The New Woman, by Sydney Grundy

AN ORIGINAL COMEDY IN FOUR ACTS

BY

SYDNEY GRUNDY

LONDON
PRINTED AT THE CHISWICK PRESS
1894

CHARACTERS.

THE NEW WOMAN.

ACT I.

Scene. — Gerald Cazenove’s Chambers. A sitting-room, somewhat effeminately decorated. The furniture of the boudoir type, several antimacassars and a profusion of photographs and flowers. The main entrance, R. at back, in the flat. Doors, R. and L., window, L. of flat.

A knock is heard off, as curtain rises. Enter Wells, L., crosses stage and opens door in flat. Enter Colonel Cazenove and Sylvester.

Very well; I’ll wait. [ Exit Wells, door in flat. ] Bah! what a stench of flowers! [ Opens window and throws out a bunch of lilies standing on the table below. ] Sit down, Sylvester—if you can find a chair to carry twelve stone.

I’m much in the same case. Since he came up to town, [Pg 6] I’ve only called upon him once before. By Jove, it was enough. Such a set as I met here!

Came back yesterday. Hope it’s done him good. After all, he’s my nephew, and I mean to knock the nonsense out of him.

Colonel, you’re very proud of him; and you have every reason to be. From all I hear, few men have won more distinction at Oxford.

Proud of him? My dear Sylvester, that boy has more brains in his little finger than I have—gout. He takes after his aunt Caroline. You remember Caroline?

Wonderful woman, sir—a heart of gold—and a head—phew! Gerald takes after her. At Oxford, he carried everything before him.

But he’s a Cazenove! He’ll come right side up. We Cazenoves always do. We may go under every now and then, but we come up again! It’s in the blood.

His cultivated spirit and magnetic intellect are one of the brightest hopes for the social progress of our time—[ Laughs. ] whatever that may mean!

Does it mean anything? That is the sort of jargon [Pg 7] Gerald was full of, when I saw him last. But he’ll get over it. Intellectual measles. Oxford’s a fine place, but no mental drainage.

I had. I was rusticated. We Cazenoves always were—till Gerald’s time. But he’ll redeem himself. We Cazenoves have always been men, except one. That’s my sister, Caroline; and, by Jove, she’s the next best thing—a woman.

Did I? I beg your pardon. [ Sits on the antimacassar, instantly springs up, and flings it into a corner. Points to that covering Sylvester’s chair. ] Throw that thing away!

All right. I’m used to ’em. We grow ’em at our house. [ Looks round. ] I might be sitting in my wife’s boudoir! Same furniture, same flowers, same photographs—hallo, that’s rather a pretty woman over there!

It’s an older photograph. Agnes was quite a woman when I married her, but she grows more and more ethereal. Philosophy doesn’t seem very nourishing.

I’ve tried to read it, but I didn’t succeed. However, I’ve cut the leaves and dropped cigar ash on the final chapter. Why, here she is again!

Yes, I am Mrs. Sylvester’s husband. I belong to my wife, but my wife doesn’t belong to me. She is the property of the public. Directly I saw her photograph in a shop-window I realized the situation. People tell me I’ve a wife to be proud of; but they’re wrong. Mrs. Sylvester is not my wife; I am her husband.

This is what comes of educating women. We have created a Frankenstein. “Man, the Betrayer—A Study of the Sexes—By Enid Bethune.” [Pg 9]

Her theory is, that boys ought to be girls, and young men should be maids. [ Colonel throws down the book. ] That’s how she’d equalize the sexes.

Pshaw! [ Takes up another book. ] “Ye Foolish Virgins!—A Remonstrance—by Victoria Vivash.”

Another soul! She’s also for equality. Her theory is, that girls should be boys, and maids should be young men. Goes in for latchkeys and that sort of thing.

Bah! [ Takes up a third. ] “Naked and Unashamed—A Few Plain Facts and Figures—by Mary Bevan, M.D.” Who on earth’s she?

“The Physiology of the Sexes!” Oh, this eternal babble of the sexes! [ Throws book down. ] Why can’t a woman be content to be a woman? What does she want to make a beastly man of herself for?

None of them are, my boy. A woman, who is a woman, doesn’t want to be anything else. These people are a sex of their own, Sylvester. They have invented a new gender. And to think my nephew’s one of them!

[ Strides up and down, seizes another antimacassar and flings it into another corner.

I don’t despair! Do you suppose this folly can continue? Do you imagine that these puffed-up women will not soon burst of their own vanity? Then, the reaction! then will come our turn! Mark my words, Sylvester, there’ll be a boom in men!

That’s how you waste the precious hours of night? Gad, sir, when I was your age——

Oh, everything’s a question nowadays! Nothing is sacred to a young man fresh from Oxford. Existence is a problem to be investigated; in my youth, it was a life to be lived; and, I thank Heaven, I lived it. Ah, the nights I had!

As if people married for ethics! There is no such thing, sir. There are no ethics in marriage.

So much is obvious. It is a conclusion to which literature and the higher culture inevitably tend. The awakened conscience of woman is already alive to it.

Conscience of woman! What are you talking about? I’ve known a good many women in my time, and they hadn’t a conscience amongst ’em! There’s only one thing can awaken the conscience of woman, and that is being found out.

Tut, tut, sir; read your Bible. Who was it had [Pg 12] the first bite at the apple? And she’s been nibbling at it ever since!

Well, well, uncle, you don’t often come to see me; so we won’t argue. Can I prevail on you to stay to tea?

Tea. At five o’clock, I have a few friends coming. Mrs. Sylvester—[ Sylvester puts down photograph and turns ]—Miss Bethune—Miss Vivash——

The danger would be all the other way. I am not sorry I shall have protection. My sister, Caroline, will be here at five.

After ten years’ absence. She has been travelling for her health, which was never too robust; and since Sir Oriel’s death, she has been more or less a wanderer.

I knew she had arrived, but I postponed presenting myself till I was summoned. My aunt has the kindest of hearts——

And a pocket too. Nobody knows that better than I do. Since my parents’ death, she has been father and mother, as well as aunt, to me. But there was always something about aunt that made one keep one’s distance.

You acted very wisely; I happen to know she wished her arrival kept secret and to descend upon you like a dea ex machinâ. Caroline always had a sense of dramatic effect. But how the deuce did you know of her return?

But Margery’s at Mapledurham. Caroline was stopping with some friends in Paris, and Margery was sent on to her father’s.

Yes, I was staying there when she arrived. I have been rusticating for the last six weeks. It’s so much easier to write in the fresh air.

It’s so difficult to write in the fresh air. One wants to go out and enjoy oneself. And then old Armstrong’s such a jolly old boy.

Armstrong, of Mapledurham? The farmer? Oh, I know him well. I go there for the fishing.

Oh, my dear fellow, just your sort— my sort—well, hang it, every man’s sort! Margery is—oh, how can I explain? If I’d seen a Margery thirty years ago; well, I should never have been a bachelor! Margery is—come, Gerald, what is Margery? Margery is a woman, who—— Well, Margery’s a woman! That’s all Margery is!

Old Armstrong’s daughter. We grew up together. When I was very young, I was considered delicate, and I was sent to the farmhouse at Mapledurham. When I went to Eton, Lady Wargrave took Margery into her service. There she has remained——

[ Knock at door in flat. Re-enter Wells, followed by Mrs. Sylvester, with a small portfolio.

This is an unexpected pleasure. [ A cold matrimonial kiss. ] Colonel Cazenove—my old Colonel. Mr. Cazenove I think you know.

Well, of course, Jack! How ridiculous you are! Should I be here if I didn’t know Mr. Cazenove?

If I am visible behind Caroline. Madam, your servant. [ Aside to Sylvester. ] Cheer up, Sylvester! I’ll join you at the club, and we will wind the night up at the Empire.

That is so like a man! Doesn’t say he’s coming home, and then expects six courses and a savoury!

There is a difference between cold mutton and six courses, to say nothing of the savoury.

Husbands are all alike. The ancient regarded his wife as a slave, the modern regards her as a cook.

You’re very argumentative to-day. I haven’t seen you for six weeks, and you’ve come home in a nasty, horrid temper!

About the book? [ She gives him a quick glance. ] Oh, I had nothing to say, except that I was getting on all right. I’ve written the first chapter.

And I’ve written the last. [ Opening portfolio. ] Connoting the results of our arguments.

We’ll put those in afterwards. [ Gerald looks at her. ] That’s how Victoria always writes her novels. She begins at the end.

Don’t let us talk philosophy to-day. I want to talk to you about something else.

Something quite different from what we had supposed. We’ve been on the wrong tack altogether. We have imagined something we have labelled love; we have put it into a crucible, and reduced it to its elements.

And we have found those elements to be, community of interest and sympathy of soul.

But unfortunately for our theory, the thing we put into the crucible wasn’t love at all.

That word just describes her. She is a woman—nothing more or less. Away went all my theories into air. My precious wisdom was stripped bare before me, and in its [Pg 20] nakedness I saw my folly. Not with laborious thought; but in one vivid flash I learned more than I ever learned at Oxford.

A woman! that is what one wants—that’s all. Birth, brains, accomplishments—pshaw! vanities! community of interest—sympathy of soul? mere dialectics! That’s not love.

It defies analysis. You can’t put love into a crucible. You only know that there is something empty in you; and you don’t know what fills it; but that’s love. There’s no mistake about the real thing.

Of course you think so; but you don’t know women. The simple woman hasn’t yet been born. This isn’t love, Mr. Cazenove. This is the temporary victory of the baser side of your nature. The true alliance is the union of souls.

Happily the weeks are not all over yet. In a few more you will have forgotten her as completely as she will have forgotten you.

You, of whom everyone expects so much, to throw away your opportunities, and to begin your life hindered and hampered by a foolish marriage.

Enter Lady Wargrave leaning on the Colonel’s arm. She walks with a crutch-stick, and is followed by Margery, who carries a cushion. Mrs. Sylvester retires up, so that she is not immediately seen by Lady Wargrave.

[ He kisses her, then casts a glance of gratitude at Margery. Meanwhile Margery has prepared a chair for her, into which she is placed by Gerald and the Colonel, who is now subdued and deferential, in marked contrast to his last scene. Margery takes up her position in the background.

Only ten minutes, Caroline; but, as you know, time, tide, and your aunt wait for no man.

Now, Gerald, let me look at you. Your face to the light, please. [ Gerald stands for inspection. She takes a long look through her eye-glass. ] I don’t like that necktie.

To-day. [ Gerald bows. She takes another look. ] That will do, Gerald. [ Gerald salutes. She drops her glasses.

I need hardly say with what pleasure I have followed your career at Oxford. It is worthy of a Cazenove.

[ Colonel turns aside, chuckling, and finds himself face to face with Margery, laughing; both become suddenly serious.

Forgive me, Mrs. Sylvester—forgive me, aunt, but in the excitement of seeing you——

Wife of Jack Sylvester! I am pleased to meet you. I have known your husband almost from a boy. But I don’t see him.

Ah! [ Drops back into her seat, helped by Margery. ] That will be a very interesting work.[ Margery retires up. ] Did you do very much down at Mapledurham?

Her father lives there. Theodore, don’t you think Margery looks all the better for her holiday?

I will not trespass any longer, Mr. Cazenove. No doubt, your aunt has much to say to you.

Good day to you, Lady Wargrave. [ Lady Wargrave is about to rise. ] Pray don’t rise. [ Bows to the Colonel and goes to door in flat where Gerald is waiting for her. ] Don’t trouble; I know my way.

Poor Sylvester! He was such a nice boy! [ Gerald comes down. ] Gerald, can Margery wait in the next room?

And how have you been, aunt? You never mentioned your health in your letters. Are you better?

I mustn’t complain; but Providence is really most unjust. Here am I, who have lived a life of temperance, in my old age——

A chronic invalid; while this old transgressor who has denied himself nothing [ Colonel grins ], and committed every sin in the Decalogue [ Colonel chuckles ], is as hale and as hearty as I am infirm.

Your letters have told me a great deal—more than perhaps you know; but I have read them very carefully; and when you asked me to come home——

You told me that you had learned everything Oxford has [Pg 27] to teach worth learning, and that you were in danger of becoming—well [ laying her hand on his head ]—shall we say, tête montée?

Cure yourself, Gerald. Knowledge is not wisdom [ stroking his head ]. Forgive me, dear; but I have known so many men who have never survived the distinctions of their youth, who are always at Oxford, and even in their manhood play with rattles. Now, forget Oxford—go into the world—lay books aside, and study men.

Enter Enid and Victoria, in hot argument. They take opposite sides of the stage and continue the discussion without taking the slightest notice of anybody. Lady Wargrave looks from the one to the other in amazement. Exit Wells, door in flat.

That doesn’t alter the fact. A woman has just as much right to a latchkey as a man.

I make no distinctions. I admit that a woman has just as much right to come home with the milk as a man: but I say, a man has no right to come home with the milk; and I say more—no woman who respects herself has any desire to come home with the milk!

Bother the milk! It isn’t a question of milk. It’s a question of making artificial distinctions between the sexes.

I say that there ought to be no distinction! Why should a man be allowed to commit sins——

And I say that a man, reeking with infamy, ought not to be allowed to marry a pure girl——

But I am not without hope that, when the attention of science is directed to the unequal incidence of the burden of maternity, some method of re-adjustment may be devised.

Pardon me, ladies; but if you are about to consult your physician, you would no doubt prefer to be alone.

These matters are best discussed openly. A morbid modesty has too long closed our eyes. But the day of awakening has come. Sylvester, in her “Aspirations after a Higher Morality,” Bethune, in her “Man, the Betrayer,” Vivash, in her “Foolish Virgins,” have postulated the sexual problem from every conceivable point of view; and I have myself contributed to the discussion a modest little treatise——

Excuse my ignorance, but I have been away from England for so many years. Can this be the New Woman I have read about?

Theodore, your arm. These ladies interest me. Besides, they sadly want a chaperone.

Gerald, call Margery. [ Gerald goes to door R. ] Well, they are looking for one.

[ Exeunt both, laughing, L. Each time the door, L., is opened, a babel of female voices is heard from within, and such phrases as “Peter Robinson’s,” “Swan and Edgar’s,” “Stagg and Mantle’s,” are distinctly audible above the clink of teacups, etc.

Re-enter Margery, R.; she goes straight to Lady Wargrave’s chair, and is about to carry the cushion into the room, L., when Gerald, who has stood back, watching her, advances.

Not as I do you, Margery. You don’t know what you did for me that day. If you had rounded on me, I should not have cared—but to be silent—to do nothing—to forgive me!

Then you refuse me? [ Margery is silent—he turns away. ] Well, I don’t deserve you.

Oh, don’t think I mean that! Do you suppose you are the only man that’s ever made love to me? It’s a man’s business to make love; and it’s a woman’s business to stop him—when he makes love too hard. But if we can’t be lovers, Mr. Gerald, we can be friends.

It’s got past friendship with me, Margery. Since I came back to town, everything’s changed. My pursuits all feel so empty and so meaningless; every woman I meet seems different from what she was: and oh, how different from you!

Gentry are different. We’re different breeds. That’s why we can’t be lovers.

Hush! Mr. Gerald, that’s impossible. My lady will be asking for me. Let me go!

Not till I’ve told you how I love you, Margery. Seeing you again is breathing the pure air. It seems a younger and a sweeter world, now you have come again. Nothing else matters. All my life beside appears a folly and a waste of time. My real life was lived with you down yonder, out in the fields, and rambling through the woods and listening to the music of the weir. The life that we began together so pleasantly, cannot we live together to the end? I was quite honest when I said I loved you. And couldn’t you love me, —just a little bit?

Re-enter L., just as Margery is withdrawing from Gerald’s arms, stands thunderstruck. Exit Margery, L.

All right, you call it? Look here, you young cub! None of your higher morality with Margery!

’Gad, sir, you’re a man; and I thought you were a monkey. I congratulate you!

Stay! Don’t do anything rash! I wouldn’t risk a private interview. Safety in numbers.

Where are you? Why have you deserted me? To leave me at the mercy of that crew! My poor, dear, Gerald! however did you get into this set?

I thought, that crime would bring its punishment. Now, they’re upon the marriage service! As though that concerned them! Gerald, if you marry any of that tribe, you’ll really break my heart!

The door L. is thrown open, and re-enter Dr. Mary, Enid, and Victoria, all talking, followed by Margery, who takes up her original position at the back.

To promise to love is ridiculous, for how can one control the mysterious expansions of the heart?

It is impossible to honour a man who has invariably lived a revolting, ante-nuptial life——

One moment, ladies! Stay one moment, aunt! Before you go I want to tell you all of my engagement.

Mr. Cazenove, I offer you my congratulations. Having a clinical lecture to deliver, you will excuse me if I say good afternoon.

Wait for me, Doctor. [ Exit Dr. Mary, door in flat. ] You have my best wishes.

And you, a Cazenove! It is out of the question! I won’t permit it! I forbid it, Gerald!

Silence! You said just now, you hoped that you would never break my heart. Well, Gerald, you have broken it. A Cazenove!

ACT II.

Scene. — Study at Gerald’s, opening upon a little boudoir, through curtains which are drawn across part of the stage at back. Doors, R., and L.U.E. Mantelpiece, between doors, R.

Gerald discovered, seated at a writing table, with his back to the curtains, writing busily. Margery’s head appears through the curtains, which she holds closely round it, so that only her face is visible. She watches Gerald for a few moments, with a broad smile on her face.

[ Resumes his writing. A peal of laughter behind the curtains, and Margery’s head reappears, laughing. Gerald throws down his pen.

I’m not cross, dear; but these repeated interludes make composition rather difficult.

Oh, bother! you’ve been all the morning at that stupid book, and I’m so happy, I can’t help it. Kiss me, and say that you forgive me!

No, but it’s being happy, and that’s worth all the books that ever were written.

Oh, that’s another lesson! Never call things by their right names, it’s vulgar!

Is that another lesson? Never use one syllable when two will do? Very well, Gerald, I’ll remember that. But what do you mean by olive-branch?

It didn’t sound like that in Mapledurham! [ Conquering himself, returns to her. ] I’m so glad aunt’s come round. You don’t know how it’s worried me—her estrangement.

They’ve all come round now. They’ve all recognized me. Oh, I’m so happy, Gerald! It isn’t half as hard to be a lady as I thought!

I know what you mean. I might use all short words instead of long ones. [ Gerald laughs. ] Don’t be afraid: I’ll pick the longest in the dictionary. [ Kisses him. ] Ah, Gerald, dear! short words were good enough for you once!

I love you, Margery. [ Sits, and resumes his pen. ] Now, let me get on with my work!

Somehow it didn’t sound like that in Mapledurham. [ Brightly. ] Well, I suppose his head’s full of his book. I wish mine was of mine. Oh, those French verbs! and what’s the use of them? Why isn’t English good enough for England?

Ah, I’m so glad you’ve come! [ Crosses to him. ] I wanted somebody to talk to. Gerald’s so busy!

Oh, not at all! [ Sees Margery at back, who has put Sylvester’s hat on, very much askew, and is marching up and down with the stick under her arm. ] Good gracious, Margery!

[ Margery laughs. Sylvester laughs. Gerald goes up, snatches the hat and stick, and turns to put them down.

Cross again! [ As Gerald turns again, he finds himself face to face with her, holding her mouth out. ] Penalty!

Anything. Mrs. Cazenove can do no wrong. [ Bows. Margery curtseys. ] But where’s Agnes? Happening to pass this way, I thought I might perhaps give her a lift home.

Oh, certainly! [ Taking up MSS. ] If you’ll excuse me going on with my work. I’ve been a good deal interrupted.

[ Gerald bows stiffly and exit, R., watched by Margery, who makes a grimace to audience.

Just fancy anyone being jealous of you! [ Laughs loudly, then stops suddenly. ] Hush! I forgot! We mustn’t make so much noise. Clever people don’t like noise.

And what a pleasure it is to meet somebody who’s not clever. Mrs. Cazenove, I think cleverness is the most boring thing in the world. This planet would be quite a pleasant place but for the clever people.

I was thinking of my wife; she’s one of them. I’m not. I’m only Mrs. Sylvester’s husband.

You have no need to be. [ With admiration. ] And in your pre-eminence resides my safety, Margery.

I ask Mrs. Cazenove’s pardon. [ In a casual tone ] You don’t object to the collaboration, then?

I think it’s fun! They are so serious over it. As if the world depended on a book! As if there were no Providence or anything, and they two had to keep creation going by scratching upon little bits of paper! I love to watch them, biting at their pens, and staring at that little crack up there. [ Looking at the ceiling. Sylvester looks also. ] I often think to myself, you may well look—there’s something there that’ll keep the world going round, just as it is, long after your precious book is dust and ashes.

Oh, often, from my room. [ Indicates curtains. ] But I can scarcely keep from laughing all the time. Some day I mean to have such fun with them! I mean to steal in [Pg 48] here, [ business ] and put my head out, so—and just when they are putting the world right, say Bo!

Good morning, dear. [ Kisses Margery. ] What! Captain Sylvester! you here, and Agnes not?

No need to apologize! A wife is just as much entitled to entertain another woman’s husband as a husband to entertain another man’s wife. You’re getting on, dear. That’s philosophy!

The Cazenove ménage. Another six months? These love-matches are honeymoon affairs. When once that’s over, there’s an end of everything.

Ah, that will come in time; and when it does, I mean to take Margery in hand. She is neglected shamefully. She hasn’t discovered it yet, but all her friends have.

If a husband ignores his wife, the wife is entitled to ignore her husband. What would a man do under the same circumstances?

No spirit—no proper pride. But things can’t go on as they’re going long. Margery is on the edge of a volcano. I give it six months.

Never at home—and when he is—“in the next room.” Never takes her anywhere, and I don’t wonder at it. Margery is too gauche for anything. But what could be expected, when a man throws himself away in that manner? Bless me, there were other women in the world!

[ Lights up at the wrong end of a gold-tipped cigarette. Margery stands, arms akimbo, surveying her.

[ Victoria takes the cigarette out of her mouth and looks at it. Margery and Sylvester burst out laughing. She throws it away viciously.

Now you have company, I’ll say good-day. I’ve waited for my wife quite long enough!

Yes. [ Sylvester smiles and presses her hand; she sees her mistake. ] If Gerald is.

How can you, Margery? I call it shocking! To take a nasty, evil-smelling thing like this [ taking a cigarette out of Victoria’s case ]—and put it to your lips—brrh! [ Shudders, but puts it in her mouth. Margery presses her [Pg 52] burning cigarette against it till it is alight. ] Don’t, Margery, don’t! I call it horrid—most unladylike!

Before marriage. Would that were all they did. [ Mysteriously. ] Has he told you everything?

[ Enid hides her cigarette behind her back; Margery flings hers away, jumps down and runs to meet him. Exit Wells, L.

[ Flings her arms round his neck, and gives him three smacking kisses. Colonel smiles all over his face. Enid and Victoria exchange shrugs.

Bless me! what a smell of tobacco! [ Looks about, sniffing, sees Victoria. ] Ah, the foolish—beg pardon!—Miss Vivash! [ Bow. ] Dear me, something burning!

[ Holds out his hand. Enid has to change the cigarette into her left hand behind her back; shakes hands, then turns to wipe the nicotine from her lips, unconsciously presenting the turning cigarette to Colonel’s eyeglass. Margery laughs. Colonel grins at audience.

I thought something was burning. [ Enid throws cigarette into the grate, and covers her face. Colonel lifts his finger. ] And you said Mr. Cazenove!

No, [ rubbing his hands ] thank Heaven! It’s the spice of the old Adam that makes life endurable!

So am I, Margery. What did I always say? Caroline’s a heart of gold. I knew she would come round. I always said I’d stand by you and Gerald.

Don’t trouble, Colonel! She resents an escort. I have no patience with Victoria. Trying to be a man!

I don’t mean weak—like Agnes. She goes to the other extreme. Do you know, I’m getting very anxious about Agnes!

Ah, Colonel, when a man collaborates with a woman, a third person ought always to be present.

Quite the best of ’em! [ Sits. ] So you have appointed yourself the third person?

Bless me! I never regarded her in that light before. I thought the boot was on the other leg. [ Corrects himself hurriedly. ] Foot!—foot! [ Indicating Enid’s, which she is carefully showing; aside. ] Very neat foot she has!

Men always stand by one another, so should women. Agnes must be protected against herself!

Yes, when one paints with tar! [ Aside. ] Very nice arm, too! [ Aloud. ] Look at your title!

Ten thousand pardons! I was thinking of something else. Pray forgive my bad language!

Vulgar-minded thing! Learned French on purpose to read Zola’s novels. I don’t suppose that even you have read them.

I simply don’t believe it! You men exaggerate so! You make yourselves out to be so much worse than you are. Whereas we women pretend to be so much better. That’s the worst of us! We are such hypocrites! Oh, if you knew as much about women as I do——

Now I’m going to hear something. [ Meanwhile Margery has crept in, R., behind them. She flings her handkerchief over the Colonel’s eyes, and ties it in a knot behind his head, then skips away from him. Rising. ] You rascal! It’s that Margery! I know it is! Where are you? [ Groping about, Margery evading him, and in shrieks of laughter. ] Margery, if I catch you!

[ Enid has risen to evade the Colonel, who is groping all over the room—a sort of blind man’s buff—all laughing.

[ Kisses her. Enid shrieks. Margery roars. Colonel tears off the handkerchief and stands aghast.

[ Exit Wells, L. Enid re-appears C., and runs across stage behind Lady Wargrave, and off, L. Margery stands confused, not knowing how to greet Lady Wargrave.

For my neglect. [ Kisses her. ] Forgive me, Margery, but [Pg 60] your marriage was a shock to me. However, I’ve got over it. Perhaps, after all, Gerald has chosen wisely!

No doubt. When you know Theodore as well as I do, you will have learnt what value to attach to his observations!

Never mind your uncle. Tell me about yourself—and about Gerald. I hope your marriage has turned out a happy one.

Oh, I’m quite used to it! I’m not a bit shy now. Of course I put my foot in it—I make mistakes sometimes; but even born ladies sometimes make mistakes.

With his book; and sometimes I can’t help annoying him. That’s nothing. We haven’t had a real cross word yet.

Oh, morning, noon, and night. He’s always got a pen in his hand. I often say I wonder he doesn’t wear the ceiling out with looking at it.

We went out a good deal at first, but we got tired of it. I like home best; at any rate, Gerald does. I rather liked going out. Oh, I’m quite a success in society.

Of course, aunt, I’m not clever; but I suppose I’m witty without knowing it!

At any rate, I make the people laugh. Isn’t that being witty? Then I laugh as well, although I don’t know what I’m laughing at, I’m sure! [ Laughs. ] Oh, everybody [Pg 62] laughs at me—but Gerald. And he’s thinking of his book!

Oh, yes! Miss Vivash—Miss Bethune—Dr. Mary—Mrs. Sylvester—and uncle. They’re often coming. As for Mrs. Sylvester, she almost lives here!—oh, and Captain Sylvester, he’s taken to calling lately!

In future, dear, you’ll have another visitor. I see I have neglected you too long. And you must come and see me. We’ll go out together.

Not always. I ought to have paid this visit earlier. I made a mistake, Gerald, and I have come to acknowledge it.

COLONEL [ laying his hand on Lady Wargrave’s shoulder in an access of enthusiasm ].

Caroline’s a heart of gold; but your aunt must be managing! So I let her manage, and I manage her.

But I do it quietly. I influence her, without her knowing it. Sheer force of character. Chut! not a word! [ Backing away from her, signalling silence; backs into Lady Wargrave. ] Ten thousand pardons!

Yes, at my nephew’s chambers. I remember perfectly. You were engaged upon some work or other.

It is not enough for me that a work of my nephew’s should be interesting! Tell me, as far as you have gone, do you think it is worthy of a Cazenove?

There I have the advantage. If I can help in any way, my experience is always at your service. Meanwhile, I fear I am another interruption. Theodore, your arm!

Come, let us get to work. I’ve done hardly anything today. It’s first one interruption, then another.

[ Sits with his head between his hands, staring at vacancy; Mrs. Sylvester watching him sympathetically.

Gerald! [ He starts slightly. ] You are not happy. You have realized the truth.

Not from the beginning. It started right enough, but somehow it has taken the wrong turn.

It was wrong from the first. Mine was the true ideal. The thing that you thought love was a mere passion—an intoxication. Now you have come back to your better self you feel the need of sympathy.

No, no; my love was real enough, and I love Margery still; but love doesn’t seem to bear the wear and tear of marriage—the hourly friction—the continual jar.

There is no friction in true marriage, Gerald. You say you love your wife, and it is good and loyal of you to deceive yourself; but you can’t deceive me. Haven’t I made the same mistake myself? I was a thoughtless, inexperienced girl, Jack was a handsome, easy-going man. We married, and for a year or two we jogged along. But I grew up—the girl became a woman. I read, I thought, I felt; my life enlarged. Jack never reads, never thinks—he is just the same. [ Rising. ] I am not unhappy, but my soul is starved—[ goes to mantelpiece and stands looking at him ]—as yours is!

[ Pause. Margery’s face appears between the curtains at the back, wearing a broad smile. She grimaces at them, unobserved, and remains there; then looks at Gerald with a long face of mock sympathy.

Yes, but what is the best? [ Margery grimaces at her. ] Is our mistake so hopeless, irremediable? After all, is not true loyalty loyalty to oneself?

[ Another pause. Margery laughs almost audibly. During the next passage the laugh subsides into an expression of perplexity.

To an empty phrase must one sacrifice one’s life? Must one stake everything on the judgment of one’s youth? By the decision of a moment must one be bound for ever? Must one go through the world “with quiet eyes unfaithful to the truth?” Does one not owe a duty to oneself? There can be but one answer!

Margery! [ Margery winces as if struck—quite serious now. Then with energy. ] But, Agnes, Margery is impossible! She’s no companion to me! I am all alone! Her very laughter grates upon me! There’s no meaning in it! It is the laughter of a tomboy, of a clown! And she will never learn! She’s hopeless, Agnes, hopeless! [ Margery drops back horror-struck, but her face disappears only by degrees. Mrs. Sylvester lays her hand on him. Another pause. The curtains close. ] What is one to do? [ Rising.

We are face to face with the problem! Let us confront it boldly. Gerald, do you love me?

[ A thud behind the curtains. Gerald starts guiltily. Pause. They stand looking at one another.

What was that? [ Goes up cautiously and draws curtains back, discovering Margery stretched senseless on the floor. ] Margery!

ACT III.

Scene. — Drawing-room at Lady Wargrave’s. Main entrance C., Conservatory R. Entrance, L., to an inner room. Fireplace, R., up stage, near which is Lady Wargrave’s chair, with the cushion of Act I.

The stage is discovered half-filled with Guests, who stand and sit in groups, including Colonel, Captain and Mrs. Sylvester, and Gerald. Lady Wargrave is receiving her guests. A buzz of general conversation; and a band is heard playing in the inner room, loudly at first, but softly after the picture is discovered.

Enter Victoria, followed leisurely by Percy, a very young man who is always smiling to himself, unconsciously.

Good evening, Lady Wargrave, I have taken the liberty of bringing a friend whose name is no doubt known to you—Mr. Percy Pettigrew.

Of course! two of your names are quite well known to me; it is only the surname that is unfamiliar.

I hope I am not late; but I was detained at the hospital. Most interesting case, unhappily unfit for publication.

The best of ’em! [ Enid shakes hands with Lady Wargrave. ] Ah, what a pity, what a pity, Sylvester!

[ Turns off. Colonel eyes him curiously. The other Guests should be so arranged that each man is surrounded by a little group of women.

PERCY [ the centre of one group, lolling lazily, always smiling with self-complacency, suddenly sits up and shivers ].

Nor will it, till the problem is solved. That solution, I venture to predict, will be on the lines of pure mathematics.

My dear Miss Bethune, there is no occasion for Man to express any view, when Woman expresses them all. First, you must reconcile your internal differences.

To begin with, you must make up your minds whether you wish to regenerate us or to degrade yourselves.

You would confess that? Then you agree with me, that a woman is entitled to know the whole of a man’s past?

It stands to reason—pure reason—there ought not to be one law for women and another for men.

What do I think of the New Woman? There is no New Woman; she is as old as Molière.

In her alone I find the true Greek spirit. What were the prevailing characteristics of Hellenic culture? [ A sudden silence. ] Breadth and centrality, blitheness and repose. All these I find in Trixy.

[ Exit, L. Lady Wargrave speaks to one or two of the Guests, and the company disperse, most of them going off, L., but a few, C., and others into the conservatory. During this general movement, the music off, is heard louder. Colonel is left with Dr. Mary.

Nonsense, my dear Doctor—— The fact’s just this. The modern woman is prostrated by the discovery of her own superiority; and she is now engaged in one of those hopeless enterprises which we have regretfully abandoned. She is endeavouring to understand herself. I offer her my respectful sympathy.

The truth amounts to this: the one mitigating circumstance about the existence of Man is, that he occasionally co-operates in the creation of a Woman.

His proudest privilege! The mystery to me is, that you ladies haven’t found it out before.

A man in distress! I must help him! [ Advancing sweetly. ] What were you saying, Doctor?

One moment, my dear ladies! Excuse me pointing out, that, in the last resort, there must always be a female accomplice!

[ Sighs. As the pair sit with their eyes cast down, silent, Colonel looks from one to the other in dismay, then steals off, R.

[ Exit, R. When they look up, each with a languorous glance, they find themselves languishing at one another; both rise.

Re-enter Mrs. Sylvester and Gerald, C. Movement of other Guests across stage, during music.

What did I say? What did I do? What must she think of me? I can’t bear this suspense. For the last fortnight, she’s been another woman. So grave—so thoughtful—so unlike herself. There is no laugh to grate upon me now. What would I give to bring it back again?

Ever since I saw that figure on the ground, I can see nothing else. And it is I who brought it to the dust—I, who had sworn to cherish it. Yes, you are right; I too am different; I see things from a different point of view. And when I think of Margery’s young life, so full of hope and joy—Margery, who never asked to be my wife—Margery, whom I compelled to marry me—with all the joy crushed out of her—I feel too much ashamed even to ask forgiveness. And as I watch her move about the house—silent and sorrowful—I ask myself, how much did Margery give up for me? I took her from the station of life in which she was born, and in which she was happy. I set her in another and a strange one. Was mine the only sacrifice? How much of friendship and of old association did she resign for my sake? My life continued as it was before—I had my old friends and my old pursuits. What had she? Nothing—but my love. And I took it away from [Pg 78] her. Because she made a few mistakes, and a few people laughed—a few more didn’t call—and I mistook a light heart for an empty head. What do all these things matter? what is a man worth who sets such things above a love like hers?

Mine was no folly. I, at least, was sincere; the love that isn’t based on sympathy is a mere passion.

Forgive me; but we’re face to face with truth. Don’t let us flinch from it. We have both made the same mistake—not in our marriages, but in despising them. What we want in a partner is what we lack in ourselves. [Pg 79] Not sympathy only, but sex. Strength requires gentleness, sweetness asks for light; and all that is womanly in woman wants all that is manly in man. You think your husband is no mate for you. What I have missed in Margery, have you not missed in him?

It is for you to say. We have gone too far together for either of us to turn back alone. I have not only made my own hearth desolate, but yours. I owe you all the reparation I can make. I only want you to know the truth. What is left of my life you may command, but my heart is not mine to bestow.

MRS. SYLVESTER [ turns up, to hide her emotion, and tries to go into the room, L., but half-way she falters and puts out her hand ].

[ He goes to her and offers her his arm. Exeunt Gerald and Mrs. Sylvester, L. Other Guests cross the stage. Enter Margery, C. Finding herself opposite Lady Wargrave’s chair, takes a long look at it, then moves the cushion, and gradually gets into her old position behind it. Music heard off, softly, during this passage.

Yes, this is how it ought to be. It looks a different world altogether—the real world—the world, when Gerald loved me!

Alone, Mrs. Cazenove? It isn’t often that I find you alone. I’ve seen nothing of you lately. You’ve always been out when I’ve called.

But in opposite directions. Mrs. Cazenove, you’re quite a philosopher. Why have you grown so serious all at once?

Aren’t they the same thing? He says they are, and I agree with him. And then he says [ half to herself ] that, when the love is gone, so is the marriage—and I think he’s right!

Can’t you admire me without telling me? It’s well to make the best of what we have, instead of trying to make the worst of what we haven’t.

Gerald doesn’t love you [ movement of Margery ]—oh, you said that just now! you mayn’t know that you said it, but you did! My wife doesn’t love me—I don’t love my wife—and yet I must say nothing.

Honestly love you! I admired you always. It was an empty admiration, perhaps—the admiration a man feels for twenty women—but it grew solid; and the more you repulsed me, the more you attracted me. You mayn’t believe me, but at first I wanted you to repulse me; then it got past that; and when I saw you sitting there alone—living over in your mind your wasted life—I loved you, and the words sprang to my lips. Nothing could keep them back! I love you, Margery—nobody but you! Why should your life be wasted? Why should mine?

I can guess the rest. You say Gerald doesn’t love me, you don’t love your wife, and your wife doesn’t love you; but you forget one thing—that I don’t love you either.

So, I’m to learn to be unfaithful, is that it? As one learns music? No, Captain Sylvester! Suppose two people are so much in love that they can’t help it, Heaven is their judge, not me. But to begin to love when they can help it—not to resist—to teach themselves to love—that’s where the wrong is, and there’s no gainsaying it.

[ Margery’s back is towards Gerald, so that she doesn’t see him; but Sylvester is facing him and sees him.

I mean, for ever. Gerald, I’ve had enough of half a home and only half a heart. I’m starving, withering, dying here with you! They love me there! Let me go back to them! Oh, what a world it is! To think that one can get the love of any man except the man one loves!

I know I haven’t! what’s the use of words? Do you think a woman doesn’t know when she’s not loved, or is? When you first said you loved me, down in the fields yonder, do you suppose you took me by surprise? You had no need to swear. I knew you loved me, just as certainly as I know now you don’t!

No man’s a scoundrel to the woman he loves. Ah, it was easy to forgive your loving me. But I’ll do something that is not so easy. I will forgive you for not loving me. It’s been a struggle. For the last fortnight I haven’t said a word, because I wasn’t master of myself, and I didn’t want to speak till I’d forgiven you. I wasn’t listening, Gerald. Heaven knows I would have given all the world not to have heard a word; but when you spoke my name, I couldn’t move. The ground seemed slipping underneath my feet, and all the happiness of all my life went out of it in those three words, “Margery’s hopeless, hopeless!”

Yes, Margery is hopeless. Every scrap of hope has gone out of her heart. I heard no more. It was enough. [Pg 85] There was the end of all the world for me. [ Gerald groans. ] But it was well I heard you. I should have gone blundering along, in my old madcap way, and perhaps not found it out till I had spoilt your life. It’s well to know the truth; but, Gerald dear, why didn’t you tell it me instead of her? Why didn’t you tell me I was no companion? I would have gone away. But to pretend you loved me, when you didn’t—to let me go on thinking you were happy, when all the time you were regretting your mistake—not to tell me, and to tell someone else—oh, it was cruel, when I loved you so!

How could you tell her? How could she listen to you? I forgive you, Gerald—I didn’t at first, but now I understand that there are times when one’s heart is so sore, it must cry out to somebody. But she——

You are mistaken there. It was your voice that spoke them, but the words were hers. It’s she who’s robbed me of your love! It isn’t I who’ve lost it; she has stolen it!

Be careful, or she’ll steal your honour too. Don’t trust to her fine phrases. She deceives herself. She wants your love, that’s what that woman wants: not to instruct the world—just to be happy—nothing more or less; but she won’t make you happy or herself. If I am no companion, she’s a bad one!

Have some pity on me! Don’t let the last words I shall hear you say be words defending her! Think what she’s [Pg 86] done for me! Think how you loved me when you married me—think what our two lives might have been, but for her—think what mine will be! for mine won’t be like yours. Your love is dead, and you will bury it, but mine’s alive—alive!

Don’t soil your lips with lies! I’ve borne as much as I can bear. I can’t bear that!

I have heard too much! Don’t speak again, or you will make me hate you! My mind’s made up. I have no business here! You are above me. I’m no wife for you! I’m dragging you down every day and hour.

So, he won’t speak to me. But I will make him. If he thinks I am caught, like a rat in a trap, he’s made a mistake. There’ll be a scandal—well, so much the better! Better that they should know the truth all round.

Yes, to-night. What I’m going to say may be everybody’s property to-morrow. I choose that you should know it now.

But you shall. I’ve often heard you say that a loveless marriage is no marriage. Well, ours is loveless enough, isn’t it?

It is! I’ve never understood you; and if there was any good in me, you’ve never taken the trouble to find it out.

You must. Don’t think I’m going to reproach you. I take all the blame on myself. What if I were to tell you that you’ve made a convert to your principles where you least expected it?

That it’s best for us both to put an end to this farce that we’re living. I mean, that I love another woman.

Perhaps that seems to you impossible. You thought, [Pg 88] perhaps, that I was dull and stupid enough to go on with this empty life of ours to the end. I thought so too, but I was wrong. I love this woman, and I’ve told her so——

Margery! Are you all mad, you men? What is it in that woman that enslaves you? What is the charm we others don’t possess? Only you men can see it; and you all do! You lose your senses, every one of you! What is it in her that bewitches you?

What you’ve crushed out of yourself—your womanhood. What you’re ashamed of is a woman’s glory. Philosophy is well enough in boots; but in a woman a man wants flesh and blood—frank human nature!

We have no place in it—we who love with our brains! we have no chance of happiness!

What chance have we? we, who love with our hearts! we, who are simply what God made us—women! we, to whom love is not a cult—a problem, but just as vital as the air we breathe. Take love away from us, and you take life itself. You have your books, your sciences, your brains! What have we?—nothing but our broken hearts!

Broken hearts heal! The things that you call hearts! One love is dead, another takes its place; one man is lost, another man is found. What is the difference to a love like yours? Oh, there are always men for such women as you!

But if the love is not dead? if it’s stolen? what is our lot then—ours, whose love’s alive? We, who’re not skilled to steal—who only want our own——

That’s what I do remember! [ Murmurs continue. ] I am Gerald’s wife! That’s what she doesn’t forgive me! [ Addressing Mrs. Sylvester. ] You call yourself a New [Pg 90] Woman—you’re not New at all. You’re just as old as Eve. You only want one thing—the one thing every woman wants—the one thing that no woman’s life’s worth living without! A true man’s love! Ah, if we all had that, there’d be no problem of the sexes then. I had it once. Heaven help me, I have lost it! I’ve done my best—it isn’t much, but it’s the best I can. I give it up! If you have robbed me of his love, my own is left to me; and if the future’s yours, the past is mine. He loved me once, and I shall love him always!

ACT IV.

Scene: — An orchard at Mapledurham. Farmhouse at back, C. Paths off, R. and L. front. A cluster of trees, R., at back. A few stumps of trees to serve as seats.

Margery discovered, standing on a ladder placed against one of the trees, gathering apples, which she throws into a basket below. She is dressed in peasant costume.

She’s too good for hereabouts. True, she’s a splint on the off leg, but what’s a splint? I sold her without warranty, and buyer took her with all faults, just as she stood.

Oh, says I, if you’re not satisfied with her, I am. So, there’s your money; give me back my mare. An Armstrong doesn’t stand on warranties.

But Margery, you should have seen the screw he got in place of her! Ha, ha! she was all splints!

Ay, farming isn’t what it used to be; and now that you won’t let me take in visitors——

You? Go on! That’s the way with you girls! You think all the men are after you. I’m sure he said nothing to hurt you.

Well, you know best. You always went your own way, Margery, and it was always the right road.

Dear old dad! We leave our parents, and we return to them; they let us go, and they take us back again! How little we think of their partings, and how much of our own!

She was no wife to me. For years our marriage has been a mockery, and it was best to put an end to it. Now I am free.

It’s no use beating about the bush. Things have gone too far, and I’m too much in earnest. She loves your husband. It is common talk. I’ve shut my eyes as long as [Pg 95] possible, and you’ve shut yours; but we both know the truth.

Back to the woman you promised to protect, and whom you left when she most needed you.

Then what do you propose? To sacrifice your life to an idea—to be true to a phantom? You owe no faith to one who is unfaithful. Think! You are young—your real life lies before you—would you end it before it’s begun? A widow before you’re a wife?

I am a wife, and I shall not forget it. If I have lost my husband’s love, at least I’ll save his honour. A public scandal mayn’t mean much to you, but it means your wife’s ruin—it means Gerald’s. Gerald shall not be ruined! You shall go back to her!

Challenge or not, you shall! It is ignoble to desert her so! You are a coward to make love to me! If her love was unworthy, what is yours? Is it for you to cast a [Pg 96] stone at her? See! Read your letters! [ Producing a packet. ] Letters to me—love-letters! Letters to a woman you didn’t respect in her grief and persecuted in her loneliness—a woman who would have none of you—who tells you to your face you’re not a man! Your love’s an insult! take the thing away!

No! but I want to make you realize you need more mercy than you show to her. These letters were written for my eye alone; to open them was to promise secrecy.

That rests with you. You say, she’s been no wife to you; but have you been a husband to her?

Yes; she has injured me; but now I know what it is to live without love, and to want it, I can pardon her. Can’t you? [ Goes to him and gives him both her hands. ] Forgive her, Captain Sylvester—freely as I do you—give [Pg 97] her the love that you have offered me—and you will find your wife’s a woman just as much as I am.

It shocks me. The institution of marriage is the foundation of society; and whatever tends to cast discredit on that holy “ordnance” saps the moral fibre of the community.

There is another ceremony which, during a somewhat long career, you have systematically avoided.

A mere sin of omission, which even now it is not too late to repair. I am a young man still——

Comparatively. And everything in the world is comparative. What cannot be undone in the past can at least be avoided in the future.

What is the matter with you, Theodore? You have suddenly become quite a moral martinet, and have developed such a severity of aspect that I scarcely know my own brother.

It might have been created expressly for the exchange of those sacred confidences which are never more becoming than when shared between a brother and a sister.

Good gracious! you are growing quite sentimental! I have no confidences to make.

My peccadilloes? Oh, she doesn’t believe them—or she pretends she doesn’t—which is the same thing. She says we men exaggerate so; and as for the women, you simply can’t believe a word they say!

Way of the world, my dear. My poor old adjutant! went through the Mutiny unscathed, and killed in Rotten Row!

Caroline’s taken it very well. Nothing like courage in these matters—courage! “Nurse” was distinctly nasty; but that’s Caroline’s way.

Come with me, Colonel. If you’ll step indoors, I’ll give you a glass of ale that’ll do your heart good.

No, no, no! I was talking to myself. [ Exit Armstrong, C., roaring. Aside, glancing at Lady Wargrave. ] Nurse!

Aunt. Come and sit down by me. [ Draws her towards seat under the tree, L. Lady Wargrave sits— Margery at her feet. ] Yes, Margery, to scold you. Why did you not confide in me? If you had only told me of your troubles, this would never have happened. It was undutiful.

No, aunt. There are some troubles one can confide to nobody—some griefs which are too sacred to be talked about.

And is yours one of them? You are young, Margery; and youth exaggerates its sorrows as well as its joys. Nothing has happened that cannot be put right, if you will only trust me and obey me.

No; but I read his thoughts—just as you used to say I could read yours—and I obeyed his wishes.

Not if he’d been talked over; not if he asked me to go [Pg 102] back to him because he thinks it his duty, or I want him. I don’t want duty; I want love.

What is the use of seeing him? You can send Gerald, but not Gerald’s heart. I have done all I can—I can’t do any more. I’ve saved his honour—I’ve resigned his love. All I ask is, to be left alone with mine.

I am not here to ask you to come back to me. How can I say what I have come for? I have come—because I cannot keep away from you. To ask for your forgiveness——

And, if it’s possible, some place in your esteem. Let me say this, and I will say no more. If, for a little space, my heart strayed from you, Margery—if, for a moment, words escaped my lips which cannot be recalled, that is my only infidelity. You understand me?

Not all I want to say, but all I must. I am no longer a free man. My lips are sealed.

I may tell you now. He left his wife, not through your fault or hers, but to make love to me.

Free to say how I love you—how I have always loved you! Yes, Margery, I loved you even then—then when I spoke those unjust, cruel words; but love’s so weird a thing it sometimes turns us against those we love. But when I saw you, there upon the ground, my heart turned back to you—no, it was not my heart, only my lips that were unfaithful! My heart was always yours—not half of it, but all—yours when I married you, yours when you said good-bye, and never more yours, never as much as now, now I have lost you.

Lady Wargrave and Colonel re-enter, quietly, C., and stand, looking on, at back, amongst the trees.

But, Gerald, remember I am nothing more. I don’t think I shall ever be a lady.

[ About to kiss her. Lady Wargrave, at back, bows her head, with her fan half spread before the Colonel’s face. Gerald kisses Margery.

CHISWICK PRESS:—CHARLES WHITTINGHAM AND CO., TOOKS COURT, CHANCERY LANE, LONDON.

Transcriber’s Note

This transcription is based on images scanned by Google from a copy made available by the Princeton University Library.

The following changes to the text were noted:

Throughout the text, dashes at the end of lines have been normalized.
p. 31: Re-enter Margery, R., she goes straight… —Changed comma after “R.” to semicolon.
p. 46: We musn’t make so much noise.—Changed “musn’t” to “mustn’t” as “mustn’t” is the preferred spelling elsewhere in the text.
p. 63: Enter Mrs. Sylvester, she hesitates, on seeing Lady Wargrave. —Changed comma after “Sylvester” to semicolon.
p. 78: Yes, Mrs. Sylvester, its best—Changed “its” to “it’s”.
p. 84, last line: It was enough—Added period to end of sentence.

The html version of this etext attempts to reproduce the layout of the printed text. However, some concessions have been made, particularly in the handling of stage directions enclosed by brackets on one side. When these fit on a line, they were printed flush right. When they did not, they were printed on the next line. For the purposes of this transcription, these stage directions were all placed on the next line, indented the same amount from the left margin, and coded as hanging paragraphs.

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Gerald Cazenove.
Colonel Cazenove.
Captain Sylvester.
James Armstrong.
Percy Pettigrew.
Wells.
Servants.
Margery.
Lady Wargrave.
Mrs. Sylvester.
Miss Enid Bethune.
Miss Victoria Vivash.
Dr. Mary Bevan.

		PAGE
Act I.	. . . . . . . .	5
Act II.	. . . . . . . .	40
Act III.	. . . . . . . .	69
Act IV.	. . . . . . . .	91

The Project Gutenberg eBook of The New Woman: An Original Comedy, in Four Acts