Page:The Strand Magazine (Volume 6).djvu/61
(Dick, somewhat moved, lets his paper fall. Before he can speak, she continues.)
"She threw herself upon the sofa."
Fanny: And, after all, what do I ask you? Only to tell me, in a few words, where you have been since the morning?
Dick———
Fanny: Yes. And to admit that it is a little mistake to come home at midnight!
Dick (on the point of replying)
Fanny (interrupts): At midnight! Although the London train does come in at 6.30.
Dick (the same)
Fanny: You looked out that train, yourself, yesterday.
Dick———
Fanny: And, of course, I was surprised———
Dick———
Fanny: And worried!
Dick———
Fanny: I ask you———
Dick (tries once more to speak)
Fanny (preventing him): And you won't give me an answer. (Bursts into tears and throws herself upon the sofa. Dick looks pityingly at her.)
Fanny (sobbing): Oh! Mother! Mother! Had you known my heart was to break! (Dick beside himself.) And this is only the beginning of my misery. (Dick puts his hand on her shoulder. She repulses him.)
Fanny: Leave me! I don't wish for your false pity! Your hypocrisy! You wished to make me cry! You have your wish. What more can you want?
(Dick now feels this is too much. His attitude changes; he loses patience and walks to the other end of the room.)
Fanny: Oh, I know I'm perfectly absurd. Crying is the proper thing for me, and I ought to begin by accustoming myself to it. How many women have wretched lives and are neglected by their husbands? But one can't break up every home! And everyone so believed in you. Excepting poor dear old Aunt Rose, who saw more clearly.
(Dick, standing near the mantelpiece with his back to the audience, turns inquiringly at the last words.)
Fanny: Yes. In spite of her seventy-nine years, she was able to look into the future, and said: "Fanny, darling, take care! That man is not all he seems———"
Dick (impatient)
Fanny (continuing): "But a good-for-nothing, who will make your young life a burden to you."
(Dick now gives signs of increasing anger, and at the word "burden" snaps a wooden paper-knife in two which he has been toying with.)
Fanny: That is your way of answering me!
(Dick breaks away, enraged; but mastering himself, goes to side-table, and pours out a glass of soda-water, which he slowly drinks.)
Fanny: I must beg you not to drink brandies and sodas in my drawing-room! Only yesterday you let some drops fall upon the pink brocade sofa-cushion, my favourite wedding present.
(Dick gives a look of polite regret, and then pours himself out another glass, this time with brandy.)
Fanny: There isn't anything you wouldn't do to grieve me. You knew that cushion had been given to me by mother. And you choose (sobbing) to make me wretched today, on the very day of all others—my birthday!