Pygmalion and Other Plays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

[Sitting up in some consternation.] I say, you know! Come!

      REV. S. [Rising, startled out of his professional manner into real force and sincerity.] Frank, once and for all, it’s out of the question. Mrs. Warren will tell you that it’s not to be thought of.

      CROFTS. Of course not.

      FRANK. [With enchanting placidity.] Is that so, Mrs. Warren?

      MRS. WARREN. [Reflectively.] Well, Sam, I don’t know. If the girl wants to get married, no good can come of keeping her unmarried.

      REV. S. [Astounded.] But married to him!—your daughter to my son! Only think: it’s impossible.

      CROFTS. Of course it’s impossible. Don’t be a fool, Kitty.

      MRS. WARREN. [Nettled.] Why not? Isn’t my daughter good enough for your son?

      REV. S. But surely, my dear Mrs. Warren, you know the reasons—

      MRS. WARREN. [Defiantly.] I know no reasons. If you know any, you can tell them to the lad, or to the girl, or to your congregation, if you like.

      REV. S. [Collapsing helplessly into his chair.] You know very well that I couldn’t tell anyone the reasons. But my boy will believe me when I tell him there are reasons.

      FRANK. Quite right, Dad: he will. But has your boy’s conduct ever been influenced by your reasons?

      CROFTS. You can’t marry her; and that’s all about it. [He gets up and stands on the hearth, with his back to the fireplace, frowning determinedly.]

      MRS. WARREN. [Turning on him sharply.] What have you got to do with it, pray?

      FRANK. [With his prettiest lyrical cadence.] Precisely what I was going to ask, myself, in my own graceful fashion.

      CROFTS. [To Mrs. Warren.] I suppose you don’t want to marry the girl to a man younger than herself and without either a profession or twopence to keep her on. Ask Sam, if you don’t believe me. [To the parson.] How much more money are you going to give him?

      REV. S. Not another penny. He has had his patrimony; and he spent the last of it in July. [Mrs. Warren’s face falls.]

      CROFTS. [Watching her.] There! I told you. [He resumes his place on the settle and puts his legs on the seat again, as if the matter were finally disposed of.]

      FRANK. [Plaintively.] This is ever so mercenary. Do you suppose Miss Warren’s going to marry for money? If we love one another—

      MRS. WARREN. Thank you. Your love’s a pretty cheap commodity, my lad. If you have no means of keeping a wife, that settles it; you can’t have Vivie.

      FRANK. [Much amused.] What do you say, gov’nor, eh?

      REV. S. I agree with Mrs. Warren.

      FRANK. And good old Crofts has already expressed his opinion.

      CROFTS. [Turning angrily on his elbow.] Look here: I want none of your cheek.

      FRANK. [Pointedly.] I’m ever so sorry to surprise you, Crofts; but you allowed yourself the liberty of speaking to me like a father a moment ago. One father is enough, thank you.

      CROFTS. [Contemptuously.] Yah! [He turns away again.]

      FRANK. [Rising.] Mrs. Warren: I cannot give my Vivie up, even for your sake.

      MRS. WARREN. [Muttering.] Young scamp!

      FRANK. [Continuing.] And as you no doubt intend to hold out other prospects to her, I shall lose no time in placing my case before her. [They stare at him; and he begins to declaim gracefully.]

      He either fears his fate too much,

      Or his deserts are small,

      That dares not put it to the touch,

      To gain or lose it all.

      [The cottage doors open whilst he is reciting; and Vivie and Praed come in. He breaks off. Praed puts his hat on the dresser. There is an immediate improvement in the company’s behavior. Crofts takes down his legs from the settle and pulls himself together as Praed joins him at the fireplace. Mrs. Warren loses her ease of manner and takes refuge in querulousness.]

      MRS. WARREN. Wherever have you been, Vivie?

      VIVIE. [Taking off her hat and throwing it carelessly on the table.] On the hill.

      MRS. WARREN. Well, you shouldn’t go off like that without letting me know. How could I tell what had become of you? And night coming on too!

      VIVIE. [Going to the door of the kitchen and opening it, ignoring her mother.] Now, about supper? [All rise except Mrs. Warren.] We shall be rather crowded in here, I’m afraid.

      MRS. WARREN. Did you hear what I said, Vivie?

      VIVIE. [Quietly.] Yes, mother. [Reverting to the supper difficulty.] How many are we? [Counting.] One, two, three, four, five, six. Well, two will have to wait until the rest are done: Mrs. Alison has only plates and knives for four.

      PRAED. Oh, it doesn’t matter about me. I—

      VIVIE. You have had a long walk and are hungry, Mr. Praed: you shall have your supper at once. I can wait myself. I want one person to wait with me. Frank: are you hungry?

      FRANK. Not the least in the world. Completely off my peck, in fact.

      MRS. WARREN. [To Crofts.] Neither are you, George. You can wait.

      CROFTS. Oh, hang it, I’ve eaten nothing since tea-time. Can’t Sam do it?

      FRANK. Would you starve my poor father?

      REV. S. [Testily.] Allow me to speak for myself, sir. I am perfectly willing to wait.

      VIVIE. [Decisively.] There’s no need. Only two are wanted. [She opens the door of the kitchen.] Will you take my mother in, Mr. Gardner. [The parson takes Mrs. Warren; and they pass into the kitchen. Praed and Crofts follow. All except Praed clearly disapprove of the arrangement, but do not know how to resist it. Vivie stands at the door looking in at them.] Can you squeeze past to that corner, Mr. Praed: it’s rather a tight fit. Take care of your coat against the white-wash: that right. Now, are you all comfortable?

      PRAED. [Within.] Quite, thank you.

      MRS. WARREN. [Within.] Leave the door open, dearie. [Vivie frowns; but Frank checks her with a gesture, and steals to the cottage door, which he softly sets wide open.] Oh Lor’, what a draught! You’d better shut it, dear. [Vivie shuts it with a slam, and then, noting with disgust that her mother’s hat and shawl are lying about, takes them tidily to the window seat, whilst Frank noiselessly shuts the cottage door.]

      FRANK. [Exulting.] Aha! Got rid of em. Well, Vivvums: what do you think of my governor?

      VIVIE. [Preoccupied and serious.] I’ve hardly spoken to him. He doesn’t strike me as a particularly able person.

      FRANK. Well, you know, the old man is not altogether such a fool as he looks. You see, he was shoved into the Church, rather; and in trying to live up to it he makes a much bigger ass of himself than he really is. I don’t dislike him as much as you might expect. He means well. How do you think you’ll get on with him?

      VIVIE. [Rather grimly.] I don’t think my future life will be much concerned with him, or with any of that old circle of my mother’s, except perhaps Praed. [She sits down on the settle.] What do you think of my mother?

      FRANK. Really and truly?

      VIVIE. Yes, really and truly.

      FRANK. Well, she’s ever so jolly. But she’s rather a caution, isn’t she? And Crofts! Oh, my eye, Crofts! [He sits beside her.]

      VIVIE. What a lot, Frank!

      FRANK. What a crew!

      VIVIE. [With intense contempt for them.] If I thought that I was like that—that I was going to be a waster, shifting along from one meal to another with no purpose, and no character, and no grit in me, I’d open an artery and