Again in the Gilbeys' dining-room. Afternoon. The table is not laid: it is draped in its ordinary cloth, with pen and ink, an exercise-book, and school-books on it. Bobby Gilbey is in the arm-chair, crouching over the fire, reading an illustrated paper. He is a pretty youth, of very suburban gentility, strong and manly enough by nature, but untrained and unsatisfactory, his parents having imagined that domestic restriction is what they call "bringing up." He has learnt nothing from it except a habit of evading it by deceit.
He gets up to ring the bell; then resumes his crouch. Juggins answers the bell.
BOBBY. Juggins.
JUGGINS. Sir?
BOBBY. [morosely sarcastic] Sir be blowed!
JUGGINS. [cheerfully] Not at all, sir.
BOBBY. I'm a gaol-bird: youre a respectable man.
JUGGINS. That doesnt matter, sir. Your father pays me to call you sir; and as I take the money, I keep my part of the bargain.
BOBBY. Would you call me sir if you wernt paid to do it?
JUGGINS. No, sir.
BOBBY. Ive been talking to Dora about you.
JUGGINS. Indeed, sir?
BOBBY . Yes. Dora says your name cant be Juggins, and that you have the manners of a gentleman. I always thought you hadnt any manners. Anyhow, your manners are different from the manners of a gentleman in my set.
JUGGINS. They would be, sir.
BOBBY. You dont feel disposed to be communicative on the subject of Dora's notion, I suppose.
JUGGINS. No, sir.
BOBBY . [throwing his paper on the floor and lifting his knees over the arm of the chair so as to turn towards the footman] It was part of your bargain that you were to valet me a bit, wasnt it?
JUGGINS. Yes, sir.
BOBBY . Well, can you tell me the proper way to get out of an engagement to a girl without getting into a row for breach of promise or behaving like a regular cad?
JUGGINS. No, sir. You cant get out of an engagement without behaving like a cad if the lady wishes to hold you to it.
BOBBY. But it wouldnt be for her happiness to marry me when I dont really care for her.
JUGGINS. Women dont always marry for happiness, sir. They often marry because they wish to be married women and not old maids.
BOBBY. Then what am I to do?
JUGGINS. Marry her, sir, or behave like a cad.
BOBBY. [Jumping up] Well, I wont marry her: thats flat. What would you do if you were in my place?
JUGGINS. I should tell the young lady that I found I couldnt fulfil my engagement.
BOBBY. But youd have to make some excuse, you know. I want to give it a gentlemanly turn: to say I'm not worthy of her, or something like that.
JUGGINS. That is not a gentlemanly turn, sir. Quite the contrary.
BOBBY. I dont see that at all. Do you mean that it's not exactly true?
JUGGINS. Not at all, sir.
BOBBY . I can say that no other girl can ever be to me what shes been. That would be quite true, because our circumstances have been rather exceptional; and she'll imagine I mean I'm fonder of her than I can ever be of anyone else. You see, Juggins, a gentleman has to think of a girl's feelings.
JUGGINS . If you wish to spare her feelings, sir, you can marry her. If you hurt her feelings by refusing, you had better not try to get credit for considerateness at the same time by pretending to spare them. She wont like it. And it will start an argument, of which you will get the worse.
BOBBY. But, you know, I'm not really worthy of her.
JUGGINS. Probably she never supposed you were, sir.
BOBBY. Oh, I say, Juggins, you are a pessimist.
JUGGINS. [preparing to go] Anything else, sir?
BOBBY. [querulously] You havnt been much use. [He wanders disconsolately across the room]. You generally put me up to the correct way of doing things.
JUGGINS. I assure you, sir, theres no correct way of jilting. It's not correct in itself.
BOBBY . [hopefully] I'll tell you what. I'll say I cant hold her to an engagement with a man whos been in quod. Thatll do it. [He seats himself on the table, relieved and confident].
JUGGINS . Very dangerous, sir. No woman will deny herself the romantic luxury of self-sacrifice and forgiveness when they take the form of doing something agreeable. Shes almost sure to say that your misfortune will draw her closer to you.
BOBBY. What a nuisance! I dont know what to do. You know, Juggins, your cool simple-minded way of doing it wouldnt go down in Denmark Hill.
JUGGINS . I daresay not, sir. No doubt youd prefer to make it look like an act of self-sacrifice for her sake on your part, or provoke her to break the engagement herself. Both plans have been tried repeatedly, but never with success, as far as my knowledge goes.
BOBBY. You have a devilish cool way of laying down the law. You know, in my class you have to wrap up things a bit. Denmark Hill isn't Camberwell, you know.
JUGGINS . I have noticed, sir, that Denmark Hill thinks that the higher you go in the social scale, the less sincerity is allowed; and that only tramps and riff-raff are quite sincere. Thats a mistake. Tramps are often shameless; but theyre never sincere. Swells--if I may use that convenient name for the upper classes--play much more with their cards on the table. If you tell the young lady that you want to jilt her, and she calls you a pig, the tone of the transaction may leave much to be desired; but itll be less Camberwellian than if you say youre not worthy.
BOBBY. Oh, I cant make you understand, Juggins. The girl isnt a scullery-maid. I want to do it delicately.
JUGGINS. A mistake, sir, believe me, if you are not a born artist in that line.--Beg pardon, sir, I think I heard the bell. [He goes out].
Bobby, much perplexed, shoves his hands into his pockets, and comes off the table, staring disconsolately straight before him; then goes reluctantly to his books, and sits down to write. Juggins returns.
JUGGINS. [announcing] Miss Knox.
Margaret comes in. Juggins withdraws.
MARGARET. Still grinding away for that Society of Arts examination, Bobby? Youll never pass.
BOBBY. [rising] No: I was just writing to you.
MARGARET. What about?
BOBBY. Oh, nothing. At least-- How are you?
MARGARET . [passing round the other end of the table and putting down on it a copy of Lloyd's Weekly and her purse-bag] Quite well, thank you. How did you enjoy Brighton?
BOBBY. Brighton! I wasnt at-- Oh yes, of course. Oh, pretty well. Is your aunt all right?
MARGARET. My aunt! I suppose so. I havent seen her for a month.
BOBBY. I thought you were down staying with her.
MARGARET. Oh! was that what they told you?
BOBBY. Yes. Why? Werent you really?
MARGARET. No. Ive something to tell you. Sit down and lets be comfortable.
She sits on the edge of the table. He sits beside her, and puts his arm wearily round her waist.
MARGARET. You neednt do that if you dont like, Bobby. Suppose we get off duty for the day, just to see what it's like.
BOBBY. Off duty? What do you mean?
MARGARET . You know very well what I mean. Bobby: did you ever care one little scrap for me in that sort of way? Dont funk answering: I dont care a bit for you--that way.
BOBBY. [removing his arm rather huffily] I beg your pardon, I'm sure. I thought you did.
MARGARET. Well, did you? Come! Dont be mean. Ive owned up. You can put it all on me if you like; but I dont believe you care any more than I do.
BOBBY. You mean weve been shoved into it rather by the pars and mars.
MARGARET. Yes.
BOBBY . Well, it's not that I dont care for you: in fact, no girl can ever be to me exactly what you are; but weve been brought up so much together that it feels more like brother and sister than--well, than the other thing, doesnt it?
MARGARET. Just so. How did you find out the difference?
BOBBY. [blushing] Oh, I say!
MARGARET. I found out from a Frenchman.
BOBBY. Oh, I say! [He comes off the table in his consternation].
MARGARET. Did you learn it from a Frenchwoman? You know you must have learnt it from somebody.
BOBBY. Not a Frenchwoman. Shes quite a nice woman. But shes been rather unfortunate. The daughter of a clergyman.
MARGARET. [startled] Oh, Bobby! That sort of woman!
BOBBY. What sort of woman?
MARGARET. You dont believe shes really a clergyman's daughter, do you, you silly boy? It's a stock joke.
BOBBY. Do you mean to say you dont believe me?
MARGARET . No: I mean to say I dont believe her.
BOBBY. [curious and interested, resuming his seat on the table beside her]. What do you know about her? What do you know about all this sort of thing?
MARGARET. What sort of thing, Bobby?
BOBBY. Well, about life.
MARGARET. Ive lived a lot since I saw you last. I wasnt at my aunt's. All that time that you were in Brighton, I mean.
BOBBY . I wasnt at Brighton, Meg. I'd better tell you: youre bound to find out sooner or later. [He begins his confession humbly, avoiding her gaze]. Meg: it's rather awful: youll think me no end of a beast. Ive been in prison.
MARGARET. You!
BOBBY. Yes, me. For being drunk and assaulting the police.
MARGARET . Do you mean to say that you--oh! this is a let-down for me. [She comes off the table and drops, disconsolate, into a chair at the end of it furthest from the hearth].
BOBBY . Of course I couldnt hold you to our engagement after that. I was writing to you to break it off. [He also descends from the table and makes slowly for the hearth]. You must think me an utter rotter.
MARGARET. Oh, has everybody been in prison for being drunk and assaulting the police? How long were you in?
BOBBY. A fortnight.
MARGARET. Thats what I was in for.
BOBBY. What are you talking about? In where?
MARGARET. In quod.
BOBBY. But I'm serious: I'm not rotting. Really and truly--
MARGARET. What did you do to the copper?
BOBBY. Nothing, absolutely nothing. He exaggerated grossly. I only laughed at him.
MARGARET . [jumping up, triumphant] Ive beaten you hollow. I knocked out two of his teeth. Ive got one of them. He sold it to me for ten shillings.
BOBBY. Now please do stop fooling, Meg. I tell you I'm not rotting. [He sits down in the armchair, rather sulkily].
MARGARET . [taking up the copy of Lloyd's Weekly and going to him] And I tell you I'm not either. Look! Heres a report of it. The daily papers are no good; but the Sunday papers are splendid. [She sits on the arm of the chair]. See! [Reading]: "Hardened at Eighteen. A quietly dressed, respectable-looking girl who refuses her name"--thats me.
BOBBY. [pausing a moment in his perusal] Do you mean to say that you went on the loose out of pure devilment?
MARGARET . I did no harm. I went to see a lovely dance. I picked up a nice man and went to have a dance myself. I cant imagine anything more innocent and more happy. All the bad part was done by other people: they did it out of pure devilment if you like. Anyhow, here we are, two gaolbirds, Bobby, disgraced forever. Isnt it a relief?
BOBBY. [rising stiffly] But you know, it's not the same for a girl. A man may do things a woman maynt. [He stands on the hearthrug with his back to the fire].
MARGARET. Are you scandalized, Bobby?
BOBBY. Well, you cant expect me to approve of it, can you, Meg? I never thought you were that sort of girl.
MARGARET. [rising indignantly] I'm not. You mustnt pretend to think that I'm a clergyman's daughter, Bobby.
BOBBY . I wish you wouldnt chaff about that. Dont forget the row you got into for letting out that you admired Juggins [she turns her back on him quickly]--a footman! And what about the Frenchman?
MARGARET . [facing him again] I know nothing about the Frenchman except that hes a very nice fellow and can swing his leg round like the hand of a clock and knock a policeman down with it. He was in Wormwood Scrubbs with you. I was in Holloway.
BOBBY. It's all very well to make light of it, Meg; but this is a bit thick, you know.
MARGARET. Do you feel you couldnt marry a woman whos been in prison?
BOBBY . [hastily] No. I never said that. It might even give a woman a greater claim on a man. Any girl, if she were thoughtless and a bit on, perhaps, might get into a scrape. Anyone who really understood her character could see there was no harm in it. But youre not the larky sort. At least you usent to be.
MARGARET. I'm not; and I never will be. [She walks straight up to him]. I didnt do it for a lark, Bob: I did it out of the very depths of my nature. I did it because I'm that sort of person. I did it in one of my religious fits. I'm hardened at eighteen, as they say. So what about the match, now?
BOBBY . Well, I dont think you can fairly hold me to it, Meg. Of course it would be ridiculous for me to set up to be shocked, or anything of that sort. I cant afford to throw stones at anybody; and I dont pretend to. I can understand a lark; I can forgive a slip; as long as it is understood that it is only a lark or a slip. But to go on the loose on principle; to talk about religion in connection with it; to--to--well, Meg, I do find that a bit thick, I must say. I hope youre not in earnest when you talk that way.
MARGARET. Bobby: youre no good. No good to me, anyhow.
BOBBY. [huffed] I'm sorry, Miss Knox.
MARGARET. Goodbye, Mr Gilbey. [She turns on her heel and goes to the other end of the table]. I suppose you wont introduce me to the clergyman's daughter.
BOBBY. I dont think she'd like it. There are limits, after all. [He sits down at the table, as if to to resume work at his books: a hint to her to go].
MARGARET. [on her way to the door] Ring the bell, Bobby; and tell Juggins to shew me out.
BOBBY. [reddening] I'm not a cad, Meg.
MARGARET. [coming to the table] Then do something nice to prevent us feeling mean about this afterwards. Youd better kiss me. You neednt ever do it again.
BOBBY. If I'm no good, I dont see what fun it would be for you.
MARGARET. Oh, it'd be no fun. If I wanted what you call fun, I should ask the Frenchman to kiss me--or Juggins.
BOBBY. [rising and retreating to the hearth] Oh, dont be disgusting, Meg. Dont be low.
MARGARET . [determinedly, preparing to use force] Now, I'll make you kiss me, just to punish you. [She seizes his wrist; pulls him off his balance; and gets her arm round his neck].
BOBBY. No. Stop. Leave go, will you.
Juggins appears at the door.
JUGGINS. Miss Delaney, Sir. [Dora comes in. Juggins goes out. Margaret hastily releases Bobby, and goes to the other side of the room.]
DORA . [through the door, to the departing Juggins] Well, you are a Juggins to shew me up when theres company. [To Margaret and Bobby] It's all right, dear: all right, old man: I'll wait in Juggins's pantry til youre disengaged.
MARGARET. Dont you know me?
DORA. [coming to the middle of the room and looking at her very attentively] Why, it's never No. 406!
MARGARET. Yes it is.
DORA. Well, I should never have known you out of the uniform. How did you get out? You were doing a month, wernt you?
MARGARET. My bloke paid the fine the day he got out himself.
DORA. A real gentleman! [Pointing to Bobby, who is staring open-mouthed] Look at him. He cant take it in.
BOBBY. I suppose you made her acquaintance in prison, Meg. But when it comes to talking about blokes and all that--well!
MARGARET. Oh, Ive learnt the language; and I like it. It's another barrier broken down.
BOBBY. It's not so much the language, Meg. But I think [he looks at Dora and stops].
MARGARET. [suddenly dangerous] What do you think, Bobby?
DORA. He thinks you oughtnt to be so free with me, dearie. It does him credit: he always was a gentleman, you know.
MARGARET. Does him credit! To insult you like that! Bobby: say that that wasnt what you meant.
BOBBY. I didnt say it was.
MARGARET. Well, deny that it was.
BOBBY . No. I wouldnt have said it in front of Dora; but I do think it's not quite the same thing my knowing her and you knowing her.
DORA. Of course it isnt, old man. [To Margaret] I'll just trot off and come back in half an hour. You two can make it up together. I'm really not fit company for you, dearie: I couldnt live up to you. [She turns to go].
MARGARET. Stop. Do you believe he could live up to me?
DORA . Well, I'll never say anything to stand between a girl and a respectable marriage, or to stop a decent lad from settling himself. I have a conscience; though I maynt be as particular as some.
MARGARET. You seem to me to be a very decent sort; and Bobby's behaving like a skunk.
BOBBY. [much ruffled] Nice language that!
DORA . Well, dearie, men have to do some awfully mean things to keep up their respectability. But you cant blame them for that, can you? Ive met Bobby walking with his mother; and of course he cut me dead. I wont pretend I liked it; but what could he do, poor dear?
MARGARET . And now he wants me to cut you dead to keep him in countenance. Well, I shant: not if my whole family were there. But I'll cut him dead if he doesnt treat you properly. [To Bobby, with a threatening move in his direction] I'll educate you, you young beast.
BOBBY. [furious, meeting her half way] Who are you calling a young beast?
MARGARET. You.
DORA. [peacemaking] Now, dearies!
BOBBY. If you dont take care, youll get your fat head jolly well clouted.
MARGARET. If you dont take care, the policeman's tooth will only be the beginning of a collection.
DORA. Now, loveys, be good.
Bobby, lost to all sense of adult dignity, puts out his tongue at Margaret. Margaret, equally furious, catches his protended countenance a box on the cheek. He hurls himself her. They wrestle.
BOBBY. Cat! I'll teach you.
MARGARET. Pig! Beast! [She forces him backwards on the table]. Now where are you?
DORA. [calling] Juggins, Juggins. Theyll murder one another.
JUGGINS. [throwing open the door, and announcing] Monsieur Duvallet.
Duvallet enters. Sudden cessation of hostilities, and dead silence. The combatants separate by the whole width of the room. Juggins withdraws.
DUVALLET. I fear I derange you.
MARGARET. Not at all. Bobby: you really are a beast: Monsieur Duvallet will think I'm always fighting.
DUVALLET . Practising jujitsu or the new Iceland wrestling. Admirable, Miss Knox. The athletic young Englishwoman is an example to all Europe. [Indicating Bobby] Your instructor, no doubt. Monsieur-- [he bows].
BOBBY. [bowing awkwardly] How d'y' do?
MARGARET . [to Bobby] I'm so sorry, Bobby: I asked Monsieur Duvallet to call for me here; and I forgot to tell you. [Introducing] Monsieur Duvallet: Miss Four hundred and seven. Mr Bobby Gilbey. [Duvallet bows]. I really dont know how to explain our relationships. Bobby and I are like brother and sister.
DUVALLET. Perfectly. I noticed it.
MARGARET. Bobby and Miss--Miss-
DORA. Delaney, dear. [To Duvallet, bewitchingly] Darling Dora, to real friends.
MARGARET. Bobby and Dora are--are--well, not brother and sister.
DUVALLET. [with redoubled comprehension] Perfectly.
MARGARET. Bobby has spent the last fortnight in prison. You dont mind, do you?
DUVALLET. No, naturally. I have spent the last fortnight in prison.
The conversation drops. Margaret renews it with an effort.
MARGARET. Dora has spent the last fortnight in prison.
DUVALLET. Quite so. I felicitate Mademoiselle on her enlargement.
DORA. Trop merci, as they say in Boulogne. No call to be stiff with one another, have we?
Juggins comes in.
JUGGINS. Beg pardon, sir. Mr and Mrs Gilbey are coming up the street.
DORA. Let me absquatulate [making for the door].
JUGGINS. If you wish to leave without being seen, you had better step into my pantry and leave afterwards.
DORA . Right oh! [She bursts into song] Hide me in the meat safe til the cop goes by. Hum the dear old music as his step draws nigh. [She goes out on tiptoe].
MARGARET. I wont stay here if she has to hide. I'll keep her company in the pantry. [She follows Dora].
BOBBY. Lets all go. We cant have any fun with the Mar here. I say, Juggins: you can give us tea in the pantry, cant you?
JUGGINS. Certainly, sir.
BOBBY. Right. Say nothing to my mother. You dont mind, Mr. Doovalley, do you?
DUVALLET. I shall be charmed.
BOBBY. Right you are. Come along. [At the door] Oh, by the way, Juggins, fetch down that concertina from my room, will you?
JUGGINS. Yes, sir. [Bobby goes out. Duvallet follows him to the door]. You understand, sir, that Miss Knox is a lady absolutely comme il faut?
DUVALLET. Perfectly. But the other?
JUGGINS. The other, sir, may be both charitably and accurately described in your native idiom as a daughter of joy.
DUVALLET. It is what I thought. These English domestic interiors are very interesting. [He goes out, followed by Juggins].
Presently Mr and Mrs Gilbey come in. They take their accustomed places: he on the hearthrug, she at the colder end of the table.
MRS GILBEY. Did you smell scent in the hall, Rob?
GILBEY. No, I didnt. And I dont want to smell it. Dont you go looking for trouble, Maria.
MRS GILBEY. [snuffing up the perfumed atmosphere] Shes been here. [Gilbey rings the bell]. What are you ringing for? Are you going to ask?
GILBEY . No, I'm not going to ask. Juggins said this morning he wanted to speak to me. If he likes to tell me, let him; but I'm not going to ask; and dont you either. [Juggins appears at the door]. You said you wanted to say something to me.
JUGGINS. When it would be convenient to you, sir.
GILBEY. Well, what is it?
MRS GILBEY. Oh, Juggins, we're expecting Mr and Mrs Knox to tea.
GILBEY. He knows that. [He sits down. Then, to Juggins] What is it?
JUGGINS. [advancing to the middle of the table] Would it inconvenience you, sir, if I was to give you a month's notice?
GILBEY. [taken aback] What! Why? Aint you satisfied?
JUGGINS. Perfectly, sir. It is not that I want to better myself, I assure you.
GILBEY. Well, what do you want to leave for, then? Do you want to worse yourself?
JUGGINS . No, sir. Ive been well treated in your most comfortable establishment; and I should be greatly distressed if you or Mrs Gilbey were to interpret my notice as an expression of dissatisfaction.
GILBEY . [paternally] Now you listen to me, Juggins. I'm an older man than you. Dont you throw out dirty water til you get in fresh. Dont get too big for your boots. Youre like all servants nowadays: you think youve only to hold up your finger to get the pick of half a dozen jobs. But you wont be treated everywhere as youre treated here. In bed every night before eleven; hardly a ring at the door except on Mrs Gilbey's day once a month; and no other manservant to interfere with you. It may be a bit quiet perhaps; but youre past the age of adventure. Take my advice: think over it. You suit me; and I'm prepared to make it suit you if youre dissatisfied--in reason, you know.
JUGGINS . I realize my advantages, sir; but Ive private reasons-- GILBEY. [cutting him short angrily and retiring to the hearthrug in dudgeon] Oh, I know. Very well: go. The sooner the better.
MRS GILBEY. Oh, not until we're suited. He must stay his month.
GILBEY . [sarcastic] Do you want to lose him his character, Maria? Do you think I dont see what it is? We're prison folk now. Weve been in the police court. [To Juggins] Well, I suppose you know your own business best. I take your notice: you can go when your month is up, or sooner, if you like.
JUGGINS. Believe me, sir--
GILBEY. Thats enough: I dont want any excuses. I dont blame you. You can go downstairs now, if youve nothing else to trouble me about.
JUGGINS . I really cant leave it at that, sir. I assure you Ive no objection to young Mr Gilbey's going to prison. You may do six months yourself, sir, and welcome, without a word of remonstrance from me. I'm leaving solely because my brother, who has suffered a bereavement, and feels lonely, begs me to spend a few months with him until he gets over it.
GILBEY. And is he to keep you all that time? or are you to spend your savings in comforting him? Have some sense, man: how can you afford such things?
JUGGINS. My brother can afford to keep me, sir. The truth is, he objects to my being in service.