THE COLLECTED PLAYS OF W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM. Уильям Сомерсет Моэм

my life if he wanted it. Oh, I can't say it, but when I think of him my heart burns so that sometimes I can hardly breathe. I can never show him that he's all in the world to me; I try to make him love me, and I only make him hate me. What can I do to show him? Ah, if he only knew, I'm sure he'd not regret that he married me. I feel—I feel as if my heart was full of music, and yet something prevents me from ever bringing it out.

      John.

      D'you think he means it seriously when he talks of separation?

      Jenny.

      He's been brooding over it. I know him so well, I knew there was something he was thinking over. Oh, John, I couldn't live without him. I'd rather die. If he leaves me, I swear I'll kill myself.

      John.

      [Walking up and down.] I wish I could help you. I don't see anything I can do.

      Jenny.

      Oh, yes, there is. Speak to your sister-in-law. Ask her to have mercy on me. Perhaps she doesn't know what she's doing. Tell her I love him.... Take care. There's Basil. If he knew what I'd said he'd never speak to me again.

      [Basil comes in, dressed in a frock-coat; with a tall hat in his hand.

      Basil.

      I'm ready. We've just got time to catch the train.

      John.

      All right. Good-bye, Mrs. Kent.

      Jenny.

      [Keeping her eyes fixed on Basil.] Good-bye.

      [The two men go out. Jenny runs to the door and calls out.

      Jenny.

      Basil, I want you a moment, Basil!

      [Basil appears at the door.

      Jenny.

      Are you really going to Chancery Lane?

      [Basil makes a movement of impatience and goes out again without answering.

      Jenny.

      [Alone.] Oh, well, I'm going to see that for myself. [Calling to the Maid.] Fanny!... Bring my hat and my jacket. Quick!

      [She runs to the window and looks out at Basil and John going away. Fanny appears with the clothes. Jenny hurriedly puts them on.

      Jenny.

      [As Fanny is helping her.] What time is it?

      Fanny.

      [Looking up at the clock.] Five minutes past four.

      Jenny.

      I think I can catch it. He said 4.15.

      Fanny.

      Will you be in to tea, mum?

      Jenny.

      I don't know. [She runs to the door and rushes out.]

      END OF THE SECOND ACT.

      THE THIRD ACT

       Table of Contents

       The Same Afternoon.

      [A luxuriously furnished drawing-room at Mrs. Murray's house in Charles Street, Mayfair. Everything in it is beautiful, but suggests in the owner good taste rather than originality.]

      [Hilda is seated near a tea-table, elaborately gowned, and with her is Mabel. Mr. Robert Brackley is sitting down, a stout, round-faced man, clean-shaven and very bald; about forty; he is attired in the height of fashion, in a frock-coat, patent-leather boots and an eye-glass. He talks very quickly, in a careless frivolous fashion, and is always much amused at what he says.]

      Mabel.

      What is the time, Mr. Brackley?

      Brackley.

      I shan't tell you again.

      Mabel.

      How brutal of you!

      Brackley.

      There's something unhealthy in your passion for information. I've already told you five times.

      Hilda.

      It's very unflattering to us who've been doing our little best to amuse you.

      Mabel.

      I can't imagine what's happened to John. He promised to fetch me here.

      Hilda.

      He's sure to come if you'll only wait patiently.

      Mabel.

      But I hate waiting patiently.

      Hilda.

      You shouldn't have let him out of your sight.

      Mabel.

      He went to Putney after luncheon to see your friend Mr. Kent. Have you seen him lately?

      Hilda.

      John? I saw him at the Martins yesterday.

      Mabel.

      [Slyly.] I meant Mr. Kent.

      Hilda.

      [Indifferently.] Yes. He called the other day. [To change the conversation.] You're unusually silent, Mr. Brackley.

      Brackley.

      [Smiling.] I have nothing whatever to say.

      Mabel.

      That's usually when clever people talk most.

      Hilda.

      Are you doing anything now?

      Brackley.

      Oh yes, I'm writing a play in blank verse.

      Hilda.

      You brave man. What is it about?

      Brackley.

      Cleopatra.

      Hilda.

      Dear me! Shakespeare wrote a play about Cleopatra, didn't he?

      Brackley.

      I daresay. I haven't read it. Shakespeare bores me. He lived so long ago.

      Mabel.

      Of course there are people who read him.

      Brackley.

      Are there? What do they look like?

      Hilda.

      [Smiling.] They bear no distinctive mark of their eccentricity.

      Brackley.

      The English are so original.

      Mabel.

      I think I shall go and ring up the flat. I wonder if John has gone straight home.

      Brackley.

      Do. I'm growing very uneasy about him.

      Mabel.

      [Laughing.] You absurd creature.

      [She goes out.

      Hilda.

      You talk more nonsense than anyone I ever met.

      Brackley.

      That's my stock in trade. You don't imagine people would read my poems if they knew that I was sober, industrious, and economical. As a matter of fact I lead the virtuous life of a clergyman's daughter, but not a reviewer would notice me if he knew it.

      Hilda.

      And the little things that the indiscreet read of in the papers....

      Brackley.