER (sitting on stook). And it’s more than I do.

      LADY GILDING. Then you don’t know that Miss Goodwillie had a love story?

      DOWAGER. Never! There are audacious men! Tell me about it.

      (They sit on fallen sheaf.)

      LADY GILDING. As I understand, the affair took place more than twenty years ago. In the Professor’s student days, he brought a friend named Bob Sandeman here, one summer, and Miss Goodwillie fell in love with him and he with her, but he was too poor even to get engaged to her. He went away to Australia, and the understanding was, that as soon as he could make a living there he was to write and ask her to go out to him. But he never did.

      DOWAGER. He wasn’t so audacious as that! What became of him?

      LADY GILDING. He got on very well.

      DOWAGER. I can guess. He married a cornstalk and they call each other ‘cooee.’ LADY GILDING. No, he never married; he died years ago.

      DOWAGER. But what had the old letterbox to do with this?

      LADY GILDING. It had been erected at the foot of the hill to save the postman the trouble of climbing to the house, and every day for years Miss Goodwillie used to go and look in the letterbox for her letter.

      DOWAGER. Cooee!

      LADY GILDING. They say she was as white as a ghost in those days.

      DOWAGER. Poor thing. But still — cooee, cooee!

      LADY GILDING. And she cried herself into a fever.

      DOWAGER. No wonder men have little respect for women.

      LADY GILDING. George says he believes the man ran off to Australia to avoid her.

      DOWAGER. And so ends this strange, eventful history.

      LADY GILDING. And he also says that he fears the Professor is not a marrying man either, sweet.

      DOWAGER. What does that matter, love, when I am a marrying woman?

      LADY GILDING. George is afraid that it matters a great deal, darling.

      DOWAGER. That is because George never realised how he came to be married himself, pet.

      LADY GILDING. Mamma!

      (Enter DR. COSENS.)

      COSENS. Lady Gilding! (Goes to LADIES, shakes hands.)

      DOWAGER. Dr. Cosens!

      LADY GILDING. This is an unexpected pleasure.

      DOWAGER. Did the Goodwillies know you are coming?

      COSENS. No, it is a surprise visit. I found I had a week-end to spare and the Professor’s case interested me so much that — here I am.

      LADY GILDING. They will be delighted to see you.

      COSENS. I was told in the village that I should find them here.

      LADY GILDING. Yes, everyone is here to-day, seeing my husband cut his corn.

      DOWAGER. His latest fad.

      LADY GILDING. Mamma!

      COSENS. Cut his corn! Ha, ha! But can you tell me how the Professor is now?

      DOWAGER. Yes, Doctor, I admit I think I can.

      COSENS. Ha!

      DOWAGER. Mildred, I’ll follow you in a minute. I am sure George is looking for you, precious. He must have cut himself by this time.

      LADY GILDING. You will lunch with us, Doctor, presently.

      COSENS. Delighted!

      LADY GILDING. And afterwards I should love to show baby to you.

      COSENS. I look forward to that.

      DOWAGER. He’s such a dear.

      LADY GILDING. He really is, and he is so fond of his grandmamma.

      (Exit LADY GILDING.)

      DOWAGER. Had a good journey, Dr. Cosens?

      COSENS. Capital! Carriage to myself all the way. I thought you were still in London, Lady Gilding.

      DOWAGER. No, we came north — soon after the Professor.

      COSENS. Indeed!

      DOWAGER. My candour surprises you, I see, but the fact is, that that simple little Lucy thing has told me all.

      COSENS. May I ask what ‘that simple little Lucy thing’ has told you?

      DOWAGER. That, in your opinion, our dear Professor is in love without knowing it.

      COSENS. Ha, I fancied ‘that simple little Lucy thing’ would keep that to herself. (Suddenly) Did she tell you who I think the lady is?

      DOWAGER. Yes, of course.