A Change of Heart

ROBERT STAVELEY (37). CHARLES PEPPEREL (36). MARGARET (21). MARTHA (23).

Drawing-roOm of a house in the country. Glass doors at back into the piazza and garden ; doors right and left into the house. Late afternoon. Middle of August.

SCENE I.— MARTHA, coming forward, pale and agitated, followed by PEPPEREL.

PEPPEREL. What is it to be,— peace or war ? I knew you were here, and yet I came. You may imagine whether I like it. I saw you at the window as I came through the garden. I confess that, for an instant, I was on the point of turning away. But when a man has come a-wooing, he has a use for all his gallantry. I should have vastly preferred to respect your seclusion. Do me justice ! I’m not so bad as you think. You know it’s said that unless we ’re saints we hate those whom we’ve wronged. Of course if we ’re saints, we’ve not wronged any one. Now I don’t in the least hate you. I don’t say I pity you, — that would be insulting.

MARTHA. Yes, don’t be insulting ! PEPPEREL. I esteem you — there!

I esteem you more than any woman in the world. Under the circumstances I call that handsome. Meet me, if not as a friend, at least not as an enemy, and justify my good opinion by your tact.

MARTHA (after a silence). Is it really you that I hear ? Am I really standing face to face with you and listening to you ? calmly, after all!

PEPPEREL It’s very odd, certainly. Life leads us a dance, if we happen to have an ear for the tune ! But everything’s odd, or nothing’s odd, according as you look at things. The grand point is not to stand staring, like rustics at a fair. Will you forgive me ?

MARTHA. I don’t understand you. I only feel that every word you utter must be an injury.

PEPPEREL. The deuce ! Well, I can’t stand and argue the matter. I must play my part and do my work. Of course, at best, I can’t expect you to think well of me ; but I ’m determined you sha’ n’t think so ill as you d like to do. I shall therefore be perfectly frank. Y'ou know, I suppose, what has brought me here ?

MARTHA. I wish to know nothing.

PEPPEREL. You must know everything. I 'm engaged — I’m on the way to be engaged —it’s the same thing — to Miss Thorne. Time is precious in such a case. If Miss Thorne chooses to come dutifully to spend a month with her aunt (though I’m told the poor lady’s ailments don’t increase the charm of her conversation), I can hardly be expected to wait till the month is up to make my offer, or to break off my wooing in the middle because you happen to be established here. You see we’re just at that point when an offer is apropos at any moment. And, really, I'm extremely happy to find you so comfortably settled. You ’ll not pretend you were better off in that dismal little house of your mother’s. Of course, if I could have arranged matters ideally, I should n’t have chosen to come and make my offer under your very nose. But let me assure you that I shall remember what is due to you as far as I can without forgetting what is due to Miss Thorne.

MARTHA (who has stood silent, with her eyes on the ground, raises them and looks at him). Even your very face is altered !

PEPPEREL. I ’ve let my beard grow. You ’ll forgive me yet.

MARTHA. Don’t ask too much.

(Turns to go)

PEPPEREL. Yes, you ’ll forgive me. Allow me five minutes more. I ’ll prove what I say.

MARTHA. Mr. Pepperel, spare me, I beseech you.

PEPPEREL. YOU know our ACCOUNT’S not squared. I ’m your debtor. I seem as offensive as if I were a creditor. But you ’ll get used to me. An hour or two hence, I shall beg for five minutes. It’s a little complicated ! — Miss Thorne, I was told, is in the garden. We shall be having her jealous ! (Goes out by the piazza.)

SCENE II. — MARTHA alone, then STAVELEY.

MARTHA {sinks into a chair and remains for some moments plunged in thought). I was prepared for much, but I was not prepared for this ! Life, you ‘re hard. Six months ago I fancied it the last humiliation to become a paid servant, — for what am I more ? But it’s the greatest humiliation of all, I verily believe, simply to be a woman ; that includes the others : to listen and believe and trust as a woman ! Well, the world tells us that it’s a great privilege to suffer as a woman. It’s a pity I should n’t at least enjoy that! {Brushes away her tears ; then suddenly rises.) A voice on the piazza ? Yes, it’s Mr. Staveley. Nay, there are true men in the world, as well as false, and The woman he should address would not have to suffer for it.

STAVELEY (comes in from the piazza with a travelling-bag, which he places on a chair). Miss Noel ! Your humble servant. You ’re not at home alone, I suppose.

MARTHA. They ‘re all on the lawn and in the garden, — a party of them. You know it’s Miss Thorne’s birthday ; they ’re having tea on the grass.

STAVELEY. Yes, I come with my birthday wishes, — such as they are ! And why have you run away ?

MARTHA. I’m not expected to have any wishes, Mr. Staveley.

STAVELEY You ’re morbid ; that’s what s the matter with you. You ’re expected to know how you ’re valued. My aunt looks upon you as a —as a niece !

MARTHA. Not yet ! But I ’m a very silly girl ! Your aunt’s not there ; she’s been unable, as usual, to leave her room. I remain here to be within summons.

STAVELEY. When next she sends for you, pray ask her if she can receive me. There ’s no hurry. Who are they all, out there ?

MARTHA. A dozen. Mrs. Seymour and her daughters, Mrs. Lewis, the two Miss Jcssops and their brother, Mr. Hamilton, Mr. Jones, half a dozen gentlemen.

STAVELEY. Including Mr. Pepperel. MARTHA (with a slight effort). Mr. Pepperel has just come. Won’t you join them ?

STAVELEY. Not just yet. Apropos of Mr. Pepperel, I wish, Miss Noel, to ask you three questions. {As MARTHA turns away, aside.) Mr. Pepperefs name makes her blush ; Mr. Pepperel’s presence, if I ’m not mistaken, has made her cry. Can this poor girl have been one of his victims ? He was crossing the lawn there with the strut of the conquering hero! If she will, she can help me. (Aloud, as MARTHA comes down again.) I have a particular desire to learn the position of things between Mr. Pepperel and my cousin.

MARTHA. I can hardly tell you. Mr. Pepperel has just come.

STAVELEY. O, but you don’t mean to say that you’ve not guessed ! You 've had half the evidence ; what more does a woman need ? Margaret has beer, here a week, I believe. Has she told you nothing ? You and she are of course friends.

MARTHA. Miss Thorne is not communicative, and I 'm not inquisitive. Mr. Pepperel’s name has never been mentioned between us.

STAVELEY. Ah, there it is ! She ’s in love. Is it an engagement ?

MARTHA (after a pause). You ’ve come to congratulate her?

STAVELEY. I ’ve come to remonstrate with her — if you can believe it. I disapprove of the match — I abominate Pepperel. It’s a matter, Miss Noel, in which you can perhaps assist me ; unless indeed, like most women, you ’re silly enough to believe in the fellow.

MARTHA. I thank you for the sex.

STAVELEY. The sex ought really to be obliged to me. But if I can save Margaret, the others may look out for themselves. I ’m not a man who is fond of meddling in other people’s business ; but this time, I confess, I could n’t sit still. Of course it will be a siege. She ’ll not drop him for my asking her. I fancy, Miss Noel, that you ’re an observer. You know this terrible Margaret of ours. She’s pretty, she’s clever, and, when she will, she’s charming. She’s notcharming when she won’t ! She ’s positive, I can tell you! In plain English, she’s obstinate. If I may allow myself the expression, she ’s hard ! I say all this to you ; of course I should never dare to say it to her.

MARTHA. I hope not, I ’m sure.

STAVELEY. O, you should hear the sweet things she says to me ! Well, this time I mean to brave them ! I never carried my point yet, but I’ve never had one so well worth carrying. My courage has risen with the occasion. Friendship, as well as love, Miss Noel, can make a fool of a man. I’ve been, first and last, of a hundred minds about my cousin. Sometimes I’ve been sure for six weeks together that I don’t care two straws for her, — that her smiles and her frowns are all the same to me ! I ’ve declared that she’s cold, heartless, wilful beyond the limits of grace. Then for another six weeks it has seemed to me that her smile is the handsomest thing in the world, and that even her frown is very fine, — as frowns go! It’s not that I’ve been in love with her. Worse than that,— the pains without the pleasures ! I’ve undertaken to befriend ber for charity ; I ’ve wanted to be her good genius. A wilful woman, sooner or later, is sure to need one. Margaret’s too proud, poor girl; she ’ll make no sacrifice to the unknown gods. If the gods will only not come knocking some fine day at her door, to demand arrears ! I’ve always been absurdly considerate ;

I ’ve never contradicted her ; I ’ve left her to the gods to deal with. She thinks, of course, I have n’t the pluck to say boh ! to a goose, and I’m in hopes she ’ll rather like me if I tell her to her face she’s a fool. Unfortunately, to like that sort of thing demands a fund of sense ! How has he done it, what has he told her, to bring her to this pass ? Miss Noel, the gods do avenge themselves ! They don’t come nowadays in thunder and pestilence ; they don't blast our crops nor slay our children ; they quietly punish us through our own passions. Here’s the proudest girl in the world infatuated with a man whose arm, if she really knew him, she would refuse to take for five minutes at a ball. {Observing her.) But you don’t believe me, Miss Noel. How can I hope she will ?

MARTHA. It’s no affair of mine, save that I admire your zeal.

STAVELEY. O, that’s what Mr. Wigmore, my cousin’s lawyer, said to me this morning. He’s an old friend of her father’s, and since my uncle’s death, ten years ago, he has been her guardian. I take the alarm, I rush to him and unfold the tale. “ Margaret is about to bestow her hand upon Charles Pepperel, of whom you’ve heard, a man a woman can’t marry, — a rank adventurer! I know him, he knows me ! To the rescue ! ” For all answer, he takes out his watch. “ At ten o’clock this morning pretty Margaret became her own mistress. Twenty-one years ago to an hour she entered upon her minority. At ten o’clock this morning she issued from it, and my term of office expired. It’s now twenty minutes past. I have n't the least desire to overleap my authority. I ’ve had ten years’ bother ; I’ve broken off three engagements already,— one before she was out of frocks ; I’ve fought a dozen pitched battles. For heaven’s sake, let me rest on my laurels. The gentleman may be no gentleman; nothing is more likely. Let this go for his punishment ! ” That ’s all very well, but I ’d rather not anticipate Providence. I walked about three hours and thought of it ; I worked myself into a rage of benevolence. I packed my bag and jumped into the train, and here I am Now tell me, Miss Noel, whether, after all, I 'm simply a meddlesome fool.

MARTHA. Your intention is surely excellent. But when a woman is deceived — (She pauses.)

STAVELEY (attentive). No man can undeceive her ?

MARTHA (abruptly). Try, Mr. Staveley ! I ’ll pray for you.

STAVELEY. I fancy you might help me better than by your prayers. You don’t say much, but I imagine you’re very wise.

MARTHA (smiling). May I never speak again !

(PEPPEREL has entered from the garden during the last wards; he advances.)

PEPPEREL (with gallantry). O, I protest against that!

MARTHA (starts and falters ; then collects herself). Excuse me ; I ’m called. (Exit hastily.)

SCENE III.—STAVELEY, PEPPEREL.

(The two men exchange a fixed glance and stand for a moment uncertain.)

PEPPEREL (suddenly assumes an air of friendly recognition). Mr. Staveley! For a moment I was at a loss to place you.

STAVELEY (aside). Good heavens ! Before such impudence, where’s my chance ?

PEPPEREL. Just here I hardly expected to meet you ! But when a man has, like you, the happy pretext of cousinship, where else should one look for him ? (Aside.) Confound the cousinship ! Still Margaret has always made light of it. As one of the “ family,” I must speak him fair.

STAVELEY. I had n’t the least doubt as to who you were. My only doubt was as to whether I’d speak to you.

PEPPEREL (smiling). Admit, then, that I cut a troublesome knot ! Miss Thorne just now begged me to Outstay her little party; but she didn’t mention you as one of the attractions.

STAVELEY. I ’ve only just arrived.

PEPPEREL. I 'm just arrived myself. We must have been fellow-travellers ; unless indeed you took the train. I always take the boat. It’s not so much longer; I 've had time to go to the hotel and dress. And then there’s nothing I like so much as a summer evening on the water.

STAVELEY. YOU have simpler tastes than when we last met !

PEPPEREL. O, that was in the — dark ages ! We met in some queer places, eh ? (Aside.) What the deuce is he coming to ? I ’ll meet him half-way, but only half-way ! (Aloud) Of course you know this is Miss Thorne’s birthday. I ’ve taken the liberty of bringing her a little present. (Tapping his waistcoat-pocket.) A ring, with a really uncommon diamond ! She has such things inplenty, of course, but I shall beg her to accept this as a token of an altogether peculiar sentiment. She promised to follow me in here and give me my opportunity. I wish all those good people were ten miles away !

STAVELEY. I should indeed fancy a dozen good people might make you very uncomfortable.

PEPPEREL. YOU seem inclined to try what one can do. (After a pause) Evidently, you mean war.

STAVELEY. I mean victory. It will be war only if you choose to adhere to a hopeless cause.

PEPPEREL. My dear sir, you’re unforgiving.

STAVELEY. It’s not a matter of forgiveness. I can’t forget! I might have forgiven you a dozen times any mere wrong of my own, and yet not be able to stand silent and see a woman whom I respect and esteem think of you as a man she can decently marry.

PEPPEREL. YOU mean, then, I take it, to oppose my marriage ?

STAVELEY. I mean to do what I can.

PEPPEREL. I wonder whether you appreciate the difficulties of the undertaking.

STAVELEY. I Ve given them my best consideration. Have you anything to suggest ?

PEPPEREL. Miss Thorne is a woman of a very high spirit.

STAVELEY. Imagine her sensations, then, on finding herself married to you !

PEPPEREL. For a man who doesn’t mean war, you hit hard.

STAVELEY. Give it up, and I ’ll never strike another blow.

PEPPEREL. You 're very generous. After all, what do your blows amount to? You can prove nothing.

STAVELEY. It depends upon what you call proof.

PEPPEREL. YOU can’t find chapter and verse, without a vast deal of trouble. Meanwhile, I shall gain time.

STAVELEY. I can tell a plain tale in ten minutes.

PEPPEREL. Your plain tale has a highly ornamental dénouement. The heroine’s married! It’s a fact! I doubt whether her husband would care to have her come into court. Without that, it’s simply your word.

STAVELEY. I have ground to suppose that, with my cousin, my word carries some weight.

PEPPEREL, Why, then, it’s just man to man !

STAVELEY. That sounds portentous. Still, I shall do my best. Here she comes. (MARGARET comes in from the piazza)

SCENE IV. — The Same, MARGARET.

PEPPEREL (meeting her). I ’m like Louis XIV., — I almost waited! But I ’ve had good company.

MARGARET. Why, Robert, when did you get here ? (Giving him her hand)

STAVELEY. Half an hour ago. I have n't shown myself, because I’ve my toilet to make.

MARGARET. Go and attend to it, and come and make yourself agreeable.

PEPPEREL {sotto voce to STAVELEY). I think, on the whole, I ’ll defy you.

STAVELEY. Agreeable ? O, I don’t promise to be that. As to my dressing — after all, need I ? Your friends must be going.

MARGARET. Go and dress for me, then. Where ’s your gallantry ?

STAVELEY. It’s not in my coat, Margaret. I ’ll show you ! (Takes his bar and exit)

SCENE V.— PEPPEREL, MARGARET.

PEPPEREL. I came here, Miss Thorne, with a design for which my letter, three days since, must, have prepared you. But even if mv intention had been less definite, the five minutes’ talk I have just had with your cousin would have given it instant shape.

MARGARET. Your letter was explicit, certainly. I didn’t answer it because, after it, the least you could do was to come. And pray what has my cousin to do with the matter ?

PEPPEREL. Margaret, I love you !

MARGARET (after a silence). I believe you ’re honest. And what is this about Mr. Staveley ?

PEPPEREL. To-day, you once told me, is your birthday. I’ve not forgotten it. It falls in the nick ol time. I have ventured to bring you a ring (taking it from his waistcoat-pocket) — such a ring as I’ve seen women wear of whom it was whispered that they were engaged. (Takes her hand, which site slowly surrenders. He is about to pass the ring upon her finger, when she withdraws her hand, crosses her arms, and looks at him gravely)

MARGARET. Your ring is beautiful, but you must give me time.

PEPPEREL. I ’ve given you three days.

MARGARET. I have your letter here in my pocket; I’ve been carrying it about with me. But the same words, spoken, sound new and strange.

PEPPEREL. I love you, — I love you, — I love you ! Are you used to them now ? But you’re right to ponder the matter! There’s the opinion of the world. Mr. Staveley, for one, altogether disapproves.

MARGARET. Mr. Staveley ? What do you mean ?

PEPPEREL. He has come down to forbid the banns.

MARGARET. Pray who has asked his opinion ?

PEPPEREL. O, you ’ll not have to ask it to hear it. You’re to hear it gratis. In three words, Margaret, he owes me a grudge, and he ’s determined to prevent my marriage. He considers, naturally, that there can be no harsher vengeance.

MARGARET. This is something new. From to-day I’m my own mistress ; it shall not be for nothing. I owe it to you to assure you that my decision shall rest on grounds of my own, and not of my cousin’s.

PEPPEREL (aside). Victory, victory ! (Aloud) Do you mean to listen to him ?

MARGARET. I take it you ’re not afraid to have me.

PEPPEREL. I’m not ashamed to say I’m afraid of losing you. He’ll surprise you.

MARGARET. It’s surprise enough to find him meddling in my affairs.

PEPPEREL. You know your cousin, Margaret. He’s one of those men who go about measuring all mankind with the little inch measure of their own imaginations and multiplying their blunders by their prejudices. I’ve incurred his distinguished displeasure. It’s an old story. He has raked up a heap of scandal, with which, apparently, he means to regale your maidenly ears. I frankly confess that I’m a man about whom stories can be told ; and I have the fatuity to believe that you ’ll not care for me the less on that account. You don’t suppose that you’ve taken me out of the nursery ; and you’ll not complain of having fixed the affections and renewed the youth of a man who had begun to fear that he had no heart and the world no charm. Concerning your cousin, to the best of my knowledge, History is absolutely silent ! I doubt that any one will ever come and startle you with “ revelations ” about Mr. Staveley. It’s no revelation, of course, to hear that he’s a narrow-minded, rancorous prig. However, there’s no smoke without fire, and I’ve no doubt he has a dozen tales at his fingers’ ends, proving, damningly, that I’ve been idle, reckless, extravagant, selfishly fond of pleasure. I can trust you to believe that they prove nothing worse. I know but one pleasure now, Margaret ; and if to cling to that is selfish, I’m a monster of egotism! He has one little anecdote, I believe, which he considers his cheval de balaille. He threw out monstrous hints, but I can’t imagine to what he alludes. I shall be curious to hear your report. I fancy it’s the tragical history of a certain young person whom he had taken it into his head to consider a model of all the virtues. I proved, irrefutably, that the list was incomplete, and he has never forgiven me this impeachment of his taste.

MARGARET. You need n’t mind details. (After a silence.) Do you know I’m inclined to thank Mr. Staveley'? His interference has made us more intimate.

PEPPEREL. YOU can thank him outright ! (STAVELEY returns.)

STAVELEY. Am I presentable ? I put up my things in such a fever that I find I’ve forgotten half of them.

MARGARET. Mr. Pepperel, go and amuse those poor people on the lawn. I don’t know what they think of their hostess. But when a girl has this sort of thing on her hands —

PEPPEREL. I ’ll represent you ! (Aside.) I fancy I’ve fixed it, unless Martha speaks ! But, Martha’s an angel. (Exit, by piazza.)

SCENE VI. — MARGARET, STAVELEY.

MARGARET. For the pretty things you have to say to me, you can hardly be dressed enough. Mr. Pepperel tells me that you don’t approve of our acquaintance.

STAVELEY. You must admit that, considering the deep and affectionate interest I have always taken in your affairs, you have never had reason to complain of my zeal, and that I have managed to temper it with a great deal of deference.

MARGARET. You’ve never had a decent pretext for interference. I know you’ve been itching to make one.

STAVELEY. I did n’t come to blow my own trumpet. I came to beseech you not to throw yourself away. The man whom you have honored with your favor is signally unworthy of it.

MARGARET. “There’s a beginning !

STAVELEY. You ’ll excuse me if I lose no time. Those who know him best respect him least. He has neither heart nor conscience. His notions of what is honorable in conduct are absolutely grotesque. He’s a cool impostor. I know what I say. I can’t stand still and see you sacrifice yourself to a pitiful delusion. Pause and reflect; reconsider your impressions, and question your heart. I speak to you, Margaret, in the name of the tender good-will I have always borne you, in that of your young happiness and freedom, in that of the very pride and temper which make you resent my words.

MARGARET. In the name of my pride and my temper, then, I beg you to know that your words are an insufferable injury. Am I a flighty schoolgirl ? I know him and I love him.

STAVELEY. You ’re not the first to love him. You’ll not be the first to repent. He’s incapable of really caring for a woman. He does n’t love you, he loves your money.

MARGARET. My dear cousin, I’m vastly obliged to you. You’ve shaken me into position. Do I love him ? I had been asking myself, You’ve made me say yes !

STAVELEY. You love your own will better ; and my impression is that in this matter you ’re defending him far less than that.

MARGARET, Charming ! While you ’re about it, put an end to us both.

STAVELEY. Are you actually engaged ?

MARGARET. Considering the key in which you’ve pitched the conversation, you ’ll not think me rude if I tell you it’s none of your business.

STAVELEY. Give me a week, and I ’ll prove what I say. I ’ll put you into communication with persons who will satisfy you.

MARGARET. Meanwhile, I ’ll say to Mr. Pepperel : “ Apropos, they tell me you ’re a monster of vice. I don’t know what to say to it, but I think it’s very possible. Invitations are out for an inquest ; next Monday we shall hear witnesses. My cousin has kindly consented to conduct the proceedings. If you pass muster, I 'll have you.”

STAVELEY. And your lover, if he’s an honest man, will fold his arms and smile serenely.

MARGARET. My lover, if he’s the man I take him for, will calmly await the issue ; and then, when you and your witnesses have made proper fools of yourselves and — heaven forgive me ! — of me, he’ll make me his bow: “ I had looked for a wife, madam, and not for a judge in petticoats ! ”

STAVELEY. O, I’ve no doubt he ’ll treat you to a pretty piece of impudence !

MARGARET. Really, I 'm glad to love a man who has enemies. It’s a proof of a strong nature.

STAVELEY. If that’s all you want, why don’t you take your husband out of the Penitentiary ?

MARGARET. Come, don’t talk to me again about my temper. I ’ll go back to my guests ; they ’re not amusing. but they ’re decently polite.

STAVELEY. YOU don’t suppose I’m afraid to offend you. I came prepared for that. I'll not ask you to wait a week; give me an hour. I promise you in an hour to change your opinion.

MARGARET. Do you know you ’re amusing ? I ’m really tempted to consent. Of course, after this everything’s at an end between us, and I want a good round pretext for despising you.

STAVELEY. Ah, my terrible cousin, that’s if I don’t succeed! But if I do —

MARGARET. I shall hate you. An hour, to a minute, mind ! (Exit, to the garden.)

SCENE VII. — STAVELEY, alone.

STAVELEY. A pretty pair of alternatives ! Well, madam, I don't think I shall love you, at this rate. The trouble of dealing with really superior scoundrels is, that they have a way of wrapping themselves in their dishonor with as many classic folds as a Roman in his virtue. She likes a man who has enemies ! O romance, you “re no better than an old-clothes man ! If I could only make him out the coward he really is ! show her the dingy dishabille of his iniquity ! For that I must have facts and figures — and with only an hour to collect them. It would be awkward if I were to be wrong, after all, about this poor little Miss Noel. No, I always felt she had a little mystery of grief, and her tears just now, when Pepper el had left her, and her flight when he reappeared, fitted the key to the lock. Ten words from her, emphasized by that charming wise face and those sad gray eyes, ought to go far. The point is, to get a modest girl to speak such words. She ’ll not do it lor revenge, but she may for charity. If she will, she ’s a trump ! And to save me time, here she comes !

(Enter MARTHA, from the house.)

SCENE VIII. — STAVELEY, MARTHA.

MARTHA. I’ve seen your aunt. She 11 receive you at seven.

STAVELEY. I wish she had called it eight. For the coming hour I have my hands full, Margaret has given me an hour to prove my case.

MARTHA. Poor Mr. Staveley ! You see what it is to try and help people in spite of themselves.

STAVELEY. Do you think we ought to shrug our shoulders and let them pass ?

MARTHA. Our own troubles make us sceptical. We say it’s a weary world, at best, and a little more or a little less —•

STAVELEY. O, this will never do ! I want you to believe.

MARTHA. I confess, a very little happiness may restore our faith.

SIAVELEY. Yours, Miss Noel, has been tried.

MARTHA. I never supposed I should tell you so.

STAVELEY, I don’t ask you idly. The fact is relevant. You have suffered, I fancy, as Margaret may suffer, when, having believed her lover an honest man, she finds he’s a knave.

MARTHA. How have you guessed all this?

STAVELEY. I ’ve guessed, because I’ve observed you, if you’ll excuse the liberty. And I’ve observed you, because I admire you.

MARTHA. At that, I must excuse it !

STAVELEY. If I have observed to good purpose, you and Charles Pepperel have not met to-day for the first time.

MARTHA. For the last.

STAVELEY (aside). How under heaven is a man to ask it? (Aloud.) You know him well.

MARTHA. I thought so till one hour ago. I find I've but half known him.

STAVELEY. Poor girl! He has added insult to injury.

MARTHA. He has done me good. Here I am talking to you of him as of a stranger.

STAVELEY. It’s a good beginning. Speak of him to Margaret ; tell her your story.

MARTHA. I would rather it should end with you, Mr. Staveley.

STAVELEY. Tell me all, then. (As she remains silent, aside.) There’s a request !

MARTHA. We were engaged. My mother was dead ; I was altogether alone ; fair words had a double price. For three days, I believe, he was sincere; in three days I was convinced. I believed — my excuse is that I believed everything. I placed my slender patrimony in his hands, to reinvest to better advantage. We were to be married in a month. It was then, I suppose, that he met Miss Thorne, — richer, prettier, more attractive than I, and apparently as credulous. Poor girl ! But she has a cousin ! From that moment till an hour ago I ’ve not seen his face. O, he bade me farewell—in a note of three lines, enclosing the titles of a scattered remnant of my property. As this was an insufficient support, I was obliged to earn my living. I found this situation as companion to your aunt, and I consider that I’ve been fortunate.

STAVELEY. Good heaven !

MAUTHA. I don’t complain, Mr. Staveley. I 'm very happy.

STAVELEY. O, allow me to doubt it.

MARTHA. Your aunt ’s eccentric, but she’s kind.

STAVELEY. My aunt’s a fretful old shrew !

MARTHA (smiling). Of course it takes less to content me than it would you. I have no generous dreams of helping and enlightening my fellowmortals.

STAVELEY (looking at her a moment in silence). Miss Noel, you think I ’m a gross idiot!

MARTHA, I place my confessions at your service.

STAVELEY (aside). Ah, the brave girl ! (Aloud) Have you still in your possession that note of three lines ?

MARTHA. I’ve kept it. If you were a woman, you ’d know why. I am waiting for a moment in my own room to burn it up.

STAVELEY. Keep it an hour longer. Give it to me. It’s for that you’ve kept it.

MARTHA. DO you really think so ?

STAVELEY (after a pause). Do you know, Miss Noel, this high and mighty cousin of mine ought to be desperately obliged to us ?

MARTHA. She ’ll not forgive me, that I know.

STAVELEY, We shall be in the same box. 1 ’ll not waste my logic upon her. Pepperel will apprehend it better. He shall convince her ! If I have ten minutes’ talk with him, you’ll not object to my mentioning your letter.

MARTHA. TO what purpose ?

STAVELEY. TO bid him repent, by Jove ! under pain of exposure. To bid him disgorge ! You ’re too patient by half!

MARTHA. You ’re Miss Thorne’s knight, not mine, Mr. Staveley. It is her interests that are in question. As I can easily keep them distinct from my own, I had belter see Mr. Pepperel. Yes, in fact, it’s better. An hour ago he asked me for an interview, which I then felt no inclination to grant. But, on reflection, I 've changed my mind. I wish to be just. He spoke of our “account.” I don’t know what he means, but I fancy he has some proposal for the restoration of mv property. I shall bid him keep it and give up Miss Thorne.

STAVELEY. Merciful powers ! Is that your notion of justice? Let me deal with him.

MARTHA. Thank you ; it’s my own affair.

STAVELEY. I detest the idea of your meeting him again.

MARTHA. I ’m very calm. And now while we ’re talking, your aunt is waiting for you.

STAVELEY (slowly turning to go ; at the door). This is too much ; I give up my cause !

MARTHA. Already ! I’ve almost espoused it.

STAVELEY. I ’m sick of it. Miss Margaret, I offer you my compliments. (Exit.)

MARTHA (alone). I offer you mine, Miss Thorne! (Enter MARGARET from the garden)

SCENE IX. — MARTHA, MARGARET.

MARGARET. They’ve gone at last; but it’s no thanks to you. Miss Noel.

MARTHA (smiling). Do you mean that, if I had been present, they would have gone earlier? I have to be within sound of your aunt’s bell.

MARGARET. I wish, by the way, you ’d bring in from the grass the shawls and cushions she lent us. It’s not fur my aunt, but for my aunt’s nephew, that you ’ve been lingering here, I believe. I hope you found him more civil than I. He treated me to half an hour’s abuse of a friend so intimate that it amounted to telling me outright that I had low tastes.

MARTHA (after a silence). Are you engaged, Miss Thorne?

MARGARET. If you feel disposed to congratulate me, you needn’t wait.

MARTHA. I can’t in conscience congratulate you.

MARGARET. Really, this is the Palace of Truth! My cousin hasn’t wasted his time.

MARTHA. I know Mr. Pepperel, not by your cousin, but by himself. {Aside.) I could tell him, but I really can’t tell her. (Aloud.) I once did Mr. Pepperel more than justice.

MARGARET. Ah, you are perhaps the young lady he told me of, in whom Mr. Staveley took such an interest and about whom he had his quarrel with Mr. Pepperel ! Hinc illœ lachrymœ ; do you know Latin ? Tell me your story.

MARTHA. I know nothing of Mr. Staveley’s quarrel, nor its cause. As for my story, your ear has evidently been gained in advance.

MARGARET. Well, whatever it may have been, you’ve got a respectable situation.

MARTHA (aside). O, you poor creature ! (Aloud.) Excuse me; I think you ’ll be enlightened yet.

MARGARET. What on earth is going to happen ? One would think that, between you, you’d been brewing a thunderbolt ! For heaven’s sake, let it come ! Do you know my private, my very private, opinion ? Jealousy ! My cousin’s in love with me ; he wishes to marry me himself; of course, he detests poor Pepperel,

MARTHA. I wonder whether, after all, you 're not to be congratulated. You ’ll not he unhappy ; you evidently don’t know true coin from false.

MARGARET. Jealousy, jealousy! You, on your side, are in love with Mr. Pepperel, and it will serve your turn, of course, to have me give him up. You ’ll console him. After the kind things you ’ve said of him, he ’ll vastly need it !

MARTHA. Yes, decidedly, I congratulate you ! You have the happy gift of fitting facts to your fancies. Excuse me ; I must fetch your aunt’s shawls. (Exit to the garden.)

SCENE X. — MARGARET,alone.

MARGARET. Upon my word it’s a conspiracy ; I ’ve got the clew ! One would think I was a child of ten, to be frightened by long faces and big words. With all her demureness, that girl’s an intrigante. I feel for all the world like the heroine of a novel, — a victim of the Inquisition ! (Enter STAVELEY). Your machinery works to a charm ! You ought to have been here just now, to hear little Miss Noel rattle off her lesson.

SCENE XI. — MARGARET, STAVELEY.

STAVELEY. Ah, she has told you —

MARGARET. She told me that Mr. Pepperel was the blackest of villains, — as plump as you’d say good morning. I confess that I want something more than the word of a spiteful little governess, bursting with jealousy !

STAVELEY. Margaret, you ’re cruel.

MARGARET. Very likely; I’m hard pushed. But if this is your great stroke, you’ve lost the game ! Remember, your time is nearly gone ! Twenty minutes hence, I ’m at your service.

(Exit.)

SCENE XII. — STAVELEY,alone.

STAVELEY. She has spoken, then, poor girl — with small success. Martha jealous, Martha spiteful, — she the angel of forgiveness, the soul of generosity ! Aunt Jane, at least, does her justice. I wonder what on earth Aunt jane thinks of my talk. Three questions about herself, her aches and her pains and her pills, and twenty about Miss Noel ! “ She’s a good girl, — a good girl!” For Aunt Jane, that’s great praise. I doubt whether she has ever said it of any other young woman of the present corrupt generation ! Of Margaret and of Margaret’s choice, she altogether disapproves. Apropos of which I began to tell her of my scheme for the enemy’s confusion, when suddenly a certain gleam in those keen black eyes of hers — the frank stare of a wise old woman — seemed to say to me, “ Robert Staveley, you ’re making a mess ! ” And truly, Robert Staveley, where’s your delicacy ? Is Miss Noel’s trouble really fit for nothing but to paint a moral and adorn a tale, for Margaret’s edification ? Is it the part of perfect gallantry to send the poor girl groping back into her dark past for a bugaboo to frighten Margaret ? O, Margaret’s not afraid ! Do I really care so very, very much for my gentle cousin, and so very, very little for Miss Noel, that I’m willing to fold my arms and let Miss Noel fight the battle of my transcendental philanthropy ? Miss Noel would have me believe, perhaps, that she has a battle of her own to fight. Confound it, I’II fight Miss Noel’s battles. Nay, she declines my services! Well, she sha’ n’t fight mine, at all events ! And while I ’m pottering here, where is she ? Has she seen him ? She’s seeing him now,

I suppose ! They ’re talking it over. They’re in the library there, with the door closed. He’s pleading, flattering, swaggering; she’s listening, blushing, remembering ! Ten to one, he ’s insulting her ! Worse than that, he’s offering her twenty per cent on her stolen property ! Damn her property ! Let him keep it ! Really, that’s very well for me to say ! One would think I was jealous. Upon my soul, I am jealous. This raking up of her past altogether offends me ! Good heavens, where are they? (As he turns hastily to go out MARTHA enters from the garden, carrying several shawls and a couple of cushions.) Miss Noel, I was going in search of you. You ’re laden down like a packhorse.

SCENE XII. — STAVELEY, MARTHA.

MARTHA. I ’ve been in the garden picking up the relics of the feast. Here’s one of them, — a dreadful claret stain on this silk cushion. Do you know what’s good for claret stains ?

STAVELEY. Turn that side against the wall. Have you seen him ?

MARTHA. I’ve seen Miss Thorne.

STAVELEY. I know what that means. Accept my humble apologies for inducing you to expose yourself to such misinterpretation.

MARTHA. Miss Thorne is the offended one. There was a time when I would have given advice as cold a welcome.

STAVELEY. I wish you’d forget that time, Miss Noel !

MARTHA. You’ve done something, you know, to remind me of it.

STAVELEY. TO my ineffable regret! Have you seen him ?

MARTHA (listening). I know his step. I hear it on the piazza.

STAVELEY. For heaven’s sake, forget that ! Do me a favor. Forego this interview.

MARTHA. I can’t consent to your seeing him. I prefer to keep my grievance to myself.

STAVELEY. Keep it then and welcome. I only wish to forget it — to forget him !

MARTHA. YOU have forgotten apparently your pledge to your cousin.

STAVELEY. My cousin must shift for herself; I ’ve need of my wits for my own cause. Let the gods interfere, Miss Noel ; they haven’t human hearts ! And, after all, do you know I half pity Pepperel ? (PEPPEREL, coming in from the garden, has heard these last words.)

SCENE XIV.— The Same, PEPPEREL.

PEPPEREL (aside). He pities me, eh ? Does that mean he has made out his case ? I’ve my card to play too. If Martha speaks, I ’ll never believe in a woman again. (Aland.) I ’m sorry to interrupt a tête-à-tête so intimate ! But if Miss Noel will grant me the favor of ten minutes’ conversation —

STAVELEY. Miss Noel is engaged.

MARTHA. Five minutes, I think, will be enough. I will join you in the library.

STAVELEY (with vehemence). Martha, I entreat you —

MARTHA (looking at him for a moment). I seem destined to-day to do as you choose.

PEPPEREL. Miss Noel will, as the advertisements say, hear of something to her advantage.

STAVELEY (to MARTHA). Let there be nothing more between you, for better or worse! He means to offer you your money. Decline it !

MARTHA. O philosopher !

PEPPEREL. To her immediate and substantial advantage.

STAVELEY. You ’ve saved your conscience, sir. You 're excused.

PEPPEREL. Madam, to you I speak.

MARTIIA [after a moment). You’re answered !

PEPPEREL (stares from one to the other and then turns a way with a shrug. Aside.) Excused, answered ! There’s a graceful unanimity ! Really, I think I’m more frightened than hurt. Jupiter Tonans has forgotten his thunder to flirt with — with Hebe ! If I were only an old pagan, I ’d spend the money in vows! Truly, I am pagan enough for that! But what the deuce then does he pity me for? (Aloud.) Your humble servant. [Makes them a bow in silence, and turns toward the door, where he meets MARGARET, with whom he stands a moment in talk, watching MARTHA and STAVELEY.)

STAVELEY. I answered for you, Martha, and you accepted my answer. It is my bold hope that you may allow me to answer for you forevermore.

MARTHA. All this is very strange. You came here for a disinterested purpose. . . . Forgive me. I can’t accuse you of having remained for an altogether selfish one.

STAVELEY. You’ll join me in the library !

MARTIIA. You must not desert your cousin.

STAVELEY. I know my cousin better than I did an hour ago. I think I can leave her to consolidate her own prosperity. She 'll get full weight, in one way or another. Poor Mr. Wigmore ! (MARGARET comes forward with PEPPEREL.)

SCENE LAST. — The Same, MARGARET.

MARGARET. Cousin, I believe we have an appointment. (Looking at her watch.) You Ye overdue.

PEPPEREL. Mr. Staveley has been so busy.

MARGARET. In an hour, you know.

STAVELEY. Really, I’m afraid you must despise me !

MARGARET [after a pause). No, I feel good-natured. [To PEPPEREL). I give you notice, I ’m not always so.

PEPPEREL. Let me take advantage of it to beg you once more to accept my ring.

STAVELEY [to MARTHA, as she turns away). Where are you going?

MARTHA. TO the library!

H. James Jr.