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

she?

      Basil.

      [Enthusiastically.] Oh, I think she's perfectly charming.... But what makes you say that?

      John.

      [Innocently.] Oh, I don't know. Passed through my head.

      Basil.

      I say, I've got something to tell you, John.

      John.

      Well, don't be so beastly solemn about it.

      Basil.

      [Smiling.] It's a solemn thing.

      John.

      No, it ain't. I've done it myself. It's like a high dive. When you look down at the water it fairly takes your breath away, but after you've done it—it's not so bad as you think. You're going to be married, my boy.

      Basil.

      [With a smile.] How the deuce d'you know?

      John.

      [Gaily.] Saw it with mine own eyes. I congratulate you, and I give you my blessing. I'll get a new frock-coat to give the lady away in.

      Basil.

      You?... [Suddenly understanding.] You're on the wrong tack, old man. It's not your sister-in-law I'm going to marry.

      John.

      Then why the dickens did you say it was?

      Basil.

      I never mentioned her name.

      John.

      H'm! I've made rather more than an average ass of myself, haven't I?

      Basil.

      What on earth made you think...?

      John.

      [Interrupting.] Oh, it was only some stupid idea of my wife's. Women are such fools, you know. And they think they're so confoundedly sharp.

      Basil.

      [Disconcerted—looking at him.] Has Mrs. Murray...?

      John.

      No, of course not! Well, who the deuce are you going to marry?

      Basil.

      [Flushing.] I'm going to marry Miss Jenny Bush.

      John.

      Never heard of her. Is it any one I know?

      Basil.

      Yes, you knew her.

      John.

      [Searching his memory.] Bush ... Bush.... [With a smile.] The only Jenny Bush I've ever heard of was a rather pretty little barmaid in Fleet Street. Presumably you're not going to marry her.

      [John has said this quite lightly, not guessing for a moment that it can have anything to do with the person Basil proposes to marry. Then, since Basil makes no answer, John looks at him sharply: there is a silence while the two men stare at one another.

      John.

      Basil, it's not the woman we used to know before you went out to the Cape?

      Basil.

      [Pale and nervous, but determined.] I've just told you that you used to know Jenny.

      John.

      Man alive, you're not going to marry the barmaid of the "Golden Crown"?

      Basil.

      [Looking at him steadily.] Jenny was a barmaid at the "Golden Crown."

      John.

      But, good Lord, Basil, what d'you mean? You're not serious?

      Basil.

      Perfectly! We're going to be married this day week.

      John.

      Are you stark, staring mad? Why on earth d'you want to marry Jenny Bush?

      Basil.

      That's rather a delicate question, isn't it? [With a smile.] Presumably because I'm in love with her.

      John.

      Well, that's a silly ass of an answer.

      Basil.

      It's quite the most obvious.

      John.

      Nonsense! Why, I've been in love with twenty girls, and I haven't married them all. One can't do that sort of thing in a country where they give you seven years for bigamy. Every public-house along the Thames from Barnes to Taplow is the tombstone of an unrequited passion of my youth. I loved 'em dearly, but I never asked 'em to marry me.

      Basil.

      [Tightening his lips.] I'd rather you didn't make jokes about it, John.

      John.

      Are you sure you're not making an ass of yourself? If you've got into a mess, surely we can get you out. Marriage, like hanging, is rather a desperate remedy.

      [Basil is sitting down and moodily shrugs his shoulders. John goes up to him, and putting his hands on his friend's shoulders looks into his eyes.

      John.

      Why are you going to marry her, Basil?

      Basil.

      [Springing up impatiently.] Damn you, why don't you mind your own business?

      John.

      Don't be a fool, Basil.

      Basil.

      Can't I marry any one I choose? It's nothing to you, is it? D'you suppose I care if she's a barmaid?

      [He walks up and down excitedly, while John with steady eyes watches him.

      John.

      Basil, old man, we've known each other a good many years now. Don't you think you'd better trust me?

      Basil.

      [Setting his teeth.] What d'you want to know?

      John.

      Why are you going to marry her?

      Basil.

      [Abruptly, fiercely.] Because I must.

      John.

      [Nodding his head quietly.] I see.

      [There is a silence. Then Basil, more calmly turns to John.

      Basil.

      D'you remember Jenny?

      John.

      Yes, rather. Why, we always lunched there in the old days.

      Basil.

      Well, after I came back from the Cape I began going there again. When I was out there she took it into her head to write me a letter, rather ill-spelt and funny—but I was touched that she thought of me. And she sent some tobacco and some cigarettes.

      John.

      My maiden aunt sent you a woollen comforter, but I'm not aware that in return you ever made her a proposal of marriage.

      Basil.

      And so in one way and another I came to know Jenny rather well. She appeared to get rather fond of me—and I couldn't help seeing it.

      John.

      But she always pretended to be engaged to that scrubby little chap with false teeth who used to hang about the bar and make sheep's eyes at her over innumerable Scotch-and-sodas.

      Basil.

      He made a scene because I took her out on one of her off-nights, and she broke it off. I couldn't help knowing it