William Maugham - Plays - Lady Frederick, The Explorer, A Man of Honour

[They look at one another for a moment.

Well, let's look at these cards.

First of all, there's this money you've got to raise.

Well?

This is my sister's suggestion.

That means you don't much like it.

If you'll refuse the boy and clear out – we'll give you forty thousand pounds.

I suppose you'd be rather surprised if I boxed your ears.

Now, look here, between you and me high falutin's rather absurd, don't you think so? You're in desperate want of money, and I don't suppose it would amuse you much to have a young hobbledehoy hanging about your skirts for the rest of your life.

Very well, we'll have no high falutin! You may tell Lady Mereston that if I really wanted the money I shouldn't be such an idiot as to take forty thousand down when I can have fifty thousand a year for the asking.

I told her that.

You showed great perspicacity. Now for the second card.

My dear, it's no good getting into a paddy over it.

I've never been calmer in my life.

You always had the very deuce of a temper. I suppose you've not given Charlie a sample of it yet, have you?

[ Laughing. ] Not yet.

Well, the second card's your reputation.

But I haven't got any. I thought that such an advantage.

You see Charlie is a young fool. He thinks you a paragon of all the virtues, and it's never occurred to him that you've rather gone the pace in your time.

It's one of my greatest consolations to think that even a hundred horse-power racing motor couldn't be more rapid than I've been.

Still it'll be rather a shock to Charlie when he hears that this modest flower whom he trembles to adore has…

Very nearly eloped with his own uncle. But you won't tell him that story because you hate looking a perfect ass.

Madam, when duty calls, Paradine Fouldes consents even to look ridiculous. But I was thinking of the Bellingham affair.

Ah, of course, there's the Bellingham affair. I'd forgotten it.

Nasty little business that, eh?

Horrid.

Don't you think it would choke him off?

I think it very probable.

Well, hadn't you better cave in?

[ Ringing the bell. ] Ah, but you've not seen my cards yet. [ A servant enters. ] Tell my servant to bring down the despatch-box which is on my writing-table.

SERVANT.

Yes, miladi.

[Exit.

What's up now?

Well, four or five years ago I was staying at this hotel, and Mimi la Bretonne had rooms here.

I never heard of the lady, but her name suggests that she had an affectionate nature.

She was a little singer at the Folies Bergères, and she had the loveliest emeralds I ever saw.

But you don't know Maud's.

The late Lord Mereston had a passion for emeralds. He always thought they were such pure stones.

[ Quickly. ] I beg your pardon?

Well, Mimi fell desperately ill, and there was no one to look after her. Of course the pious English ladies in the hotel wouldn't go within a mile of her, so I went and did the usual thing, don't you know.

[Lady Frederick's man comes in with a small despatch-box which he places on a table. He goes out. Lady Frederick as she talks, unlocks it .

Thank God I'm a bachelor, and no ministering angel ever smoothes my pillow when I particularly want to be left alone.

I nursed her more or less through the whole illness, and afterwards she fancied she owed me her worthless little life. She wanted to give me the precious emeralds, and when I refused was so heart-broken that I said I'd take one thing if I might.

And what was that?

A bundle of letters. I'd seen the address on the back of the envelope, and then I recognised the writing. I thought they'd be much safer in my hands than in hers. [ She takes them out of the box and hands them to Paradine.] Here they are.

[He looks and starts violently.

89 Grosvenor Square. It's Mereston's writing. You don't mean? What! Ah, ah, ah. [ He bursts into a shout of laughter. ] The old sinner. And Mereston wouldn't have me in the house, if you please, because I was a dissolute libertine. And he was the president of the Broad Church Union. Good Lord, how often have I heard him say: "Gentlemen, I take my stand on the morality, the cleanliness and the purity of English Family Life." Oh, oh, oh.

I've often noticed that the religious temperament is very susceptible to the charms of my sex.

May I look?

Well, I don't know. I suppose so.

[ Reading. ] "Heart's delight"… And he signs himself, "your darling chickabiddy." The old ruffian.

She was a very pretty little thing.

I daresay, but thank heaven, I have some sense of decency left, and it outrages all my susceptibilities that a man in side-whiskers should call himself anybody's chickabiddy.

Protestations of undying affection are never ridiculous when they are accompanied by such splendid emeralds.

[ Starting and growing suddenly serious. ] And what about Maud?

Well?

Poor girl, it'd simply break her heart. He preached at her steadily for twenty years, and she worshipped the very ground he trod on. She'd have died of grief at his death except she felt it her duty to go on with his work.

I know.

By Jove, it's a good card. You were quite right to refuse the emeralds: these letters are twice as valuable.

Would you like to burn them?

Betsy!

There's the stove. Put them in.

[He takes them up in both hands and hurries to the stove. But he stops and brings them back, he throws them on the sofa.

No, I won't.

Why not?

It's too dooced generous. I'll fight you tooth and nail, but it's not fair to take an advantage over me like that. You'll bind my hands with fetters.

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