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

why should you be? But surely we can meet without quarrelling.

      CRAMPTON (a dreadful grey shade passing over his face). Do you realize that I am your father?

      GLORIA. Perfectly.

      CRAMPTON. Do you know what is due to me as your father?

      GLORIA. For instance — ?

      CRAMPTON (rising as if to combat a monster). For instance! For instance!! For instance, duty, affection, respect, obedience —

      GLORIA (quitting her careless leaning attitude and confronting him promptly and proudly). I obey nothing but my sense of what is right. I respect nothing that is not noble. That is my duty. (She adds, less firmly) As to affection, it is not within my control. I am not sure that I quite know what affection means. (She turns away with an evident distaste for that part of the subject, and goes to the luncheon table for a comfortable chair, putting down her book and sunshade.)

      CRAMPTON (following her with his eyes). Do you really mean what you are saying?

      GLORIA (turning on him quickly and severely). Excuse me: that is an uncivil question. I am speaking seriously to you; and I expect you to take me seriously. (She takes one of the luncheon chairs; turns it away from the table; and sits down a little wearily, saying) Can you not discuss this matter coolly and rationally?

      CRAMPTON. Coolly and rationally! No, I can’t. Do you understand that? I can’t.

      GLORIA (emphatically). No. That I c a n n o t understand. I have no sympathy with —

      CRAMPTON (shrinking nervously). Stop! Don’t say anything more yet; you don’t know what you’re doing. Do you want to drive me mad? (She frowns, finding such petulance intolerable. He adds hastily) No: I’m not angry: indeed I’m not. Wait, wait: give me a little time to think. (He stands for a moment, screwing and clinching his brows and hands in his perplexity; then takes the end chair from the luncheon table and sits down beside her, saying, with a touching effort to be gentle and patient) Now, I think I have it. At least I’ll try.

      GLORIA (firmly). You see! Everything comes right if we only think it resolutely out.

      CRAMPTON (in sudden dread). No: don’t think. I want you to feel: that’s the only thing that can help us. Listen! Do you — but first — I forgot. What’s your name? I mean you pet name. They can’t very well call you Sophronia.

      GLORIA (with astonished disgust). Sophronia! My name is Gloria. I am always called by it.

      CRAMPTON (his temper rising again). Your name is Sophronia, girl: you were called after your aunt Sophronia, my sister: she gave you your first Bible with your name written in it.

      GLORIA. Then my mother gave me a new name.

      CRAMPTON (angrily). She had no right to do it. I will not allow this.

      GLORIA. You had no right to give me your sister’s name. I don’t know her.

      CRAMPTON. You’re talking nonsense. There are bounds to what I will put up with. I will not have it. Do you hear that?

      GLORIA (rising warningly). Are you resolved to quarrel?

      CRAMPTON (terrified, pleading). No, no: sit down. Sit down, won’t you? (She looks at him, keeping him in suspense. He forces himself to utter the obnoxious name.) Gloria. (She marks her satisfaction with a slight tightening of the lips, and sits down.) There! You see I only want to shew you that I am your father, my — my dear child. (The endearment is so plaintively inept that she smiles in spite of herself, and resigns herself to indulge him a little.) Listen now. What I want to ask you is this. Don’t you remember me at all? You were only a tiny child when you were taken away from me; but you took plenty of notice of things. Can’t you remember someone whom you loved, or (shyly) at least liked in a childish way? Come! someone who let you stay in his study and look at his toy boats, as you thought them? (He looks anxiously into her face for some response, and continues less hopefully and more urgently) Someone who let you do as you liked there and never said a word to you except to tell you that you must sit still and not speak? Someone who was something that no one else was to you — who was your father.

      GLORIA (unmoved). If you describe things to me, no doubt I shall presently imagine that I remember them. But I really remember nothing.

      CRAMPTON (wistfully). Has your mother never told you anything about me?

      GLORIA. She has never mentioned your name to me. (He groans involuntarily. She looks at him rather contemptuously and continues) Except once; and then she did remind me of something I had forgotten.

      CRAMPTON (looking up hopefully). What was that?

      GLORIA (mercilessly). The whip you bought to beat me with.

      CRAMPTON (gnashing his teeth). Oh! To bring that up against me! To turn from me! When you need never have known. (Under a grinding, agonized breath.) Curse her!

      GLORIA (springing up). You wretch! (With intense emphasis.) You wretch!! You dare curse my mother!

      CRAMPTON. Stop; or you’ll be sorry afterwards. I’m your father.

      GLORIA. How I hate the name! How I love the name of mother! You had better go.

      CRAMPTON. I — I’m choking. You want to kill me. Some — I — (His voice stifles: he is almost in a fit.)

      GLORIA (going up to the balustrade with cool, quick resourcefulness, and calling over to the beach). Mr. Valentine!

      VALENTINE (answering from below). Yes.

      GLORIA. Come here a moment, please. Mr. Crampton wants you. (She returns to the table and pours out a glass of water.)

      CRAMPTON (recovering his speech). No: let me alone. I don’t want him. I’m all right, I tell you. I need neither his help nor yours. (He rises and pulls himself together.) As you say, I had better go. (He puts on his hat.) Is that your last word?

      GLORIA. I hope so. (He looks stubbornly at her for a moment; nods grimly, as if he agreed to that; and goes into the hotel. She looks at him with equal steadiness until he disappears, when she makes a gesture of relief, and turns to speak to Valentine, who comes running up the steps.)

      VALENTINE (panting). What’s the matter? (Looking round.) Where’s Crampton?

      GLORIA. Gone. (Valentine’s face lights up with sudden joy, dread, and mischief. He has just realized that he is alone with Gloria. She continues indifferently) I thought he was ill; but he recovered himself. He wouldn’t wait for you. I am sorry. (She goes for her book and parasol.)

      VALENTINE. So much the better. He gets on my nerves after a while. (Pretending to forget himself.) How could that man have so beautiful a daughter!

      GLORIA (taken aback for a moment; then answering him with polite but intentional contempt). That seems to be an attempt at what is called a pretty speech. Let me say at once, Mr. Valentine, that pretty speeches make very sickly conversation. Pray let us be friends, if we are to be friends, in a sensible and wholesome way. I have no intention of getting married; and unless you are content to accept that state of things, we had much better not cultivate each other’s acquaintance.

      VALENTINE (cautiously). I see. May I ask just this one question? Is your objection an objection to marriage as an institution, or merely an objection to marrying me personally?

      GLORIA. I do not know you well enough, Mr. Valentine, to have any opinion on the subject of your personal merits. (She turns away from him with infinite indifference, and sits down with her book on the garden seat.) I do not think the conditions of marriage at present are such as any selfrespecting woman can accept.

      VALENTINE (instantly changing his tone for one of cordial sincerity, as if he frankly accepted her terms and was delighted and reassured by her principles). Oh, then that’s a point of sympathy between us already. I quite agree with you: the conditions are most unfair. (He takes off his hat and throws it gaily on the iron table.) No: what I want is to get rid of all that nonsense. (He sits down beside her, so naturally that she does not think of objecting, and proceeds, with enthusiasm)