Chapter 43
CRAWSHAW [_hardly understanding_]. Married? What does this mean, Richard?
RICHARD. I'm sorry it has come out like this. We ought to have told you before, but anyhow we were going to have told you in a day or two.
Viola and I want to get married.
CRAWSHAW. And what did you want to get married on?
RICHARD [_with a smile_]. Not very much, I'm afraid.
VIOLA. We're all right now, father, because we shall have fifty thousand pounds.
RICHARD [_sadly_]. Oh, Viola, Viola!
CRAWSHAW. But naturally this puts a very different complexion on matters.
VIOLA. So of course he must take it, mustn't he, father?
CRAWSHAW. I can hardly suppose, Richard, that you expect me to entrust my daughter to a man who is so little provident for himself that he throws away fifty thousand pounds because of some fanciful objection to the name which goes with it.
RICHARD [_in despair_]. You don't understand, Robert.
CRAWSHAW. I understand this, Richard. That if the name is good enough for me, it should be good enough for you. You don't mind asking Viola to take _your_ name, but you consider it an insult if you are asked to take _my_ name.
RICHARD [_miserably to VIOLA_]. Do you want to be Mrs.
Wurzel-Flummery?
VIOLA. Well, I'm going to be Miss Wurzel-Flummery anyhow, darling.
RICHARD [_beaten_]. Heaven help me! you'll make me take it. But you'll never understand.
CRAWSHAW [_stopping to administer comfort to him on his way out_].
Come, come, Richard. [_Patting him on the shoulder._] I understand perfectly. All that you were saying about money a little while ago--it's all perfectly true, it's all just what I feel myself. But in practice we have to make allowances sometimes. We have to sacrifice our ideals for--ah--others. I shall be very proud to have you for a son-in-law, and to feel that there will be the two of us in Parliament together upholding the honor of the--ah--name. And perhaps now that we are to be so closely related, you may come to feel some day that your views could be--ah--more adequately put forward from _my_ side of the House.
RICHARD. Go on, Robert; I deserve it.
CRAWSHAW. Well, well! Margaret will be interested in our news. And you must send that solicitor a line--or perhaps a telephone message would be better. [_He goes to the door and
[_Exit._]
RICHARD [_holding out his hands to VIOLA_]. Come here, Mrs.
Wurzel-Flummery.
VIOLA. Not Mrs. Wurzel-Flummery; Mrs. d.i.c.k. And soon, please, darling.
[_She comes to him._]
RICHARD [_shaking his head sadly at her_]. I don't know what I've done, Viola. [_Suddenly._] But you're worth it. [_He kisses her, and then says in a low voice._] And G.o.d help me if I ever stop thinking so!
_Enter MR. DENIS CLIFTON. He sees them, and walks about very tactfully with his back towards them, humming to himself._
RICHARD. Hullo!
CLIFTON [_to himself_]. Now where did I put those papers? [_He hums to himself again._] Now where--oh, I beg your pardon! I left some papers behind.
VIOLA. d.i.c.k, you'll tell him. [_As she goes out, she says to CLIFTON._] Good-by, Mr. Clifton, and thank you for writing such nice letters.
CLIFTON. Good-by, Miss Crawshaw.
VIOLA. Just say it to see how it sounds.
CLIFTON. Good-by, Miss Wurzel-Flummery.
VIOLA [_smiling happily_]. No, not Miss, Mrs. [_She goes out._]
CLIFTON [_looking in surprise from her to him_]. You don't mean--
RICHARD. Yes; and I'm taking the money after all, Mr. Clifton.
CLIFTON. Dear me, what a situation! [_Thoughtfully to himself._] I wonder how a rough scenario would strike the managers.
RICHARD. Poor Mr. Clifton!
CLIFTON. Why poor?
RICHARD. You missed all the best part. You didn't hear what I said to Crawshaw about money before you came.
CLIFTON [_thoughtfully_]. Oh! was it very--[_Brightening up._] But I expect Uncle Antony heard. [_After a pause._] Well, I must be getting on. I wonder if you've noticed any important papers lying about, in connection with the Great Missenden Ca.n.a.l Company--a most intricate case, in which my clerk and I--[_He has murmured himself across to the fireplace, and the fragments of his important case suddenly catch his eye. He picks up one of the fragments._] Ah, yes. Well, I shall tell my clerk that we lost the case. He will be sorry. He had got quite fond of that ca.n.a.l. [_He turns to go, but first says to MERITON._] So you're taking the money, Mr. Meriton?
RICHARD. Yes.
CLIFTON. And Mr. Crawshaw too?
RICHARD. Yes.
CLIFTON [_to himself as he goes out_]. They are both taking it. [_He stops and looks up to UNCLE ANTONY with a smile._] Good old Uncle Antony--_he_ knew--_he_ knew! [_MERITON stands watching him as he goes._]
[THE CURTAIN.]
MAID OF FRANCE[35]
By HAROLD BRIGHOUSE
[Footnote 35: Copyright, 1918, by Gowans and Gray. All rights reserved. Reprinted by permission of and by special arrangement with Harold Brighouse. Also printed in the United States by Leroy Phillips, Boston. _Maid of France_ is fully protected by copyright. It must not be performed by either amateurs or professionals, without written permission. For such permission apply to Samuel French, 28-30 West 38 Street, New York City.]
Miss Horniman could hardly have foreseen the development of a Manchester school of dramatists as the outcome of her experiment with repertory at the Gaiety Theatre in Manchester, because her purpose was to produce good plays irrespective of geographical limitations. But the fact is that the project was a source of real inspiration to a group of young Lancas.h.i.+re writers among whom may be mentioned Allan Broome, Stanley Houghton, and Harold Brighouse. There is no plainer ill.u.s.tration of the relations between the audience and the play, or between the theatre and the play, or between the actor and the play than the dramatic activity that followed the establishment of the Abbey Theatre in Dublin and the setting up of Miss Horniman's experiment in Manchester.