60 Plays: The George Bernard Shaw Edition (Illustrated). GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

— your purity. That is what I confide in.

      CANDIDA. What a nasty, uncomfortable thing to say to me! Oh, you ARE a clergyman, James — a thorough clergyman.

      MORELL (turning away from her, heart-stricken). So Eugene says.

      CANDIDA (with lively interest, leaning over to him with her arms on his knee). Eugene’s always right. He’s a wonderful boy: I have grown fonder and fonder of him all the time I was away. Do you know, James, that though he has not the least suspicion of it himself, he is ready to fall madly in love with me?

      MORELL (grimly). Oh, he has no suspicion of it himself, hasn’t he?

      CANDIDA. Not a bit. (She takes her arms from his knee, and turns thoughtfully, sinking into a more restful attitude with her hands in her lap.) Some day he will know when he is grown up and experienced, like you. And he will know that I must have known. I wonder what he will think of me then.

      MORELL. No evil, Candida. I hope and trust, no evil.

      CANDIDA (dubiously). That will depend.

      MORELL (bewildered). Depend!

      CANDIDA (looking at him). Yes: it will depend on what happens to him. (He look vacantly at her.) Don’t you see? It will depend on how he comes to learn what love really is. I mean on the sort of woman who will teach it to him.

      MORELL (quite at a loss). Yes. No. I don’t know what you mean.

      CANDIDA (explaining). If he learns it from a good woman, then it will be all right: he will forgive me.

      MORELL. Forgive!

      CANDIDA. But suppose he learns it from a bad woman, as so many men do, especially poetic men, who imagine all women are angels! Suppose he only discovers the value of love when he has thrown it away and degraded himself in his ignorance. Will he forgive me then, do you think?

      MORELL. Forgive you for what?

      CANDIDA (realizing how stupid he is, and a little disappointed, though quite tenderly so). Don’t you understand? (He shakes his head. She turns to him again, so as to explain with the fondest intimacy.) I mean, will he forgive me for not teaching him myself? For abandoning him to the bad women for the sake of my goodness — my purity, as you call it? Ah, James, how little you understand me, to talk of your confidence in my goodness and purity! I would give them both to poor Eugene as willingly as I would give my shawl to a beggar dying of cold, if there were nothing else to restrain me. Put your trust in my love for you, James, for if that went, I should care very little for your sermons — mere phrases that you cheat yourself and others with every day. (She is about to rise.)

      MORELL. HIS words!

      CANDIDA (checking herself quickly in the act of getting up, so that she is on her knees, but upright). Whose words?

      MORELL. Eugene’s.

      CANDIDA (delighted). He is always right. He understands you; he understands me; he understands Prossy; and you, James — you understand nothing. (She laughs, and kisses him to console him. He recoils as if stung, and springs up.)

      MORELL. How can you bear to do that when — oh, Candida (with anguish in his voice) I had rather you had plunged a grappling iron into my heart than given me that kiss.

      CANDIDA (rising, alarmed). My dear: what’s the matter?

      MORELL (frantically waving her off). Don’t touch me.

      CANDIDA (amazed). James!

      (They are interrupted by the entrance of Marchbanks, with Burgess, who stops near the door, staring, whilst Eugene hurries forward between them.)

      MARCHBANKS. Is anything the matter?

      MORELL (deadly white, putting an iron constraint on himself). Nothing but this: that either you were right this morning, or Candida is mad.

      BURGESS (in loudest protest). Wot! Candy mad too! Oh, come, come, come! (He crosses the room to the fireplace, protesting as he goes, and knocks the ashes out of his pipe on the bars. Morell sits down desperately, leaning forward to hide his face, and interlacing his fingers rigidly to keep them steady.)

      CANDIDA (to Morell, relieved and laughing). Oh, you’re only shocked! Is that all? How conventional all you unconventional people are!

      BURGESS. Come: be’ave yourself, Candy. What’ll Mr. Morchbanks think of you?

      CANDIDA. This comes of James teaching me to think for myself, and never to hold back out of fear of what other people may think of me. It works beautifully as long as I think the same things as he does. But now, because I have just thought something different! — look at him — just look!

      (She points to Morell, greatly amused. Eugene looks, and instantly presses his band on his heart, as if some deadly pain had shot through it, and sits down on the sofa like a man witnessing a tragedy.)

      BURGESS (on the hearthrug). Well, James, you certainly ain’t as himpressive lookin’ as usu’l.

      MORELL (with a laugh which is half a sob). I suppose not. I beg all your pardons: I was not conscious of making a fuss. (Pulling himself together.) Well, well, well, well, well! (He goes back to his place at the table, setting to work at his papers again with resolute cheerfulness.)

      CANDIDA (going to the sofa and sitting beside Marchbanks, still in a bantering humor). Well, Eugene, why are you so sad? Did the onions make you cry?

      (Morell cannot prevent himself from watching them.)

      MARCHBANKS (aside to her). It is your cruelty. I hate cruelty. It is a horrible thing to see one person make another suffer.

      CANDIDA (petting him ironically). Poor boy, have I been cruel? Did I make it slice nasty little red onions?

      MARCHBANKS (earnestly). Oh, stop, stop: I don’t mean myself. You have made him suffer frightfully. I feel his pain in my own heart. I know that it is not your fault — it is something that must happen; but don’t make light of it. I shudder when you torture him and laugh.

      CANDIDA (incredulously). I torture James! Nonsense, Eugene: how you exaggerate! Silly! (She looks round at Morell, who hastily resumes his writing. She goes to him and stands behind his chair, bending over him.) Don’t work any more, dear. Come and talk to us.

      MORELL (affectionately but bitterly). Ah no: I can’t talk. I can only preach.

      CANDIDA (caressing him). Well, come and preach.

      BURGESS (strongly remonstrating). Aw, no, Candy. ‘Ang it all! (Lexy Mill comes in, looking anxious and important.)

      LEXY (hastening to shake hands with Candida). How do you do, Mrs. Morell? So glad to see you back again.

      CANDIDA. Thank you, Lexy. You know Eugene, don’t you?

      LEXY. Oh, yes. How do you do, Marchbanks?

      MARCHBANKS. Quite well, thanks.

      LEXY (to Morell). I’ve just come from the Guild of St. Matthew. They are in the greatest consternation about your telegram. There’s nothing wrong, is there?

      CANDIDA. What did you telegraph about, James?

      LEXY (to Candida). He was to have spoken for them tonight. They’ve taken the large hall in Mare Street and spent a lot of money on posters. Morell’s telegram was to say he couldn’t come. It came on them like a thunderbolt.

      CANDIDA (surprized, and beginning to suspect something wrong). Given up an engagement to speak!

      BURGESS. First time in his life, I’ll bet. Ain’ it, Candy?

      LEXY (to Morell). They decided to send an urgent telegram to you asking whether you could not change your mind. Have you received it?

      MORELL (with restrained impatience). Yes, yes: I got it.

      LEXY. It was reply paid.

      MORELL. Yes, I know. I answered it. I can’t go.

      CANDIDA. But why, James?