Index     I     II-I     II-II     III

ACT Two
SCENE II

SCENE: The same. Later that evening. Around 10:30. JURIN and WYATT are playing double patience and talking.

WYATT—I wonder why the two Eldridges went so abruptly to London?

JURIN—I cannot suspect why.

WYATT—Didn't you feel a strain at dinner?

JURIN—Not especially. Mrs. Eldridge seemed a bit . . .

WYATT—Didn't she? [A moment's pause. They play in silence.]

JURIN—The way Lady Wyngate rushed them all off to see the cinema in the village . . . They had no chance at all, did they? Whether they wanted to or not, to the cinema they went. You could tell she didn't mean to stand an evening of that by herself.

WYATT—The German didn't help much, did he?

JURIN—Not much.

WYATT—A burst of brilliance and then . . .

JURIN—A burst of brilliant silence! What do you think of him?

WYATT—I don't know. I can't tell. I think Lady Wyngate likes him. Do you like him?

JURIN—As a fellow refugee, I feel a sympathy for him. Poor fellow, he doesn't realize yet what being a refugee means.

WYATT—Maybe he does!

JURIN—He's new! I've had seventeen years of it.

WYATT—I can imagine—it's no fun.

JURIN—Half mendicant—half vagabond.

WYATT—Surely not for you—with your gift for languages.

JURIN—The English are really very kind. You'd be surprised how many of them are willing to begin to study Russian! [WYATT laughs.] They start with such enthusiasm, a mingling of philanthropy and really a romantic yearning to learn the language. But very soon, unhappily, they find that between the yearning to learn and learning is a gap which can only be bridged by a certain amount of hard work. This work is irksome and soon they begin to look on me, unconsciously perhaps, as a disagreeable taskmaster. They begin to miss lessons. They insist on paying for these missed lessons—at first I refuse to accept—now I accept for a little while till it becomes only too apparent that the fees are only gifts. My pride intervenes. And I think: you have two children who must be fed—what right have you to pride? Pride is the last luxury one can train oneself to give up—like the traditional dress-suit of the impoverished swell. So it goes. Ah! The king I wanted. [He puts the king in place.]

WYATT—Does Lady Wyngate miss many lessons?

JURIN—Oh, she misses them but with her it is different. When she misses a lesson it is because she really has something else to do. She works at it; she has made progress. But there is only one Lady Wyngate.

WYATT—Yes, isn't it lucky there is one!

JURIN—Oh, then why didn't you go along to the film?

WYATT—I have to cram for an exam. [He gets up. HUGO and PHOEBE come in, PHOEBE in evening dress.]

JURIN—So soon back from the film?

HUGO—I left at the point where the first Lord Rothschild makes a loan to the Allied Powers out of sheer altruism!

PHOEBE—The stuffy place gave me a headache.

WYATT—Where is Lady Wyngate?

HUGO—Still there, I suppose. We couldn't find seats together—we got separated.

WYATT—Captain Eldridge came back just after you all left. Did he catch up to you?

HUGO—Yes, he did. [A moment's pause.]

JURIN—[Looking triumphantly at his cards.] There—I've defeated myself—a brilliant victory—but a financial loss.

WYATT—How is that?

JURIN—I bet against myself—quietly. [PHOEBE goes to fireplace and sits by herself staring into it. WYATT gets up.]

WYATT—Of course, Mr. Jurin, what you've been saying makes me timid about asking you to give me Russian lessons.

JURIN—My dear friend!

WYATT—[To HUGO.] Mr. Jurin's been telling me what a hard time an émigré has even in a country as friendly as this is.

JURIN—Oh, please, I beg of you, do not repeat what I've been saying to Herr Willens!

HUGO—Why not?

JURIN—We don't want to discourage a novice!

HUGO—There is no novitiate in being a refugee, You are a veteran after you've left your country one day.

JURIN—[Deprecatingly.] Well . . .

HUGO—To be a refugee is to belong to a lost cause. And people are bored by defeat.

JURIN—There have been refugees who have returned.

HUGO—Like Napoleon! When you still hope to return, you are not a refugee.

JURIN—[Wistfully.] May not a lost cause be glamorous?

HUGO—[Brutally.] In the amber of literature or history—yes. But not when it is contemporaneous. For a moment sympathetic people and generous people may be kind to the victim, but the average man has nothing but contempt for anyone who has been so footless as to put himself permanently in the wrong in the country of his origin. I saw it in people's faces the moment I crossed the frontier. A flicker of chivalry—merging almost instantly into a guarded boredom. No, it's a shabby martyrdom at best and if you will tell the truth, Mr. Jurin, you will have to admit that this is true.

JURIN—[Sadly.] There are exceptions—that is to say, there is an exception—but in the main—yes—it is true. [A moment's pause.]

WYATT—Mr. Jurin, if you don't mind I shall insist on studying Russian with you—not because you are a refugee—but because I want to learn the language.

JURIN—You will be unique among my pupils.

WYATT—Good night. [He goes out. JURIN and PHOEBE and HUGO sit in silence. JURIN looks from one to the other, has some understanding of the situation and tries to stir up a little fire of conversation in these ashes.]

JURIN—Evidently, Lady Wyngate likes the picture better than you did.

HUGO—I don't know. We weren't sitting together.

JURIN—It wouldn't matter if she didn't like it. She never can bear to leave anything in the middle. She always feels, she says, there may be something wonderful at the end.

PHOEBE—Oh, does she?

JURIN—Incorrigible optimist, isn't she? [A moment's pause. JURIN continues to PHOEBE.] Are they coming back after the film?

PHOEBE—I don't know. They said something about going to a Pier dance at Brighton. [With perceptible irony.] Lady Wyngate thought that would be fun!

JURIN—I won't wait up then. Will you say good night to her for me if she does come back?

PHOEBE—Yes, I will.

JURIN—Thank you, Mrs. Eldridge. [To both of them.] Good night. [He walks to French windows, stops.] I think I'll stroll through the garden. Really, the roses are overpowering at night. In the daytime I think they relax. [He goes out through the garden windows. HUGO and PHOEBE are left alone. He is so angry at her, he cannot bring himself to face her. He paces the room.)

PHOEBE—[At her most martyrish.] You're terrible! You act as if I had committed the grievance, as if I had hurt you! [A silence. He says nothing. He continues to pace.] You didn't say a word to me all the way here. Didn't you want me to leave the cinema with you? I couldn't sit there alone. How would it have looked afterwards—with Lady Wyngate and Rand? If you didn't want me to go, why didn't you say so?

HUGO—You've got it into your head that Lady Wyngate is the woman for whom I left you in Munich and nothing I can say will dissuade you of it. If you want to know the truth, there was nobody—nobody at all. I left you—not to meet Lady Wyngate nor anybody else—but for the blissful release of being away from you.

PHOEBE—You're very chivalrous, where she's concerned, aren't you? Anything to protect her!

HUGO—Well, whatever you may think, I want to be left alone now!

PHOEBE—I said I wanted to leave here this afternoon. Oh, no, you wouldn't have it! I mustn't go. Why? You'll be much more comfortable here without me, I should think. As for me, I'm quite reconciled, I assure you!

HUGO—[Tensely.] Are you?

PHOEBE—You flatter yourself!

HUGO—You're behaving like a jealous schoolgirl. You're not a schoolgirl after all, Phoebe. You're the mother of a grown daughter.

PHOEBE—I know.

HUGO—You might behave with some dignity.

PHOEBE—Well, you needn't worry about it any longer.

HUGO—You say I needn't, but I do just the same. You act the martyr. You suffer. You whine.

PHOEBE—Hugo . . .

HUGO—Um Gottes willen, I want to be left alone!

PHOEBE—Why didn't you tell me the truth then?

HUGO—Truth! Truth! What truth?

PHOEBE—This afternoon when I asked you if you still loved Lady Wyngate? You said you didn't. Why didn't you tell me the truth?

HUGO—Because I wanted to spare your feelings. Like all my other lies to you to spare your feelings!

PHOEBE—[Gets very comfortable, then speaks.] Thank you, you needn't.

HUGO—Besides, you've always bullied me in your quiet way and I won't let you bully me any more. For that cowardly consideration I've always displayed to you—I apologize to you. I'll tell you the truth now—for all time. . . .

PHOEBE—Hugo. . .

HUGO—The truth is I can't endure you. Whether I love Lady Wyngate or anybody else can't possibly matter to you because I don't love you and never have. I detest your best qualities: your amiability, your patience, your clinging sweetness! You made me feel a cad and a sadist. You've done it for years and I'm sick to death of it. I repudiate it. I can't endure it. You drive me mad with boredom. You have almost from the beginning.

PHOEBE—That's a lie. I didn't before she came. You loved me before she came.

HUGO—You bored me before anybody came. The only reason our affair lasted as long as it did was because we were separated months at a time, because I hardly saw you for more than a few weeks each year. I beg of you, Phoebe, get interested in somebody else. Take up folk-dancing, or needlework, but for pity's sake, don't cling to me. Leave me alone.

PHOEBE—[Not militantly.] All right, Hugo. You needn't worry. I will.

HUGO—You have a way of cringing before a blow when I speak harshly to you that's made a liar and a hypocrite of me for years. This conquest of me through meekness and patience and understanding has eroded me for years, and I'm not going to let it any longer. Do you understand that finally—not any longer!

PHOEBE—It's a pity your charming hostess won't make up her mind.

HUGO—I tell you she has nothing to do with it!

PHOEBE—[Sweetly.] Whether she wants Rand or you. She sets her cap for him in New York and she got him over here. Why doesn't she make up her mind? Or maybe she's just using him. That's not very generous, I should say!

HUGO—[In despair of her understanding—rises and faces her, then, as though explaining to a child.] Nothing would make any difference between you and me. How can I make it clear to you that if Lady Wyngate were blind or deaf or in a nunnery, it would make no difference to you and me? Nothing would make any difference between you and me!

PHOEBE—All right, Hugo. [He sits back in chair. She faces front. A pause.] No! No matter what you say to defend her—it was all right between us till she came. [With quiet hatred.] I owe this—to her! [JURIN enters from the French windows.]

JURIN—[Seeing them.] Oh! Really, it is criminal to stay indoors on such a night. It is pure magic out there. Forgive me—one drink and I go. [JURIN comes to the secretaire and begins to mix himself a highball. PHOEBE and HUGO sit occupied with their own thoughts. HOBART enters. His face is set and grim. He has not had a happy or successful evening. LORD ABERCROMBIE has proved, at the critical moment, to be elusive.]

HOBART—[Taking in the frozen group.] Um! How very cozy!

JURIN—Oh, good evening, Mr. Eldridge.

HOBART—Good evening. I'll take a whiskey and soda, too, if you don't mind. I need it. Where's everybody?

PHOEBE—Rand is at the cinema with Lady Wyngate. So are Joan and Sascha.

HOBART—Should be back soon, shouldn't they?

PHOEBE—They said something about going to Brighton to a Pier dance hall.

HOBART—[Incredulous.] What?

PHOEBE—[Sarcastically.] Mingling with the people!

HOBART—Damn nonsense! I want to see Rand!

PHOEBE—You may have to wait up pretty late.

JURIN—Whiskey and soda, Hugo?

HUGO—[Rises eagerly.] Yes, thanks.

JURIN—[After a moment.] Why don't you all come out into the garden?

HOBART—Why? What's in the garden?

JURIN—[Poetically.] The night. [HUGO understandingly pats JURIN'S arm and then goes to left of the sofa. HOBART looks at JURIN disgustedly and crosses to get another drink. JURIN then turns to MRS. ELDRIDGE and speaks to her from rear of the sofa.] Will you come, Mrs. Eldridge?

PHOEBE—No, thank you, Mr. Jurin.

HUGO—I'll go with you.

JURIN—[Gallant.] I'd rather have Mrs. Eldridge, if you don't mind.

PHOEBE—I'm sorry.

JURIN—Then, thank you, Hugo. [Crosses to above the left end of the sofa, glances at PHOEBE and HOBART and indulging suddenly a personal sense of humor begins to declaim.] The moon shines bright: In such a night as this, When the sweet wind did gently kiss the trees . . . [HOBART crosses to the right end of the sofa with his drink. He and PHOEBE exchange an incredulous glance and then he continues to the stool where he sits.] And they did make no noise, in such a night Troilus methinks mounted the Trojan walls . . . [JURIN stops, glances at HUGO, then leans over and speaks to PHOEBE.] What comes next? [PHOEBE looks at him and then at HOBART. JURIN then turns to HUGO.] What comes after that?

HUGO—[Smiling.] I only know the original . . .

In solcher Nacht
Erstieg wohl Troilus die Mauern Trojas
Und seufzte seine Seele zu den Zelten
Der Crichechn hin, so seine Cressida
Dies Nacht in Schlummer lag.

[JURIN taking his arm affectionately.]

JURIN—Still you must admit—"And Sigh'd his soul toward the Grecian tents, where Cressid lay that night" is not bad.

HUGO—Not bad—for a translation! [They both go out, carrying their highball glasses with them. HOBART has drained his highball and he goes to the tabouret to pour himself another. PHOEBE watches him.]

PHOEBE—[Dovelike to him suddenly.] What's the matter, Bart?

HOBART—[Gruffly.] Why?

PHOEBE—Whenever you start drinking in that determined way, I know you're disappointed about something.

HOBART—Tired. Long day.

PHOEBE—[After a moment.] Why didn't you and Rand come back together?

HOBART—I had to stay on to finish up with Lord Abercrombie.

PHOEBE—Did you finish up?

HOBART—Extraordinary interest you take in my affairs suddenly.

PHOEBE—If I know anything about them at all, it isn't because you confide in me.

HOBART—[Mechanically.] What's the matter? [He knows there is something, but he's not interested much. He cannot possibly attribute gravity to PHOEBE'S preoccupations.]

PHOEBE—Nothing. Why?

HOBART—[After a moment, drinking.] Rand get back in time for dinner?

PHOEBE—No. Just after we all left for the cinema.

HOBART—Everything go off all right?

PHOEBE—Of course. Not that it would matter—Rand is so in love he's in complete oblivion as far as anything outside Lady Wyngate is concerned. He wouldn't notice anything anyway.

HOBART—What would there be to notice?

PHOEBE—Nothing. Nothing much.

HOBART—Well, what do you mean nothing much? What's on your mind? Speak up!

PHOEBE—Bart. . .

HOBART—Well?

PHOEBE—I think Rand ought to be warned . . .

HOBART—Warned?

PHOEBE—. . . about Lady Wyngate.

HOBART—How do you mean warned?

PHOEBE—[With an air of dropping the whole thing.] Well, perhaps I'm crazy. [A pause. HOBART pours himself a third drink. PHOEBE walks about. He stands still, thinking, drinking his drink more slowly.] I think I'll take a turn in the garden. [She starts for garden doors, throwing a glance at him. He doesn't turn his head. She has to go through with it now and starts out, through the garden doors. At the last second, he calls her back.]

HOBART—How do you mean warned? About what?

PHOEBE—It doesn't matter.

HOBART—[Steely.] Come here.

PHOEBE—You're obviously in no mood to talk. [A pause. He goes to her.]

HOBART—What did you mean?

PHOEBE—I meant . . .

HOBART—Well?

PHOEBE—[Her feelings get the better of her and she pours them out.] I meant simply this: that Rand's precious idol is having an affair with that—immigrant—this Hugo Willens! [This makes considerable of an impression. So much so that, the moment she has uttered it, PHOEBE feels a bit frightened.]

HOBART—[After a pause.] What!

PHOEBE—Yes.

HOBART—Since coming to this house, you mean?

PHOEBE—Oh, no. It's been going on for years.

HOBART—How do you know?

PHOEBE—I know.

HOBART—How? This is important to me, Phoebe. More important than you realize. How do you know?

PHOEBE—[More scared still and fighting for time—she realizes she hasn't worked her scheme out sufficiently in her mind.] I can't tell you that.

HOBART—You've got to.

PHOEBE—I can't.

HOBART—You've got to. You will.

PHOEBE—Later perhaps—now I can't.

HOBART—Why not?

PHOEBE—It involves a friend.

HOBART—Who?

PHOEBE—That I can't tell you. You'd guess if I told you. I mean . . . [She has said it before she realizes it might be a clue. She is in a funk now about the whole thing. There is a pause. HOBART gathers himself together.]

HOBART—[At his cunningest.] Nonsense.

PHOEBE—What?

HOBART—You're crazy.

PHOEBE—What do you mean?

HOBART—It's absurd. Your notion is absurd. It's not possible. Willens? It's not possible. Somebody's been pulling your leg, my dear.

PHOEBE—[Now she feels her quarry slipping from her and she is furious—determined not to let it go at all costs.] Have they?

HOBART—Of course they have! [He pours himself another drink.] Better go to bed, Phoebe. You're overwrought. [He turns away from her, his back to her as he drinks his highball. She feels the ground slipping from beneath her, her enemy escaping. A mania seizes her, a mania of cruelty and revenge—at any cost she must destroy LAEL. That is the first condition of her further being. Mixed in it is a desire to wound HOBART also, to destroy his complacency, to hurl a dart into that strong arrogant back.]

PHOEBE—[A new voice.] Am I?

HOBART—[Without moving.] Of course you are.

PHOEBE—[After a second.] Do you really want me to tell you—how I know?

HOBART—[Knows he's got her, but his face revealing nothing—the poker face.] In the morning will do. I'm not interested much in female gossip.

PHOEBE—[Her voice rising.] Aren't you?

HOBART—I advise you to go to bed, my dear.

PHOEBE—[With an outburst of hysterical laughter.] You fool . . . You complacent fool! Can't you see that . . . [The sound of laughter and voices off stage—RAND and LAEL.]

HOBART—[Very annoyed at this interruption, still making the best of it.] You'd
better . . .

PHOEBE—[Hate in her voice.] She's back! I can't bear to . . .

HOBART—[Close to her, quickly.] Go to your room. I'll join you there in a minute. [She crosses the room swiftly to opposite door and goes out. Left alone, HOBART decides rather quickly. He is pretty grim. He concludes there is no point in meeting LAEL now. Besides, it will delay the revelation he knows now he can get from his wife if he follows it up. He follows PHOEBE out. For a moment the stage is deserted—the voices and laughter of RAND and LAEL growing louder. They come in. They are in full evening dress. One gets a sense from LAEL that she has missed HUGO and is rather on the look-out for him.]

LAEL—Where is everybody?

RAND—Do you miss them? I don't. [Following her.]

LAEL—After all, I am a hostess.

RAND—Let's go to the Pier dance.

LAEL—[Looking around toward the garden.] Shall we? Oh, Rand, remember that wonderful dance place in New York you took me to—all crystal and chromium and stratosphere!

RAND—I went there once afterwards without you; it was no good.

LAEL—Sometimes I get such a sudden homesickness for New York. I feel I want to be there on the instant—must walk those glittering streets, breathe that electric air.

RAND—Come back with me. I'll let you walk and breathe all you like.

LAEL—Don't spoil me.

RAND—[Putting his arm around her shoulder.] Wouldn't I love to!

LAEL—[In a dream of her own—rather drifts away from him.] Oh, Rand!

RAND—[A slight pause—feels her mood.] Now, Lael, don't do that.

LAEL—What?

RAND—Drift away from me. Every once in a while you drift away from me.

LAEL—[Coming back to the moment.] Little excursions. You take such big ones. Don't deny me the tiny ones.

RAND—Well, I don't like it.

LAEL—Tyrant!

RAND—I want to be with you on all the little excursions, do you hear? On all of them.

LAEL—Oh, you don't know what you're letting yourself in for. If you knew—in a day—in an hour—the thousand absurd and silly impulses I get. I wake up in the morning a sober woman with a sense of responsibility. An hour later I feel that I ought to be somewhere in Bali or Tahiti going native.

RAND—Well, why don't we?

LAEL—A graph of my impulses, Rand dear, would make you rather dizzy. [They both laugh. LAEL sits on arm of RAND'S chair.] I wonder—I wonder where Hugo is?

RAND—[Immediately and sharply.] Why? Do you like him?

LAEL—[His tone attracts her attention.] Yes, very much. Don't you?

RAND—[Coldly.] I was brought up not to like his kind.

LAEL—[Looking at him.] Oh! [Looking away from him.] One is brought up with so many prejudices.

RAND—[After a pause—attempts to recapture the lost gaiety of a few moments before.] Let's go to the Pier dance, Lael.

LAEL—No, thank you, Rand.

RAND—Why not?

LAEL—I don't feel like it, really, Rand.

RAND—You said we'd drop in here to see where the others were and that if they weren't about you'd go on with me to Brighton.

LAEL—[Rises.] I felt gay before. I don't any more.

RAND—[Watches her.] Do I depress you?

LAEL—[Sadly—facing him.] Rand.

RAND—I'm sorry.

LAEL—It's my fault. I'm sorry, Rand.

RAND—[Irritated into demanding results.] Now, look here, Lael—you promised me a showdown and I mean to have it.

LAEL—[Backing away a step.] Please, Rand, not now.

RAND—[Following up.] Now! You're not going to put me off any longer. You're going to give me an answer. And it's going to be yes!

LAEL—Thank you for the choice.

RAND—Well, if it's no—I'm going to damn well know why. Lael, you're mixed up with a lot of funny notions about politics and theories and God knows what!

LAEL—Am I? Perhaps I am.

RAND—Do you think I'm going to let a lot of complicated isms stand between us? Well, I'm not. You've told me enough to let me see that once you let yourself go I can make you happy. All this "highbrow" atmosphere and these seedy people you have surrounded yourself with—it's all not you, Lael. I want to get you out of it—into some different environment where you can stop all this thinking. And where you can breathe deeply, and I'm going to do it.

LAEL—Oh, Rand, I'm so fond of you.

RAND—That's not enough.

LAEL—[Finally.] It's all I can offer you. [A moment's pause.] I'm sorry.

RAND—But you told me only the other day that some day you'd give in to me—and I believed you, Lael—I believed you.

LAEL—What I told you then was true. But since then . . .

RAND—What's happened since then?

LAEL—I can't bear to hurt you, Rand.

RAND—What's happened since then? I must know, I tell you. I've got to know. [HUGO and JURIN appear in the French windows; they are talking German to each other. LAEL rather rushes to them, grateful to have escaped the immediate necessity for inflicting on RAND the dreaded "showdown."]

LAEL—My two lost children! Hugo, I'll never forgive you—never as long as I live!

HUGO—Won't you ?

LAEL—For leaving that film—for missing the glory at the end of that film. Do you know what happened?

HUGO—Did Lord Rothschild go to heaven?

LAEL—He did and in color, my dear, in color! Suddenly and with divine unreasonableness, Lord Rothschild and everybody else became iridescent. [Everyone laughs.] He went to a big ball in the palace to be slapped on the back by the King. Good old Rothschild lends money to the Allies for patriotism and four per cent. You could see his pearl shirt-studs glisten with pride—you simply must come with me to see the end of that picture!

JURIN—I want to see it too.

LAEL—We'll all go. [HOBART enters. He has received PHOEBE'S information and stands there looking like Thor.] Now let's have some supper, shall we? Oh, there you are Hobart—just in time for supper. Mrs. Dingle's outdone herself. [She sees HOBART standing there like an angry and sullen god.] What's the matter, Hobart? You stand there looking like the Lord High Executioner. Did you give Lord Abercrombie my love? Did he send me his?

HOBART—He did!

LAEL—Well, that evens things up, doesn't it? [Crosses the others and goes to HOBART.] Let's go to supper—come on, everybody!

HOBART—I'm in no mood for supper, thank you!

LAEL—Oh, Hobart, do something for me, will you? Try to enjoy life. What can we do to cheer you up?

HOBART—Nothing, I'm afraid.

LAEL—[Turns to others, appealing.] Jurin, Hugo, Rand—think of something. [To HOBART.] Lord Abercrombie is much more cheerful than you are, Hobart. I can always make him laugh.

HOBART—I'm sorry. My sense of humor is defective, I guess.

LAEL—Too bad. I wonder what we can do about it. Now let me see—I've known some very difficult cases but you—you—maybe you weren't a happy baby. Is that what it is? But anyway, do you mind if we have supper?

HOBART—No, thank you! I must speak to Rand alone.

RAND—What about?

LAEL—You're always taking him away from me.

HOBART—[His tone is such that a chill falls over them.] Does that distress you, Lady Wyngate?

RAND—Bart!

LAEL—[Quietly.] Of course it distresses me. [To HUGO and JURIN.] Shall we go?

RAND—I don't like your tone, Bart. I must tell you I don't like your tone to . . .

LAEL—Nonsense, Rand, Hobart and I understand each other. . . .

HOBART—No, we don't, Lady Wyngate—we don't in the least understand each other.

LAEL—Hobart, if you have a grievance against me I wish you'd tell me what it is.

HOBART—Shall I?

LAEL—Please do.

HOBART—Even you, Rand, will find out sooner or later; so you may as well know now. . . .[To LADY WYNGATE.] I hope at least, Lady Wyngate, that you're giving Rand value received.

RAND—What!

HOBART—You fool—you blind fool! The least she can do for you is to give up her present lover and take you on!

RAND—Hobart! [HUGO and LAEL, exchange a sudden look of comprehension. It dawns on them both at once what has happened.]

HOBART—[Thundering at RAND and pointing accusingly at LAEL and HUGO.] Look at them! You have only to look at them!

RAND—Lael!

HOBART—Phoebe's just told me. And she ought to know because Lady Wyngate is her successor!

RAND—[To LAEL.] So that's what you were going to tell me. That's why you kept putting me off! You were wondering where he was. Well, here he is!

HUGO—Captain Eldridge—

RAND—[Turns on him.] You dirty Jew!

LAEL—[Horrified.] Rand!

HUGO—It's all right, Lael. This makes me feel quite at home.

HOBART—You swine! Maybe those people over there are right.

LAEL—Hobart, please remember—Herr Willens is not only my lover he is also my guest. [Smiles at HUGO.] Hugo darling!

Index     I     II-I     II-II     III