The Notorious Mrs. Ebbsmith Part 7

THE SECOND ACT

The Scene is the same as that of the previous Act. Through the windows some mastheads and flapping sails are seen in the distance. The light is that of late afternoon.

AGNES, very plainly dressed, is sitting at the table, industriously copying from a ma.n.u.script. After a moment or two, ANTONIO and NELLA enter the room, carrying a dressmaker's box, which is corded and labelled.

NELLA. E permess, Signora (Permit us, Signora.)

ANTONIO. Uno scatolone per la Signora (Am enormous box for the Signora.)

AGNES. [Turning her head.] Eh?

NELLA. E venuto colla ferrovia--(It has come by the railway--)

ANTONIO. [consulting the label.] Da'Firenze. (From Florence.)

AGNES. By railway, from Florence?

NELLA [Reading from the label.] "Emilia Bardini, Via Rondinelli."

AGNES. Bardini? That's the dressmaker. There must be some mistake. Non e per me, Nella. (It isn't for me, Nella.)

[ANTONIO and NELLA carry the box to her animatedly.]

NELLA. Ma guardi, Signora! (But look, Signora!)

ANTONIO. Alla Signora Cleeve!

NELLA. E poi abbiamo pagato il porto della ferrovia. (Besides, we have paid the railway dues upon it.)

AGNES. [Collecting her sheets of paper.] Hush, hus.h.!.+ Don't trouble me just now. Mettez-la n'importe ou. [They place the box upon another table.]

NELLA. La corda intaccherebbe la forbice della Signora. Vuole che Antonio la tagli. (The cord would blunt the Signora's scissors. Shall Antonio cut the cord?)

AGNES. [Pinning her sheets of paper together.] I'll see about it bye and bye. Laissez-moi!

NELLA. [Softly to ANTONIO.] Taglia, taglia! (Cut, cut!) [ANTONIO cuts the cord, whereupon NELLA utters a little scream.]

AGNES. [Turning, startled.] What is it?

NELLA. [Pus.h.i.+ng ANTONIO away.] Questo stupido non ha caoito la Signora e ha tagliata la corda. (The stupid fellow misunderstood the Signora, and has severed the cord.)

AGNES. [Rising.] It doesn't matter. Be quiet!

NELLA. [Removing the lid from the box angrily.] Ed ecco la scatola aperta contro voglia della Signora! (And now here is the box open against the Signora's wish) [Inquisitively pus.h.i.+ng aside the paper which covers the contents of the box.] O Dio! Si vede tutto quel che vi e! (O G.o.d! And all the contents exposed!) [When the paper is removed, some beautiful material trimmed with lace, &c., is seen.]

NELLA. Guardi, guardi, Signora! (Signora, look, look!) [AGNES examines the contents of the box with a puzzled air.] Oh, che bellezza! (How beautiful!)

ANTONIO. [To NELLA.] Il padrone. (The master.) [NELLA curtsies to LUCAS, then withdraws with ANTONIO.]

AGNES. Lucas, the dressmaker in the Via Rondinelli at Florence--the woman who ran up the little gown I have on now--

LUCAS. [With a smile] What of her?

AGNES. This has just come from her. Phuh! What does she mean by sending that showy thing to me?

LUCAS. It is my gift to you.

AGNES. [Producing enough of the contents of the box to reveal a very handsome dress.] This!

LUCAS. I knew Bardini had your measurements; I wrote to her, instructing her to make that. I remember Lady Heytesbury in something similar last season.

AGNES. [Examining the dress.] A mere strap for the sleeve, and sufficiently decolletee, I should imagine.

LUCAS. My dear Agnes, I can't understand your reason fro trying to make yourself a plain-looking woman when nature intended you for a pretty one.

AGNES. Pretty!

LUCAS. [Looking hard at her.] You are pretty.

AGNES. Oh, as a girl I may have been--[disdainfully]--pretty. What good did it do anybody? [Fingering the dress with aversion.] And when would you have me hang this on my bones?

LUCAS. Oh, when we are dining, or--

AGNES. Dining in a public place?

LUCAS. Why not look your best in a public place?

AGNES. Look my best? You know, I don't think of this sort of garment in connection with our companions.h.i.+p, Lucas.

LUCAS. It is not an extraordinary garment for a lady.

AGNES. Rustle of silk, glare of arms and throat--they belong, to my mind, to such a very different order of things from that we have set up.

LUCAS. Shall I appear before you in ill-made clothes, clumsy boots--

AGNES. Why? We are just as we have always been, since we've been together. I don't tell you that your appearance is beginning to offend.

LUCAS. Offend! Agnes, you--you pain me. I simply fail to understand why you should allow our mode of life to condemn you to perpetual slovenliness.

AGNES. Slovenliness!

LUCAS. No, no, shabbiness.

AGNES. [Looking down upon the dress she is wearing.] Shabbiness!

LUCAS. [With a laugh.] Forgive me, dear; I'm forgetting you are wearing a comparatively new afternoon-gown.