Alice Sit-By-The-Fire Part 21

AMY, rather complacently, 'That is just how I feel. But I must not think of myself. They are overhead, Ginevra. There is an awful scene taking place--up there. She is telling father all.'

GINEVRA. 'Confessing?'

AMY. 'Everything--in a n.o.ble attempt to save me from a widowed marriage.'

GINEVRA. 'But I thought she was such a hard woman.'

AMY. 'Not really. To the world perhaps; but I have softened her. All she needed, Ginevra, to bring out her finer qualities was a strong nature to lean upon; and she says that she has found it in me. At the theatre and all the way home--'

GINEVRA. 'Then you did go to the theatre. Why?'

AMY, feeling that Ginevra is very young, 'Need you ask? Oh, Ginevra, to see if we could find a happy ending. It was mother's idea.'

GINEVRA. 'Which theatre?'

AMY. 'I don't know, but the erring wife confessed all--in one of those mousselines de soie that are so fas.h.i.+onable this year; and mother and I sat--clasping each other's hands, praying it might end happily, though we didn't see how it could.'

GINEVRA. 'How awful for you. What did the husband do?'

AMY. 'He was very calm and white. He went out of the room for a moment, and came back so white. Then he sat down by the fire, and nodded his head three times.'

GINEVRA. 'I think I know now which theatre it was.'

AMY. 'He asked her coldly--but always the perfect gentleman----'

GINEVRA. 'Oh, that theatre.'

AMY. 'He asked her whether _he_ was to go or she.'

GINEVRA. 'They must part?'

AMY. 'Yes. She went on her knees to him, and said "Are we never to meet again?" and he replied huskily "Never." Then she turned and went slowly towards the door.'

GINEVRA, clutching her, 'Amy, was that the end?'

AMY. 'The audience sat still as death, listening for the awful _click_ that brings the curtain down.'

GINEVRA, s.h.i.+vering, 'I seem to hear it.'

AMY. 'At that moment--'

GINEVRA. 'Yes, yes?'

AMY. 'The door opened, and, Ginevra, their little child--came in--in her night-gown.'

GINEVRA. 'Quick.'

AMY. 'She came toddling down the stairs--she was barefooted--she took in the whole situation at a glance--and, running to her father, she said, "Daddy, if mother goes away what is to become of me?"' Amy gulps and continues: 'And then she took a hand of each and drew them together till they fell on each other's b.r.e.a.s.t.s, and then--Oh, Ginevra, then--Click!--and the curtain fell.'

GINEVRA, when they are more composed, 'How old was the child?'

AMY. 'Five. She looked more.'

GINEVRA, her brows knitted, 'Molly is under two, isn't she?'

AMY. 'She is not quite twenty months.'

GINEVRA. 'She couldn't possibly do it.'

AMY. 'No; I thought of that. But she couldn't, you know, even though she was held up. Mother couldn't help thinking the scene was a good omen, though.' They both look at the ceiling again. 'How still they are.'

GINEVRA. 'Perhaps she hasn't had the courage to tell.'

AMY. 'If so, I must go on with it.'

GINEVRA, feeling rather small beside Amy, 'Marry him?'

AMY. 'Yes. I must dree my weird. Is it dree your weird, or weird your dree?'

GINEVRA. 'I think they both do.' She does not really care; n.o.bler thoughts are surging within her. 'Amy, why can't I make some sacrifice as well as you?'

Amy seems about to make a somewhat grudging reply, but the unexpected arrival of the man who has so strangely won her seals her lips.

AMY. 'You!' with a depth of meaning, 'Oh, sir.'

STEVE, the most nervous of the company, 'I felt I must come. Miss Grey, I am in the greatest distress, as the unhappy cause of all this trouble.'

AMY, coldly, 'You should have thought of that before.'

STEVE. 'It was dense of me not to understand sooner--very dense.' He looks at her with wistful eyes. 'Must I marry you, Miss Grey?'

AMY, curling her lip, 'Ah, that is what you are sorry for!'

STEVE. 'Yes--horribly sorry.' Hastily, 'Not for myself. To tell you the truth, I'd be--precious glad to risk it--I think.'

AMY, with a glance at Ginevra, 'You would?'

STEVE. 'But very sorry for you. It seems such a shame to you--so young and attractive--and the little you know of me so--unfortunate.'

AMY. 'You mean you could never love me?'

STEVE. 'I don't mean that at all.'

AMY. 'Ginevra!'

Indeed Ginevra feels that she has been obliterated quite long enough.

GINEVRA, with a touch of testiness in her tone, 'Amy--introduce me.'