Quality Street Part 1

Quality Street.

by J. M. Barrie.

ACT I

THE BLUE AND WHITE ROOM

_The scene is the blue and white room in the house of the Misses Susan and Phoebe Throssel in Quality Street; and in this little country town there is a satisfaction about living in Quality Street which even religion cannot give. Through the bowed window at the back we have a glimpse of the street. It is pleasantly broad and gra.s.s-grown, and is linked to the outer world by one demure shop, whose door rings a bell every time it opens and shuts. Thus by merely peeping, every one in Quality Street can know at once who has been buying a Whimsy cake, and usually why. This bell is the most familiar sound of Quality Street.

Now and again ladies pa.s.s in their pattens, a maid perhaps protecting them with an umbrella, for flakes of snow are falling discreetly.

Gentlemen in the street are an event; but, see, just as we raise the curtain, there goes the recruiting sergeant to remind us that we are in the period of the Napoleonic wars. If he were to look in at the window of the blue and white room all the ladies there a.s.sembled would draw themselves up; they know him for a rude fellow who smiles at the approach of maiden ladies and continues to smile after they have pa.s.sed. However, he lowers his head to-day so that they shall not see him, his present design being converse with the Misses Throssel's maid._

_The room is one seldom profaned by the foot of man, and everything in it is white or blue. Miss Phoebe is not present, but here are Miss Susan, Miss Willoughby and her sister Miss f.a.n.n.y, and Miss Henrietta Turnbull. Miss Susan and Miss Willoughby, alas, already wear caps; but all the four are dear ladies, so refined that we ought not to be discussing them without a more formal introduction. There seems no sufficient reason why we should choose Miss Phoebe as our heroine rather than any one of the others, except, perhaps, that we like her name best. But we gave her the name, so we must support our choice and say that she is slightly the nicest, unless, indeed, Miss Susan is nicer._

_Miss f.a.n.n.y is reading aloud from a library book while the others sew or knit. They are making garments for our brave soldiers now far away fighting the Corsican Ogre._

MISS f.a.n.n.y. '... And so the day pa.s.sed and evening came, black, mysterious, and ghost-like. The wind moaned unceasingly like a s.h.i.+vering spirit, and the vegetation rustled uneasily as if something weird and terrifying were about to happen. Suddenly out of the darkness there emerged a _Man_.

(_She says the last word tremulously but without looking up. The listeners knit more quickly._)

The unhappy Camilla was standing lost in reverie when, without pausing to advertise her of his intentions, he took both her hands in his.

(_By this time the knitting has stopped, and all are listening as if mesmerised._)

Slowly he gathered her in his arms----

(MISS SUSAN _gives an excited little cry._)

MISS f.a.n.n.y. And rained hot, burning----'

MISS WILLOUGHBY. Sister!

MISS f.a.n.n.y (_greedily_). 'On eyes, mouth----'

MISS WILLOUGHBY (_sternly_). Stop. Miss Susan, I am indeed surprised you should bring such an amazing, indelicate tale from the library.

MISS SUSAN (_with a slight shudder_). I deeply regret, Miss Willoughby---- (_Sees_ MISS f.a.n.n.y _reading quickly to herself._) Oh, f.a.n.n.y! If you please, my dear.

(_Takes the book gently from her._)

MISS WILLOUGHBY. I thank you.

(_She knits severely._)

MISS f.a.n.n.y (_a little rebel_). Miss Susan is looking at the end.

(MISS SUSAN _closes the book guiltily._)

MISS SUSAN (_apologetically_). Forgive my partiality for romance, Mary. I fear 'tis the mark of an old maid.

MISS WILLOUGHBY. Susan, that word!

MISS SUSAN (_sweetly_). 'Tis what I am. And you also, Mary, my dear.

MISS f.a.n.n.y (_defending her sister_). Miss Susan, I protest.

MISS WILLOUGHBY (_sternly truthful_). Nay, sister, 'tis true. We are known everywhere now, Susan, you and I, as the old maids of Quality Street. (_General discomfort._)

MISS SUSAN. I am happy Phoebe will not be an old maid.

MISS HENRIETTA (_wistfully_). Do you refer, Miss Susan, to V. B.?

(MISS SUSAN _smiles happily to herself._)

MISS SUSAN. Miss Phoebe of the ringlets as he has called her.

MISS f.a.n.n.y. Other females besides Miss Phoebe have ringlets.

MISS SUSAN. But you and Miss Henrietta have to employ papers, my dear.

(_Proudly_) Phoebe, never.

MISS WILLOUGHBY (_in defence of_ f.a.n.n.y). I do not approve of Miss Phoebe at all.

MISS SUSAN (_flus.h.i.+ng_). Mary, had Phoebe been dying you would have called her an angel, but that is ever the way. 'Tis all jealousy to the bride and good wishes to the corpse. (_Her guests rise, hurt._) My love, I beg your pardon.

MISS WILLOUGHBY. With your permission, Miss Susan, I shall put on my pattens.

(MISS SUSAN _gives permission almost haughtily, and the ladies retire to the bedroom,_ MISS f.a.n.n.y _remaining behind a moment to ask a question._)

MISS f.a.n.n.y. A bride? Miss Susan, do you mean that V. B. has declared?

MISS SUSAN. f.a.n.n.y, I expect it hourly.

(MISS SUSAN, _left alone, is agitated by the terrible scene with_ MISS WILLOUGHBY.)

(_Enter_ PHOEBE _in her bonnet, and we see at once that she really is the nicest. She is so flushed with delightful news that she almost forgets to take off her pattens before crossing the blue and white room._)

MISS SUSAN. You seem strangely excited, Phoebe.

PHOEBE. Susan, I have met a certain individual.

MISS SUSAN. V. B.? (PHOEBE _nods several times, and her gleaming eyes tell_ MISS SUSAN _as much as if they were a romance from the library._) My dear, you are trembling.

PHOEBE (_bravely_). No--oh no.

MISS SUSAN. You put your hand to your heart.