The Red House Mystery and Other Novels. A. A. Milne

thinks is right. (_She takes out his letter and kisses it._)

      ~Carey~ (_observing the action_). You have a letter from him!

      ~Dorothy~ (_hastily concealing it and turning pale_). How know you that?

      ~Carey~. Give it to me! (_She shrieks and rises._) By heavens, madam, I will have it! (_He struggles with her and seizes it._)

      _Enter_ Sir Thomas.

      ~Sir Thomas~. Odds life, my lord, what means this?

      ~Carey~ (_straightening himself_). It means, Sir Thomas, that you harbour a rebel within your walls. Master Roger Dale, traitor, corresponds secretly with your daughter.

      (_Who, I forgot to say, has swooned._)

      ~Sir Thomas~ (_sternly_). Give me the letter. Ay, 'tis Roger's hand, I know it well. (_He reads the letter, which is full of thoughtful metaphors about love, aloud to the audience. Suddenly his eyebrows go up and down to express surprise. He seizes_ Lord Carey _by the arm_.) Ha! Listen! "To-morrow when the sun is upon the western window of the gallery, I will be with thee." The villain!

      ~Carey~ (_who does not know the house very well_). When is that?

      ~Sir Thomas~. Why, 'tis now, for I have but recently passed through the gallery and did mark the sun.

      ~Carey~ (_fiercely_). In the name of the King, Sir Thomas, I call upon you to arrest this traitor.

      ~Sir Thomas~ (_sighing_). I loved the boy well, yet----

      (_He shrugs his shoulders expressively and goes out with_ Lord Carey _to collect sufficient force for the arrest._)

      _Enter_ Roger _by secret door R._

      ~Roger.~ My love!

      ~Dorothy~ (_opening her eyes_). Roger!

      ~Roger.~ At last!

      (_For the moment they talk in short sentences like this. Then_ Dorothy _puts her hand to her brow as if she is remembering something horrible._)

      ~Dorothy.~ Roger! Now I remember! It is not safe for you to stay!

      ~Roger~ (_very brave_). Am I a puling child to be afraid?

      ~Dorothy.~ My Lord Carey is here. He has read your letter.

      ~Roger.~ The black-livered dog! Would I had him at my sword's point to teach him manners.

      (_He puts his hand to his heart and staggers into a chair._)

      ~Dorothy.~ Oh, you are wounded!

      ~Roger.~ Faugh, 'tis but a scratch. Am I a puling----

      (_He faints. She binds up his ankle._)

      _Enter_ Lord Carey _with two soldiers._

      ~Carey.~ Arrest this traitor! (_Roger is led away by the soldiers._)

      ~Dorothy~ (_stretching out her hands to him_). Roger! (_She sinks into a chair._)

      ~Carey~ (_choosing quite the wrong moment for a proposal_). Dorothy, I love you! Think no more of this traitor, for he will surely hang. 'Tis your father's wish that you and I should wed.

      ~Dorothy~ (_refusing him_). Go, lest I call in the grooms to whip you.

      ~Carey.~ By heaven---- (_Thinking better of it._) I go to fetch your father.

      (_Exit._)

      _Enter_ Roger _by secret door L._

      ~Dorothy.~ Roger! You have escaped.

      ~Roger.~ Knowest not the secret passage from the wine cellar, where we so often played as children? 'Twas in that same cellar the thick-skulled knaves immured me.

      ~Dorothy.~ Roger, you must fly! Wilt wear a cloak of mine to elude our enemies?

      ~Roger~ (_missing the point rather_). Nay, if I die, let me die like a man, not like a puling girl. Yet, sweetheart----

      _Enter_ Lord Carey _by ordinary door._

      ~Carey~ (_forgetting himself in his confusion_). Odds my zounds, dod sink me! What murrain is this?

      ~Roger~ (_seizing Sir Thomas's sword, which had been accidentally left behind on the table, as I ought to have said before, and advancing threateningly_). It means, my lord, that a villain's time has come. Wilt say a prayer?

      (_They fight, and Carey is disarmed before they can hurt each other._)

      ~Carey~ (_dying game_). Strike, Master Dale!

      ~Roger.~ Nay, I cannot kill in cold blood.

      (_He throws down his sword._ Lord Carey _exhibits considerable emotion at this, and decides to turn over an entirely new leaf._)

      _Enter two soldiers._

      ~Carey.~ Arrest that man! (Roger _is seized again._) Mistress Dorothy, it is for you to say what shall be done with the prisoner.

      ~Dorothy~ (_standing up if she was sitting down, and sitting down if she was standing up_). Ah, give him to me, my lord!

      ~Carey~ (_joining the hands of Roger and Dorothy_). I trust to you, sweet mistress, to see that the prisoner does not escape again.

      (Dorothy _and_ Roger _embrace each other, if they can do it without causing a scandal in the neighbourhood, and the curtain goes down._)

      XLI. "A SLIGHT MISUNDERSTANDING"

      _The scene is a drawing-room (in which the men are allowed to smoke--or a smoking-room in which the women are allowed to draw--it doesn't much matter) in the house of somebody or other in the country._ George Turnbull _and his old College friend_, Henry Peterson, _are confiding in each other, as old friends will, over their whiskies and cigars. It is about three o'clock in the afternoon._

      ~George~ (_dreamily, helping himself to a stiff soda_). Henry, do you remember that evening at Christ Church College, five years ago, when we opened our hearts to each other?...

      ~Henry~ (_lighting a cigar and hiding it in a fern-pot_). That moonlight evening on the Backs, George, when I had failed in my Matriculation examination?

      ~George.~ Yes; and we promised that when either of us fell in love the other should be the first to hear of it? (_Rising solemnly._) Henry, the moment has come. (_With shining eyes._) I am in love.

      ~Henry~ (_jumping up and grasping him by both hands_). George! My dear old George! (_In a voice broken with emotion._) Bless you, George!

      (_He pats him thoughtfully on the back three times, nods his own head twice, gives him a final grip of the hand, and returns to his chair._)

      ~George~ (_more moved by this than he cares to show_). Thank you, Henry. (_Hoarsely._) You're a good fellow.

      ~Henry~ (_airily, with a typically British desire to conceal his emotion_). Who is the lucky little lady?

      ~George~ (_taking out a picture postcard of the British Museum and kissing it passionately_). Isobel Barley!

      (_If_ Henry _is not careful he will probably give a start of surprise here, with the idea of suggesting to the audience that he_ (1) _knows something about the lady's