Pygmalion and Other Plays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

Oh no, you wouldn’t. Why should they take any grind when they can afford not to? I wish I had their luck. No: what I object to is their form. It isn’t the thing: it’s slovenly, ever so slovenly.

      VIVIE. Do you think your form will be any better when you’re as old as Crofts, if you don’t work?

      FRANK. Of course I do. Ever so much better. Vivvums mustn’t lecture: her little boy’s incorrigible. [He attempts to take her face caressingly in his hands.]

      VIVIE. [Striking his hands down sharply.] Off with you: Vivvums is not in a humor for petting her little boy this evening. [She rises and comes forward to the other side of the room.]

      FRANK. [Following her.] How unkind!

      VIVIE. [Stamping at him.] Be serious. I’m serious.

      FRANK. Good. Let us talk learnedly, Miss Warren: do you know that all the most advanced thinkers are agreed that half the diseases of modern civilization are due to starvation of the affections of the young. Now, I—

      VIVIE. [Cutting him short.] You are very tiresome. [She opens the inner door.] Have you room for Frank there? He’s complaining of starvation.

      MRS. WARREN. [Within.] Of course there is. [Clatter of knives and glasses as she moves the things on the table.] Here! there’s room now beside me. Come along, Mr. Frank.

      FRANK. Her little boy will be ever so even with his Vivvums for this. [He passes into the kitchen.]

      MRS. WARREN. [Within.] Here, Vivie: come on you too, child. You must be famished. [She enters, followed by Crofts, who holds the door open with marked deference. She goes out without looking at him; and he shuts the door after her.] Why George, you can’t be done: you’ve eaten nothing. Is there anything wrong with you?

      CROFTS. Oh, all I wanted was a drink. [He thrusts his hands in his pockets, and begins prowling about the room, restless and sulky.]

      MRS. WARREN. Well, I like enough to eat. But a little of that cold beef and cheese and lettuce goes a long way. [With a sigh of only half repletion she sits down lazily on the settle.]

      CROFTS. What do you go encouraging that young pup for?

      MRS. WARREN. [On the alert at once.] Now see here, George: what are you up to about that girl? I’ve been watching your way of looking at her. Remember: I know you and what your looks mean.

      CROFTS. There’s no harm in looking at her, is there?

      MRS. WARREN. I’d put you out and pack you back to London pretty soon if I saw any of your nonsense. My girl’s little finger is more to me than your whole body and soul. [Crofts receives this with a sneering grin. Mrs. Warren, flushing a little at her failure to impose on him in the character of a theatrically devoted mother, adds in a lower key.] Make your mind easy: the young pup has no more chance than you have.

      CROFTS. Mayn’t a man take an interest in a girl?

      MRS. WARREN. Not a man like you.

      CROFTS. How old is she?

      MRS. WARREN. Never you mind how old she is.

      CROFTS. Why do you make such a secret of it?

      MRS. WARREN. Because I choose.

      CROFTS. Well, I’m not fifty yet; and my property is as good as it ever was—

      MRS. WARREN. [Interrupting him.] Yes; because you’re as stingy as you’re vicious.

      CROFTS. [Continuing.] And a baronet isn’t to be picked up every day. No other man in my position would put up with you for a mother-in-law. Why shouldn’t she marry me?

      MRS. WARREN. You!

      CROFTS. We three could live together quite comfortably. I’d die before her and leave her a bouncing widow with plenty of money. Why not? It’s been growing in my mind all the time I’ve been walking with that fool inside there.

      MRS. WARREN. [Revolted.] Yes; it’s the sort of thing that would grow in your mind. [He halts in his prowling; and the two look at one another, she steadfastly, with a sort of awe behind her contemptuous disgust: he stealthily, with a carnal gleam in his eye and a loose grin.]

      CROFTS. [Suddenly becoming anxious and urgent as he sees no sign of sympathy in her.] Look here, Kitty: you’re a sensible woman: you needn’t put on any moral airs. I’ll ask no more questions; and you need answer none. I’ll settle the whole property on her; and if you want a cheque for yourself on the wedding day, you can name any figure you like—in reason.

      MRS. WARREN. So it’s come to that with you, George, like all the other worn-out old creatures!

      CROFTS. [Savagely.] Damn you! [Before she can retort the door of the kitchen is opened; and the voices of the others are heard returning. Crofts, unable to recover his presence of mind, hurries out of the cottage. The clergyman appears at the kitchen door.]

      REV. S. [Looking round.] Where is Sir George?

      MRS. WARREN. Gone out to have a pipe. [The clergyman takes his hat from the table, and joins Mrs. Warren at the fireside. Meanwhile, Vivie comes in, followed by Frank, who collapses into the nearest chair with an air of extreme exhaustion. Mrs. Warren looks round at Vivie and says, with her affectation of maternal patronage even more forced than usual.] Well, dearie: have you had a good supper?

      VIVIE. You know what Mrs. Alison’s suppers are. [She turns to Frank and pets him.] Poor Frank! was all the beef gone? did it get nothing but bread and cheese and ginger beer? [Seriously, as if she had done quite enough trifling for one evening.] Her butter is really awful. I must get some down from the stores.

      FRANK. Do, in Heaven’s name! [Vivie goes to the writing-table and makes a memorandum to order the butter. Praed comes in from the kitchen, putting up his handkerchief, which he has been using as a napkin.]

      REV. S. Frank, my boy: it is time for us to be thinking of home. Your mother does not know yet that we have visitors.

      PRAED. I’m afraid we’re giving trouble.

      FRANK. [Rising.] Not the least in the world: my mother will be delighted to see you. She’s a genuinely intellectual artistic woman; and she sees nobody here from one year’s end to another except the gov’nor; so you can imagine how jolly dull it pans out for her. [To his father.] You’re not intellectual or artistic: are you pater? So take Praed home at once; and I’ll stay here and entertain Mrs. Warren. You’ll pick up Crofts in the garden. He’ll be excellent company for the bull-pup.

      PRAED. [Taking his hat from the dresser, and coming close to Frank.] Come with us, Frank. Mrs. Warren has not seen Miss Vivie for a long time; and we have prevented them from having a moment together yet.

      FRANK. [Quite softened, and looking at Praed with romantic admiration.] Of course. I forgot. Ever so thanks for reminding me. Perfect gentleman, Praddy. Always were. My ideal through life. [He rises to go, but pauses a moment between the two older men, and puts his hand on Praed’s shoulder.] Ah, if you had only been my father instead of this unworthy old man! [He puts his other hand on his father’s shoulder.]

      REV. S. [Blustering.] Silence, sir, silence: you are profane.

      MRS. WARREN. [Laughing heartily.] You should keep him in better order, Sam. Good-night. Here: take George his hat and stick with my compliments.

      REV. S. [Taking them.] Good-night. [They shake hands. As he passes Vivie he shakes hands with her also and bids her good-night. Then, in booming command, to Frank.] Come along, sir, at once. [He goes out. Meanwhile Frank has taken his cap from the dresser and his rifle from the rack. Praed shakes hands with Mrs. Warren and Vivie and goes out, Mrs. Warren accompanying him idly to the door, and looking out after him as he goes across the garden. Frank silently begs a kiss from Vivie; but she, dismissing him with a stern glance, takes a couple of books and some paper form the writing-table, and sits down with them at the middle, so as to have the benefit of the lamp.]

      FRANK. [At the door, taking Mrs. Warren’s hand.] Good-night, dear Mrs. Warren. [He kisses her hand. She snatches it away, her lips tightening,