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IF THE BOOK IS UNDER COPYRIGHT IN YOUR COUNTRY, DO NOT DOWNLOAD OR REDISTRIBUTE THIS FILE. _Title:_ In a Garden _Date of first publication:_ 1924 _Author:_ Philip Barry (1896-1949) _Date first posted:_ Jan. 6, 2015 _Date last updated:_ Jan. 6, 2015 Faded Page eBook #20150107 This ebook was produced by: Barbara Watson, Mark Akrigg, Alex White & the online Distributed Proofreaders Canada team at http://www.pgdpcanada.net _In a Garden_ _A COMEDY IN THREE ACTS_ _BY_ _PHILIP BARRY_ _With an Introduction by_ _ARTHUR HOPKINS_ _NEW YORK_ _George H. Doran Company_ COPYRIGHT, 1924, 1926, BY PHILIP BARRY THE AMATEUR ACTING RIGHTS TO THIS PLAY ARE CONTROLLED BY SAMUEL FRENCH, 25 WEST 45TH STREET, NEW YORK CITY. IN A GARDEN —A— PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA _TO_ _ARTHUR HOPKINS_ INTRODUCTION Whatever our intentions there seem to have been previous plans to defeat them. Anxious as we are to be ourselves, other expressions, inadvertent and unanticipated, interpose. None of these obstacles are intentionally unfriendly, deadly as they may be. We are born with dreams and wishes. The processes of group assimilation bring compromise and adjustment, probably not for our good or the good of anyone else but for peace, the costliest of all compromises. But no matter how much we give in or give way there is always a certain residue of ourselves that refuses to be a part of the capitulation and it is this residue that in later life goads and taunts us. So it was with Lissa. She never really capitulated. A great part of her despised the generally accepted scheme. This part of her floated far above man’s surrender and astigmatism. This part of her lived in skies where earthly facts became fallacies. Adrian lived on a plane where facts were indisputable and in spite of his love for Lissa his greatest wish was to bind her to his plane. And so we come to the conflict of people living in different worlds, talking to each other in strange languages, languages that even love cannot interpret. Here is the sad impasse. People will not let others be what they are. They must convert them to terms of their own equations. They insist upon a common denominator. They will not learn that God expresses Himself in many ways and that all His ways are God. It is a truly fine picture of juxtaposed planes that Philip Barry has drawn and those of us who know his work will always be grateful. ARTHUR HOPKINS. _Cast of First Production_ “IN A GARDEN” was first produced by Arthur Hopkins at the Plymouth Theatre, New York City, on November 16, 1925. It was directed by Arthur Hopkins, the settings were designed by Robert Edmond Jones, and the cast was as follows: ADRIAN TERRY _Frank Conroy_ LISSA TERRY _Laurette Taylor_ ROGER COMPTON _Ferdinand Gottschalk_ NORRIE BLISS _Louis Calhern_ MISS MABIE _Marie Bruce_ FREDERIC _Cecil Clovelly_ _Characters_ _Adrian Terry_ _Lissa Terry_ _Roger Compton_ _Norrie Bliss_ _Miss Mabie_ _Frederic_ _Action and Scene_ The action of the play takes place in New York City in the Spring of 1925. The three acts take place in the same setting: the library of Adrian Terry’s house. _IN A GARDEN: ACT ONE_ _In a Garden_ ACT ONE The library is on the second floor of Adrian Terry’s house in Sutton Place, New York. It is a handsome room, in proportion, in decoration, in furnishings. The main entrance is from the hall, at back. Down right there is a door, leading into Adrian’s study. At left, an arch leads into the dining-room. Down right double windows open upon a small balcony admitting sunlight in a volume, over the blue walls and ceiling. Through these windows a portion of a tree is visible against the sky, the house being situated in a section of New York where gardens still exist. Amongst the other furniture in the room, is a writing table. It is late April, 1925. About five-thirty in the afternoon. MISS MABIE is seated at the desk, clipping press-notices from a pile of newspapers, and marking them. She is about 38, slight and plain. She wears nose-glasses, and is rather severely dressed. ROGER COMPTON enters from the hall. He is a gusty little man of 50, partially bald. He appears at the moment to be upset about something. COMPTON Where is he? MISS MABIE Mr. Terry? COMPTON Yes. Of course.—When’s he coming in? MISS MABIE Directly the matinee was over, he said. (_She glances at her watch_) COMPTON Humph! A wonder he’d go to it. MISS MABIE Wouldn’t you want to see your first few performances? COMPTON You know what I mean. (_A silence_) I got that note, Miss Mabie. MISS MABIE I imagined that was what brought you. COMPTON Any other man, and I’d say he was talking for effect. MISS MABIE Not Mr. Terry. He means it, well enough. COMPTON And if there are bridges to be burned, he’ll burn the last stick in ’em, eh? Well, I won’t stand for it! MISS MABIE I presume it’s his privilege to stop writing when he likes. COMPTON Privilege, my eye! He’s made himself public property now. He’s got no more privileges than I have.—Miss Mabie, I’m fond of Terry. MISS MABIE I know that, Mr. Compton. COMPTON I got him his first production. When I was a best-seller he was my ewe lamb.—What are you laughing at? MISS MABIE I’m not laughing. COMPTON (_Shouting_) My ewe lamb he was and my ewe lamb he is!—I don’t care if he’s _seven_ feet tall! And now—just as he’s doing the work _I_ hoped to do, and couldn’t—he quits. (_He turns on her sharply_) _You_ don’t want him to, do you? MISS MABIE I do want him to be happy. (COMPTON _seats himself, disgustedly_) COMPTON Home and fireside, eh? Joy and rapture. Man and wife. MISS MABIE I think if you had lived with those two for seven years, as I have, you’d—— COMPTON I’d nothing of the sort! MISS MABIE It’s—such _complete_ happiness. COMPTON Just let me tell you something that’s true of any artist worthy of the name: when he’s completely happy, he doesn’t work—and when he isn’t working, he isn’t happy—and when he isn’t one or the other, he _dies_. (MISS MABIE _laughs nervously_) MISS MABIE That’s very bright, I’m sure. (COMPTON _leans back in his chair, proud of himself_) COMPTON I know Adrian better than anyone in this world does—_including_ his wife. By “dies” I mean dies spiritually. How’d you like that to happen? MISS MABIE Oh, I shouldn’t. (COMPTON _leans forward again, confidingly_) COMPTON Ready to go to any lengths to save him? _I_ am! MISS MABIE I don’t see anything to be done. COMPTON You realize what his main gift is, don’t you? MISS MABIE Why—his knowledge of people, I suppose. COMPTON He knows no more about people than I do. That’s his pet delusion. Listen: Terry’s god is perfection—the god of the mountains—and Terry’s gift is the gift of making mountains out of molehills. Well—this guest they’re expecting—Norrie Bliss—has he come yet? MISS MABIE His train isn’t due until five-something—why? COMPTON (_With relish_) I’m just a hack novelist, Miss Mabie—but I believe I can hack a molehill out of Bliss—if I’m driven to it. (MISS MABIE _rises_) MISS MABIE I don’t know quite what you’re getting at, but—— COMPTON Oh, don’t worry! It’s not dangerous—(_He chuckles_)—unless Terry makes it so. (ADRIAN TERRY _enters from the hall. He is 40, tall and of youthful figure, with a face uncommonly fine and sensitive, for the strength of the features_) ADRIAN Hello, Roger! (MISS MABIE _goes out, into the study_. ADRIAN _goes to_ COMPTON _and offers him his hand_. COMPTON t_urns from him stiffly, without taking it_. ADRIAN _laughs_) I do love to see you with your blood up. Go on now—ruffle your neck feathers. (COMPTON _glowers at him_) COMPTON Look here, Adrian—how long is it you’ve been writing? ADRIAN Fifteen—sixteen years. (COMPTON _whistles at the ceiling_) COMPTON Good Lord, the cheek of the man! ADRIAN Why “cheek” particularly? COMPTON You think you _can_ stop? Stop for good? Just by saying so? ADRIAN I know it. I have. COMPTON You’re a dramatist to the soles of your shoes. ADRIAN Then let’s say I’ve just put on my slippers—my dancing slippers. (_He does a brief dance step_) COMPTON Don’t _do_ that! (_Then more calmly_) There’s no one to replace you, Adrian. ADRIAN Keep on, and I’ll begin to feel really important. COMPTON Damn it! Do you realize the strides you’ve been making here lately? Do you realize that you may have it in you to turn out stuff that will _live_? ADRIAN (_Wearily_) Oh, Lord! (_Then_) That’s sweet of you, dear Roger—but as I told you in my note, I prefer to live myself. I’m forty, you know. (_He seats himself_) COMPTON What’s forty to a writer? ADRIAN Exactly what it is to a plumber: half of eighty. I find I’m in love with life, Roger—so much so that the mere reflection of it no longer satisfies me. I want the original—undiluted—all I have left of it—all I can get of it. COMPTON So “Back to Nature,” I suppose. ADRIAN Yes—in a way. COMPTON My God, of all places to go. ADRIAN Won’t you join me? Natural Man A. Natural Man B. COMPTON (_Shouting_) There isn’t a natural man in existence!—Not out of prison, or an asylum. ADRIAN Come to see me on visiting-days. COMPTON Different from the rest of the world, aren’t you?—Something very special. ADRIAN In one particular, yes. One important particular. COMPTON What? ADRIAN My wife. COMPTON What’s your wife got to do with it? ADRIAN What _hasn’t_ she! (_A pause, then he continues, with some diffidence_) You see, Lissa and I aren’t like the usual pair. There—there’s never been anyone else for either of us. COMPTON (_Without a smile_) Ha-ha. ADRIAN For either of us! (_He closes his eyes sharply_) What that means! (_Then laughs shortly, to cover this display of emotion_) It means perfection, Roger—in just about the faultiest of all human relationships. Rather a good starting point to the—uh—larger life, don’t you think? COMPTON You make me sick. ADRIAN Let’s hope Lissa is not similarly affected. I’m to tell her today. (_Reflectively_) But do you know, I think Lissa is the one person who’ll entirely understand what I’m driving at. COMPTON _Sweet_ matrimony.—_I_ seem to have missed something. ADRIAN Indeed you have! COMPTON Just as I thought. You’re too blasted, rotten happy. ADRIAN I _am_ happy! COMPTON Well, it’s your finish, understand? (ADRIAN _gaily kisses his hand to the air_. COMPTON’S _voice rises_) COMPTON The end! At forty!—Of money, health, success, and a happy marriage. (_Shouting_) Above all, of a happy marriage! ADRIAN Tsch-tsch—Very grave. COMPTON Yes, by George! If there’s one person in this world who needs a good, stiff dose of misery, it’s you, you damned bluebird. ADRIAN I enjoy your ranting, Roger, but I’m afraid it’s no use. COMPTON If I had one good fresh idea for a play to draw under your nose—— ADRIAN I shouldn’t even sniff. COMPTON Or a wrench of some sort to throw into these joyful works of yours—— ADRIAN They’d withstand it. Really, I’m afraid it’s no use. (_A pause_) COMPTON All right. You won’t hear another peep from me. ADRIAN Thanks.—Then you’re fit to dine with us tomorrow. Can you? The Forellis are coming. COMPTON Sorry. Got an engagement. ADRIAN Can’t get out of it? (LISSA TERRY _enters from the hall_. ADRIAN _and_ COMPTON _rise_) COMPTON Not possibly. (LISSA _has just come in from the street, with a box of flowers under her arm. She wears a smartly-made dress of some soft material, a hat and a light fur-neckpiece. She carries her gloves and a handbag._ LISSA _is 28, a shade above medium height, slim and youthful. In every line of her there is breeding and distinction which serve, in a measure, to temper the beauty of her face_) ADRIAN Hello _Lissa_! LISSA Hello _Adrian_! And, as I live, little Roger!—How are you? COMPTON Splendid, thanks. I needn’t ask about you. LISSA It’s glorious out. ADRIAN How was the concert? LISSA I didn’t go. I just stayed in the park. It was four before I knew it. (_She sniffs the air_) Heavens, how stuffy. Two writers must have been talking shop here. The air’s full of phrases. (_She goes to the windows and opens them wide_) No sign of Norrie yet? ADRIAN William phoned he’d missed him at the station. LISSA A taxi won’t hurt him. (_She opens the flowerbox and holds it under_ ADRIAN’S _nose_) I got these for his room. Aren’t they nice? ADRIAN Aren’t they! (_She turns to go_) Oh, Lissa—— LISSA Yes? ADRIAN Come back after I get rid of this pest, will you? I’ve some news for you. LISSA What about? ADRIAN Me. LISSA Tell me now! ADRIAN Too long a story. LISSA As soon as I get my hat off, then. (_She goes out._ COMPTON _affects a casual air_) COMPTON Bliss hasn’t arrived yet, eh? ADRIAN He’s due today, from the coast. COMPTON I used to know Norris Bliss. Why’s he leaving China? Giving up the diplomatic service? ADRIAN I don’t think so. Just changing posts, I presume. COMPTON Good friend of yours? ADRIAN I know him very slightly. Why? COMPTON _I_ know him very well. (_A pause. He blows a gust of cigarette smoke at the ceiling_)—Though I’ve met him only once. ADRIAN Bared his soul in one interview, eh? COMPTON Without knowing it, he did.—I don’t think much of Bliss, Adrian. (_He rises._ MISS MABIE _comes in from the study, seats herself at the desk and continues to clip and arrange press-notices_) I’ve got some telephoning to do. Do you mind if I do it here? ADRIAN Wait a minute. What’s the matter with Bliss? COMPTON Oh, nothing, nothing at all! ADRIAN Come on! COMPTON Maybe I’m stressing a single impression too much, but—well, isn’t it you who say “Given one good characterizing incident about a man, and you have the man?” ADRIAN It sounds like me. COMPTON Well, _he_ gave me one, right enough. ADRIAN What was it? COMPTON I don’t like to say anything that—— ADRIAN Come on! I won’t publish it. (_A brief pause_) COMPTON He was at Gregory Kendall’s place in Katonah, one day several years ago. I motored over from Croton to take tea with Greg. Ever been there? ADRIAN No. I think not. COMPTON He’s got a little walled garden tucked away in a corner of the orchard. (_He glances at the room about him_) It’s no bigger than this room. Marvellous little affair. His daughter had some young girls with her—all about the débutante age—well-mannered, full of inhibitions—quite unlike the present breed. ADRIAN I was going to say. COMPTON Still, for all their reserve, they seemed to me to be rather combustible. When they’d left, I got talking about ’em to Kendall and Bliss. (_He glances sideways at_ MISS MABIE) I contended that if the primmest of the lot were left alone in that garden with a man, a moon, and perhaps a little distant music—— ADRIAN —The combustion would take place. COMPTON The combustion would take place. And whereas it wouldn’t matter so much to the girl at the time, it might get to matter a lot later on, when she found herself married to someone else. ADRIAN Why so? COMPTON Well, as I said to Bliss, “Every wife is at heart another man’s mistress”—The man who just happened to be on hand when first romance came to flower in her. ADRIAN That’s an amusing observation. COMPTON And a true one. ADRIAN No. Not quite. COMPTON Well, I won’t argue with you whether it’s “Every wife” or “Most wives.” The point is, how Bliss took it. He got up, stretched himself, and announced that he’d bear that in mind at the dance there that night—some fancy-dress thing. Inasmuch as next day he was off to hell-and-gone some place for a number of years, it might be a comforting thought to know he’d left a potential mistress behind him. “For future reference,” he said. ADRIAN Literally? COMPTON Exact words. Kendall laughed, and told him the garden would be open. _I_ thought it was the remark of a young bounder. ADRIAN You think it places him, eh? COMPTON If he went through with it, he offered some perfect child one of my literary concepts as a genuine, original emotion of his own. ADRIAN (_Gravely_) In fact, stole your stuff. (_With a gesture_) Bounder, liar, thief. COMPTON Don’t you think that’s enough? ADRIAN Well—I’d call it a fairly complete characterization. COMPTON And I believe he did go through with it. He’d been looking at one of those girls as if he’d like to eat her up. I heard the next day from someone who’d been at the dance, that the two of ’em disappeared together during the evening and were gone for more than an hour. It worried me. The girl worried me. ADRIAN It probably spun itself out for her, like any other young affair. COMPTON Hadn’t the chance. He was off the next day to China. He left it cut off short intentionally—in cold blood—“for future reference.” ADRIAN Oh, I see—a romance without an outcome. (_A thoughtful pause_) Memories like that do grow in. The heart never tires of imagined possibilities, does it?—It tires only of possibilities realized.—Rather fascinating, you know—rather fascinating—— COMPTON You see what that one little episode might become. ADRIAN Yes—and you’d better grab it, Roger. You haven’t had a first-rate idea in years. Throw the whole story to the husband—_he’s_ your man. If he—— COMPTON (_Lowly, to_ MISS MABIE) Take this down, will you? (MISS MABIE _puts the scrap-book aside and prepares to take down_ ADRIAN’S _observations_) ADRIAN —Of course he’s _bound_ to find out that this—flaw exists in an otherwise perfect relationship between him and his wife. And naturally he’ll have to do something about it. COMPTON Oh?—What, for instance? ADRIAN That depends entirely upon the kind of person you make him. COMPTON Well—say he’s a man of taste—subtlety—ingenuity—ingenious as hell. ADRIAN “Taste”—then no stormy scenes—no fireworks. “Subtlety”—then he’d see the necessity of at once giving that thwarted romance the outcome it lacks. “Ingenuity”—“ingenuity”—(_Then suddenly, excitedly_)—Then, in order to do it, he’d contrive somehow to put those two back into their original setting—not the identical garden, of course—that would make them both suspicious and self-conscious—but one to suggest it—strongly—(_He rises, with a triumphant gesture_)—There you are! COMPTON No I’m not. I’m still here. ADRIAN The roots of that memory lie deep in a certain garden—(_He begins to walk about_)—Your husband’s problem is how to kill the memory—painlessly, and with taste. (_A pause_) His solution is to turn back the clock—cause history to live itself over again, but this time with an outcome—an actual outcome which must inevitably dislodge, supplant that whole glamorous host of imagined outcomes which his wife’s fancy has conjured. Fancy gives way to fact every time—— COMPTON (_With another glance to_ MISS MABIE) Ummmm—so it does. ADRIAN And incidentally, your husband is aware that romantic incidents don’t bear repeating—that _if_ repeated, the memory dies. COMPTON Clever fellow, isn’t he? ADRIAN I took him at your valuation. Where’s the particular brilliance required to foresee how known people will act in a known situation? COMPTON You honestly believe you can foresee? ADRIAN Of course. Every move they’ll make. Well—he knows his wife—naturally. And he knows the other man as—among other pretty things—a liar. All right: back with the two of them into their setting. Leave them alone there. The setting stimulates the liar’s instinct to repeat a successful lie. Whether or not the woman sees through a deception the girl failed to, that roving ghost of a memory will be laid, a sick love will have been made whole. (_A moment—then with intense feeling_) It’s high comedy, Roger. That’s no novel. _That_ lives! (COMPTON _can no longer restrain his laughter_) Oh, confound you! COMPTON What did I tell you?—Mad, crazy in love with a new idea—just as you’ve given up writing forever. ADRIAN It’s not my idea, you fool. COMPTON I give it to you. Take it. ADRIAN Thanks. I don’t want it. COMPTON Don’t want it! You’re lusting for it. (_He rises and extends his hands, in a broad gesture_) There—I make you a present. Better let this be a lesson, young fellow—Your nose for a situation doesn’t grow shorter in a day, you know. ADRIAN Get out! I’m tired of you. COMPTON And you can’t whip off your dramatic instinct like a coat, either. (_He chuckles to himself_) Oh, I have hopes of you now! ADRIAN You needn’t have. COMPTON We’ll see! We’ll see.—Where’s that telephone? ADRIAN In the study. And look over my note-books. The third shelf. I will them to you. COMPTON (_Going toward the study_) Thanks—I wouldn’t deprive you. Tomorrow you’d be wishing ’em back. (_He goes out into the study._ ADRIAN _lights a cigarette and turns to_ MISS MABIE. _They look at each other for a moment without speaking. Then:_) ADRIAN Miss Mabie, there’s one thing I shan’t be able to stand—and that’s that constant look of condemnation—reproach—whatever it is. MISS MABIE I’m sorry. I wasn’t aware that I—— ADRIAN I am an exceedingly happy man these days, and I won’t have my spirits dampened by people reading me lectures—or _looking_ me lectures. (_She makes a helpless gesture with her pad and pencil_) MISS MABIE (_Faltering_) I—I thought—— ADRIAN No—nor outwitting me into doing something I don’t want to do, either. MISS MABIE I understand. But I—I thought if it was really a good idea, I thought it was a pity not to—perhaps to—(_She smiles uncertainly_)—make a gift of it to some one of your writing friends, who—(_Starts to rise from the desk_)—But I see that you—— ADRIAN Just a moment—(_She reseats herself_)—You’ve got the central idea outlined already, haven’t you? MISS MABIE I—don’t know. (_She prepares to take his dictation_) ADRIAN There are three sides to it. First—first—now wait a minute—— (_He thinks, deeply._ MISS MABIE _watches him intently_. LISSA _enters from the hall, unnoticed by either of them_. _She watches them quietly for a moment. Then_ ADRIAN _continues to_ MISS MABIE) Yes!—“Every wife, in her heart, is another man’s mistress.” LISSA What’s all this I hear? ADRIAN A brilliant idea: “Every wife, in her heart, is another man’s mistress.” (LISSA _laughs_) LISSA More than brilliant. But how so? (MISS MABIE _examines her notes_) MISS MABIE (_Quoting_) “The man who happened to be on hand when first romance came to flower in her.” LISSA Dear, dear.—Who’s going to write the music? ADRIAN But seriously, what do you think of it? LISSA Just what I think of most glib sayings that begin “Every woman”—“Any man.” Amusing, perhaps—but true? (_She laughs and shrugs_) Oh, no. ADRIAN They don’t impress you, eh? LISSA Why should they?—“Send a telegram to ‘any man’ of forty, saying ‘Flee. All is discovered.’ Ten to one he’ll flee.”—Only he won’t. “ ‘Most men’ lead lives of quiet desperation.” Only they don’t. “ ‘Every wife’ is at heart another man’s mistress.” Only she isn’t. ADRIAN (_Smiling_) Of course one always excepts those present. LISSA My name is Lissa Legion. Plays are plays, my dear—and life’s life. Don’t try to mix them. They won’t. People are too unexpected. (_She goes toward the hall door_) ADRIAN Don’t go. LISSA I don’t want to disturb you. ADRIAN But you’re not! That’s all for today, Miss Mabie. MISS MABIE I—I’ll type what we’ve got so far. (_She goes out into the study_) LISSA Then you _were_ at something. ADRIAN No. That is—(_He hesitates a moment. Then, with emphasis:_)—No. I was not. (_He goes to her_) Are you prepared for a striking bit of information? LISSA Save it a moment—(_She puts her arms about him, and her head upon his breast_)—Let me stay just here for awhile. (_After a moment she lifts her head, smiling_) Now—— ADRIAN What is it, Lissa? LISSA The old trouble: feeling over-civilized, as you call it. ADRIAN Poor darling.—What would you like to do? LISSA If you’re just beginning a new play, I suppose there’s no chance of our getting away for awhile. ADRIAN But of course there is! LISSA No, never mind. I’m all right. ADRIAN I’m not beginning a new one. LISSA Really? ADRIAN Really. LISSA Then—— ADRIAN Anything. LISSA South Carolina. Some place in the woods, there. Spring doesn’t come fast enough for me. I want to go meet it. ADRIAN Then meet it, you shall. LISSA Oh, I should love it! Thanks—thanks . . . (_She clings to him for an instant, and then leaves him_) If you’re just pampering me! ADRIAN I’m not, though.—Dear—you haven’t been really unhappy? LISSA Have I seemed it? ADRIAN No.—But now—— LISSA It’s just that I came around through the garden. It isn’t fixed yet, but you can feel something under your feet—moving—straining—pushing. . . . (_Breathlessly_) Lovely. . . . (_She laughs, lightly_) Spring fever. Years ago, at school, the nuns gave us brimstone for it. So you may give me hell, if you like. ADRIAN I don’t like. LISSA Oh, _bless_ the boy! I feel better already. ADRIAN _I_ feel like a young colt just turned into pasture. (_He does a dignified gambol._ LISSA _looks on, amusedly. He wheels about suddenly, takes her shoulders in his hands, and demands:_) Ask me “Whence the great joy,” why don’t you? LISSA My sprightly one—whence the great joy? ADRIAN I’ve retired! (LISSA’S _expression of amusement at once leaves her face. She exclaims:_) LISSA Adrian! ADRIAN For good and all!—I’ve written my last play! My last anything! No more! Not another line! (_He flings himself into a large chair, and sits there, smiling contentedly up at her. She takes his head between her hands and gazes searchingly into his eyes_) I mean just that. LISSA Adrian—_why_ . . .? ADRIAN To do something I’ve never had time for—_live_, my dear! (_She shakes his head back and forth between her hands_) LISSA How did you come to it? ADRIAN Direct—by the strongest conviction a man ever had. (_Suddenly her knees give way. She sinks down upon one corner of the chair and buries her head in his breast_) Why, Lissa—— LISSA Oh—I can’t tell you! You don’t know how I’ve wished for it—how I’ve longed! ADRIAN Why, darling—I’d no idea—— LISSA ’Drian, it’s been so awful. I’ve—prayed with my whole heart to believe as you did—books, plays, pictures—more than life itself—greater, finer, you’d say. But I couldn’t. It’s not in me to. Then—I got feeling I must have a blind spot somewhere, because you were so sure of it. Then I—lately—you know, I’ve been braving it out. . . . ADRIAN You’ve been right. It’s I who’ve been—— LISSA No. Things just—struck you differently. Ah, but _now_ they don’t—they don’t, do they, Adrian? ADRIAN Still a little uncertain, are you? LISSA I’ve seen you so long—watching people—drawing them out—finding “situations” where there weren’t any situations at all—_using_ everything, everybody—cutting them up and putting the pieces together again. You went to such lengths with it. . . . ADRIAN Don’t, Lissa—— LISSA Things I loved most—I’ve seen that awful look of—appraisal come in your eyes. Things people said—I’ve watched you repeating them over in your mind, so you wouldn’t lose them, before you got them down. “What’s he do it for?” I’d say—“What’s it all about? Isn’t he content to let things be? What’s he _do_ it for?” ADRIAN Wait, Lissa—— LISSA I’ve even seen myself, dressed up in another person—walking across the stage in your plays—though I don’t think you suspected for a moment, who it was.—I’ve seen that sharp, intent look come—even when you—were with me—alone . . . ADRIAN Oh, no—no, that couldn’t be. LISSA It _has_ been. (_A pause_) Dear, dear Adrian—it’s all past? ADRIAN Completely—absolutely. (_A pause_) LISSA A splendid wife I’ve been! A real help! ADRIAN Lissa, do you want me to go to my room and shoot myself? (_She shakes her head, and contrives to smile_) Well, then—— LISSA But it’s just been because I felt so strongly the other way. Life’s such a precious thing. I’d rather you worked with your hands. I’d rather you did anything, than keep worrying it, that way—trying to hitch it to something—when everything else should hitch to it. ADRIAN I know. I know, dear. LISSA You see, I’m a little crazy: I don’t care anything at all for what they call “accomplishment.”—I think I’d love you—adore you—if you drove a canal barge—— ADRIAN Let’s! LISSA Or just sat the whole day in a meadow, counting your fingers. (_He laughs. She laughs with him_) Rather a pleasant thing, marriage. ADRIAN Not for everyone! But has it occurred to you _why_ ours is perfect—really perfect? LISSA There isn’t any reason. Don’t go looking for reasons, now. ADRIAN I needn’t look! I’ve got it!—Because, my dear, by a heavenly piece of luck, there’s never been anyone else for either of us. There’s not one corner of our hearts, where we aren’t. Perfection like this—it makes everything else rattle like—like an empty—— (_He gropes for the right word, frowning_) LISSA Never mind the word. Words aren’t of any account any more. Oh, what a lark we’re off on! Adrian—_promise_ me you won’t make phrases about the trees. . . . ADRIAN I’ll be too occupied carving our initials on them. LISSA If you would—and mean it! ADRIAN Darling, I shall blush furiously when I hold your hand. (LISSA _extends it to him_) No—I’m too shy. (_They laugh. Then suddenly_ LISSA _becomes very grave_) LISSA Listen, you Adrian Terry: I don’t mind your plays—plays are all right. I shouldn’t a bit mind your writing them—I’d even like it—— (_She hesitates_) ADRIAN If——? LISSA If they wouldn’t creep into our real life and—and infect it! ADRIAN “Infect”—what a ghastly word. LISSA And what a ghastly thing! (_Then, in a rush:_) Oh, make _them_ hitch, too! Let life come first! Life—and then—then all the plays you like. Just so long as you keep the two in their right order! ADRIAN (_Smiling_) I think, for awhile, we’d better concentrate on the one. LISSA _I_ think so! _I_ think we had! (_She leans up and kisses him impulsively_) There!—Now I _must_ see that Norrie’s room’s ready. I shan’t be a minute. (LISSA _goes out into the hall. After a moment_ FREDERIC _enters from the dining-room, sees that_ ADRIAN _is alone and turns to go out again_) ADRIAN What is it, Frederic? FREDERIC I was looking for Madam, Sir.—Mrs. Forelli telephoned to say that they regretted very much they would not be able to dine here tomorrow, as expected. ADRIAN The Forellis can’t come? FREDERIC No, sir. Their youngest child is ill. (COMPTON _enters from the study and picks up his hat and stick_) ADRIAN Oh, too bad.—I’ll tell Mrs. Terry. FREDERIC If you will, sir. (_He goes out into the dining-room._ COMPTON _takes a book from a small table and reads the title_:) COMPTON “Bramblebush Grapes,” by Roger Compton. (_He flings the book into a corner_) Trash! (ADRIAN _laughs_. COMPTON _turns on him_) COMPTON _All_ my stuff’s trash. But _I_ go on!—And then a man like you—Oh, you _fool_, you! (ADRIAN _does a single pirouette_) ADRIAN A happy fool. COMPTON Damn your happiness! (ADRIAN _laughs_. COMPTON’S _face sets_) I’ve a good mind to—— ADRIAN You’ve a good mind to write books with. I’ve a better one, to live with. COMPTON Completely domesticated, eh?—Go curl up on your hearth-rug—tabby-cat! (_He stalks to the hall-doorway_) ADRIAN ’Mind your blood-pressure, Roger. These fits of spleen affect your work.—Learn from me: happiness—contentment. (COMPTON _wheels about and confronts him_) COMPTON Perhaps you’ll be interested to know that the girl Bliss took into Kendall’s garden that night was one Lissa Gay—later to become the wife of one Adrian Terry, professional bluebird! Now! Get happy over that! (_In an instant he is gone._ ADRIAN _stands looking after him without moving. Then he laughs, but unconvincingly._ LISSA _enters from the hall_) LISSA Who was that, going downstairs? ADRIAN Roger Compton. LISSA Oh—I thought for a moment it might be Norrie.—Imagine thinking Roger was Norrie! (_A pause_) ADRIAN How about leaving for the South on Monday, Lissa? LISSA Sunday!—But we don’t know how long Norrie’s staying. ’Drian—what on earth made you ask him? ADRIAN I thought you’d want me to. He’s your friend, not mine. LISSA I hate meeting people again, after so long. Not meeting them so much, as having to be under the same roof with them.—What’s the matter? ADRIAN Nothing. Why? LISSA I thought there might be a smudge on my nose. ADRIAN What’s he like, anyway? LISSA Norrie?—I don’t know, now. Rather a sweet boy, then. Thin, with red cheeks. Young. Fresh as a daisy. Fearfully—natural. I think he was the most natural person I’ve ever known. ADRIAN Afraid he’ll have changed? LISSA Well—yes. Yes, I am. ADRIAN One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight years. LISSA —Of the diplomatic. Pan in a morning-coat. Pan with an oyster-fork. ADRIAN He wore a leopard-skin, and ate with his fingers? LISSA I prattle in metaphor, my dear—once your favorite language. His dress and manners were perfect. Pan was inside them. ADRIAN Still is, perhaps. LISSA I doubt it.—And I know nothing whatever about the Situation in the Near East, and I don’t care a rap whether the Door to China is open or closed. (ADRIAN _gives the following questions rapidly, concisely_) ADRIAN Do you know his family? LISSA Slightly. ADRIAN A large one? LISSA He’s the only child, I believe. ADRIAN Where did he go to school? LISSA I’ve forgotten. ADRIAN College? LISSA I think it was Harvard. ADRIAN How old is he? LISSA About thirty, I suppose. ADRIAN Clever? Amusing? LISSA Only so-so. ADRIAN Money? LISSA Enough, I expect. ADRIAN Sporting, I presume.—Play tennis? Golf? Polo? (_She frowns at him, puzzled, then laughs_) LISSA Religion? Politics? Size of collar?—As a matter of fact, I know very little about him. It’s the silliest thing in the world, having him here, really it is. I wish you’d been less hospitable. ADRIAN The cable came—you were in Baltimore. It sounded as if he wanted to be asked, and had, in decency, to be answered. LISSA Not before consulting my exceedingly important wishes. ADRIAN I thought I was merely anticipating them. LISSA That, my dear man, is a thing you’ve got to learn: that you can’t anticipate anyone’s. ADRIAN Not those of a person I know as I do you? LISSA And how do you know me? ADRIAN Seven years’ worth. LISSA It’s not enough. What about the twenty before? ADRIAN I could give you a complete history of each—from birth, in the first, with a silver spoon in your mouth, to début in the twentieth, with two orchestras. LISSA And just what does my history prove? ADRIAN Well—here you are. . . . LISSA Knowing the—process of manufacture, you can foretell the product. ADRIAN Why, yes. LISSA Am I it, Adrian? (_They look at each other fixedly_) ADRIAN (_Finally_) You’re Lissa—my wife—and I love you. I love you, Lissa. (_She laughs_) LISSA There—that’s better. Your first lesson—learned late, my dear! ADRIAN But you’re different! LISSA So is everyone! That’s the next lesson. (FREDERIC _enters_) FREDERIC Mr. Bliss, sir. LISSA Yes. Send him here. (FREDERIC _goes out. For a moment_ LISSA _stands, thinking silently_) What I _can’t_ make out, is why he came at all on such an invitation. Well, anyway—(_She goes to_ ADRIAN, _puts her arms around him, and kisses him impulsively_)—Good-bye, for a few days. ADRIAN What on earth! LISSA (_Gravely_) We are no longer man and wife. We are host and hostess. (ADRIAN _laughs_. LISSA _assumes the manner of a hardened hostess_) _I_ think the Chinese treaty with Syria was a mere political manœuver to force the Cornish fishermen into Biarritz. ADRIAN Hush, darling! LISSA _But_—can Article Seven, Paragraph Three, reduce the consumption of barley-water in the White House? Tell me _that_? (NORRIE BLISS _enters from the hall. He is thirty, well-built, well-dressed. Handsome, perhaps, but his charm lies principally in the impression he gives of a fresh and youthful vitality. He carries a flat package, wrapped in tissue-paper, which he drops upon the desk. He goes at once to_ LISSA, _and takes her hand, eagerly_) BLISS Lissa! This is good! LISSA Dear Norrie. Isn’t it?—You know Adrian, of course. ADRIAN Yes, indeed. (_He and_ BLISS _shake hands_) BLISS (_To them both_) You’re so nice to take me in, this way. ADRIAN The greatest pleasure, having you. BLISS (_To_ LISSA) You got the hint in my cable admirably. After two weeks on the sea and another in a train, I couldn’t endure the thought of a hotel—not even for two days. ADRIAN You must be worn out. LISSA Surely you’ll be here more than two days? (_She seats herself in a chair by the table_) BLISS Washington the day after tomorrow. Then straight to Maine. LISSA Maine? So early? BLISS I can scarcely wait. LISSA (_To_ ADRIAN) The diplomatist speaks! BLISS Do let me make all the faux pas I like. I’m so sick of not making them. (_He seats himself facing_ LISSA) I’ve bought a farm in Maine—rather an enormous farm. Part of it’s thick wood—virgin-forest, very nearly.—You might say flapper-forest. LISSA A pretty distinction. ADRIAN Very. (LISSA _points to the package_) LISSA What’s that? BLISS (_Mysteriously_) Shhhh! (_To_ ADRIAN) Part’s on the sea. I figure on spending some eight months of the year there. ADRIAN But what about your—career? BLISS I am on the point of changing careers. Hence the détour, by way of Washington—with resignation in hand. (LISSA _picks up the package and feels it_) ADRIAN Going back to Nature, eh? BLISS Back to Nature. ADRIAN That’s interesting.—I’m doing the same thing. BLISS We’d best form a club. (_To_ LISSA) Put that down. (LISSA, _with the air of a child caught in a guilty act, replaces the package_. BLISS _to_ ADRIAN:) The United Sons of Nature. (LISSA _sits gazing at the package in fascination. He moves it behind the chair, out of the range of her vision_) LISSA Who cares what it is? ADRIAN I’ve a friend who claims there’s not a really natural man at large. BLISS Send him to me: If he’s plump, and I’m hungry, I’ll have him for dinner. LISSA —If it isn’t a present. ADRIAN Don’t notice her. (BLISS _gazes at her_) BLISS You’d have to be blind, I think. (_A pause, which becomes a trifle awkward. Then:_) LISSA —And if it isn’t, then what is it? (BLISS _merely smiles_) You fiend, you—what is that thing? BLISS Since you ask, a little gift for my hostess. LISSA What? BLISS For the sake of Auld Lang Syne. (ADRIAN _glances at him quickly_) Three guesses. LISSA Auld Lang Syne?—A set of bagpipes. BLISS Perhaps “Sweet Memory’s Sake” is better. (ADRIAN’S _smile becomes fixed_) LISSA You give that here! (_She snatches the package and tears it open, disclosing a white Chinese shawl, of beautiful and striking pattern. She exclaims with joy, then suddenly becomes grave, hugs it to her, and looks over it, to_ BLISS) Norrie! (BLISS _affects to cover a yawn_) BLISS The merest trifle. (LISSA _thrusts it toward_ ADRIAN) ADRIAN Beautiful. Simply beautiful. LISSA (_To_ BLISS) Oh—thanks. . . . (_With a quick gesture, she whips the shawl out of its folds and about her shoulders_) I’ll wear it to the theatre tonight. (_She busies herself arranging the shawl more evenly about her_) ADRIAN It’s the second night of my latest—I should say “last” opus. The first real audience, you know. I hope it won’t bore you. BLISS On the contrary, I should love to see it. (LISSA _presents herself to them with the shawl now perfectly arranged_) LISSA There! Who’ll buy my violets? BLISS You lovely, lovely thing. You know, you haven’t changed a particle. LISSA Isn’t he nice, Adrian? (ADRIAN _smiles. She turns again to_ BLISS) Did he expect a kind of—dried apricot? BLISS At least. LISSA Or perhaps I was pictured as—more ample. (_She goes to the window_) Did I hobble across your mind’s eye with a stick? Or did I roll, balloon-wise?—Look—we have a view—(_She draws aside the window-curtains._ BLISS _goes to her side_)—Heavenly, over here, isn’t it?—The East River, in case you don’t know.—And you don’t find many gardens like _that_ in New York! BLISS No—I should say you don’t. (_Their backs are to_ ADRIAN. _He stares at them fixedly_) What’s that—that little shoot of green, there? LISSA Where?—I don’t see—— ADRIAN Dear—isn’t it tomorrow the Forellis are dining here? LISSA Thursday, yes. (_To_ BLISS) Where——? ADRIAN It’s the first of May. That’s a great day for Florentines. (LISSA _turns absently, after a pause_) LISSA Oh, so it is. “Primavera,” or something. . . . (_To_ BLISS) I don’t see—— (_He points_) ADRIAN Suppose you let me plan a miniature fiesta for them to celebrate it. LISSA Do! ADRIAN Also to commemorate the return of us three truant-children of Nature to our Mother. LISSA (_Still absently_) Of course! ADRIAN All I ask—(_He looks about him_)—is permission to do as I like with this room. All right? LISSA Gladly! We’ll be—(_She counts on her fingers_)—six. (_To_ BLISS) Adrian’s particularly good at fiestas. (_She smiles at_ ADRIAN) He was born a celebrator. (_Again she looks out the window_) Where do you see any green, Norrie—— (BLISS _points once more_) BLISS There beside the path—to the left. LISSA Oh! It’s the first one! It is! And an hour ago there wasn’t a sign of it! (_She leans a little way out the window_) Hello, you crocus—— (BLISS _turns to_ ADRIAN) BLISS The crocus is plainly a piece of old bottle. LISSA (_In high spirits_) Come on! Let’s go look! (_She goes to the hall door, speaking over her shoulder to_ BLISS:) If it is, I’ll grind it up and put it in your tea. (_To_ ADRIAN) And forget what I said about going to meet the Spring. It’s here already! It’s arrived! Come! (ADRIAN _manages to laugh_) ADRIAN I’ll follow in a moment. (LISSA _leaves her shawl on a chair by the door and goes out_, BLISS _after her_. ADRIAN _stands gazing into space, his presentiment taking a stronger and stronger hold upon him. A moment, then he goes toward the door, where he is brought up short by the sight of the shawl upon the chair. Suddenly his eyes begin to glint and his mouth hardens. He rings for_ FREDERIC, _goes to the desk, seats himself, and calls sharply in the direction of the study_) ADRIAN Miss Mabie! (_She appears in the doorway. From now until the end of the Act_, ADRIAN _speaks rapidly, and with a kind of hard, dry precision_) What’s Prendergast’s address? MISS MABIE Prendergast, the agent? ADRIAN No, no!—Prendergast, in Philadelphia. His house. MISS MABIE “Cottonwood,” Villa Nova. (ADRIAN _notes the address_) ADRIAN And will you please call Mr. Kendall—Gregory Kendall. Something East Seventy-something. Ask him if he has any photographs of his small garden in Katonah. If so, I should like to borrow them for a day or two. (_He begins to write a note._ MISS MABIE _goes into the study_. FREDERIC _enters from the hall_) FREDERIC Yes, sir? ADRIAN (_As he writes and addresses the note_) Frederic—we want to make dinner tomorrow something of an occasion—to celebrate May Day. Go to the florist—order plenty of Spring flowers—not all daffodils and hyacinth—some mimosa—wild flowers, if he can get them—and greens, lacey ferns, maidenhair—lots of it. I’m having some flat-scenery sent from the theatre. If it’s possible, this room is to be transformed into—into a kind of walled-garden. FREDERIC (_Nodding_) And how many shall you be for dinner? ADRIAN Set six places. FREDERIC You remember that Mr. and Mrs. Forelli are not coming—— ADRIAN Yes—but there may be others.—If, by any chance, there should not, if we should be only three, say, or—or even two—everything’s to proceed just the same. You understand? FREDERIC Yes, Sir. (ADRIAN _stamps the note and gives it to him_. MISS MABIE _re-enters, in her hat and coat_) ADRIAN (_To_ FREDERIC) It’s possible that I may be called away by telegram at the last moment.—This is to go immediately. I want it in Philadelphia by morning. (FREDERIC _bows and goes out_) MISS MABIE Mr. Kendall has the photographs, and will be very glad to lend you them. Shall I——? ADRIAN No. I’ll send for them, later.—We’re having a May Day party, Miss Mabie. I wish, in the morning, you’d go to the Library and dig out all the data you can on the various Spring festivals—the Primavera, the Planting, the Seed-Festivals, and the like—— MISS MABIE Very well. (ADRIAN _goes to the window. She hesitates. Then:_) I—I suppose now that you’ve—left your profession, I shan’t be needed any more. ADRIAN Nonsense! We couldn’t think of parting with you. In a month you’ll be quite as indispensable to Mrs. Terry as you’ve been to me. MISS MABIE I am not a social secretary, Mr. Terry. (ADRIAN _is looking intently down into the garden_) ADRIAN What’s that?—But I didn’t say—— MISS MABIE I shall stay only as long as I can be of service to you—and your work—and your happiness. (_She goes to the door_) ADRIAN But I tell you—— MISS MABIE (_From the door_) Good-night, Mr. Terry. (ADRIAN _looks at her, sees that she means what she says, and shrugs_) ADRIAN Good-night. (_She goes out._ ADRIAN _turns again to the window_) CURTAIN _IN A GARDEN: ACT TWO_ ACT TWO The Library, with the aid of flat-scenery, trellises, a carpet of grass and a profusion of flowers, greens, shrubs and leafy screens, has been transformed into something stealthily approaching the likeness of an old walled-garden. It is desirable that the scene should undergo several changes in the course of the Act, these changes being regulated entirely by the lighting: at first, with some little daylight still coming from the windows, it is obviously a stage “exterior,” of a kind of sinister artificiality; the “struts” that hold the gray garden-walls in place are plainly visible, and the walls, doorways, ceiling and windows of the surrounding Library may be seen almost as before. Later, with the dimming of the outside light, it begins gradually to take on more of the intended illusion. When the “moonlight” is first inadvertently turned on by Lissa, the effect should be one of enchantment, greenish, unnatural, owing to the mixture of the moonlight with the little remaining daylight from the windows. Toward the end of the Act, when it is entirely dark outside and ADRIAN again turns on the moonlight, the effect should be nearer—though never quite—that of an actual garden flooded with Spring moonlight. The furniture has been replaced by a few stone benches, a large jar or two, and a stone table. On pedestals against the trellis at the back are four little stone figures, representing the Four Seasons. A library-lamp has been left upon a table, behind a screen of greens against the trellis. It is about seven o’clock the following evening. ADRIAN is arranging the last bit of vine upon the trellis at Back. FREDERIC is gathering stray pieces into a box. ADRIAN That ought to do, I think. (FREDERIC _carries the box to the dining-room doorway_) FREDERIC Will you look at the table, Sir? (ADRIAN _goes and looks into the dining-room_) ADRIAN Oh, yes—it’s much better without the cloth. Too many candles, though. Two are enough. FREDERIC For six people, Sir? ADRIAN Two candles—there will be light from here. Besides, as I told you, we may not be six.—Where is Mrs. Terry? FREDERIC I think she is dressing. Shall I——? ADRIAN No, I don’t need her. Has Mr. Bliss come in yet? FREDERIC I haven’t heard him. ADRIAN Let me know when he does. (FREDERIC _goes out into the dining-room_. ADRIAN _advances into the Library_. MISS MABIE _appears in the hall doorway, wearing her hat and carrying a portfolio. She stops in surprise, at the change in the room_) Lissa! You mustn’t—Oh, it’s you, Miss Mabie. Come in—come in—it’s all right. MISS MABIE (_In admiration_) Really, Mr. Terry, really! ADRIAN I was afraid you were—I didn’t want Mrs. Terry or—the others to see it till this evening. MISS MABIE But however did you manage it? ADRIAN I’ve had a pair of stagehands working since noon and an electrician since three. It’s what’s left of the flier Roseman took in Romeo and Juliet. Like it? MISS MABIE Ye-es.—Of course it does look a trifle stagey. ADRIAN Now.—But our particular brand of moonlight makes palm-trees out of feather-dusters. MISS MABIE Moonlight? (ADRIAN _points to the ceiling downstage_) ADRIAN Along there. Blue border. MISS MABIE Where? I don’t—Ah yes! The trellis hides it. ADRIAN Extraordinary, what a difference it makes. A touch on that button and the library becomes a walled-garden under the Spring moon. MISS MABIE Fascinating! Let me see—— (ADRIAN _goes to the hall doorway and presses the switch button. Nothing happens_) ADRIAN What the devil!—Oh, of course: the electrician’s gone to change the fuse. He’ll be back shortly, I expect. MISS MABIE It’s all very pretty—very pretty, indeed.—But the little statues—and the mimosa—_they_ weren’t in the photographs. ADRIAN I didn’t want an exact copy.—Mail the photographs back to Mr. Kendall, will you? MISS MABIE —And shall I put yesterday’s notes in the post for Mr. Compton? ADRIAN Better hold them a day or so. Something else may occur to me. MISS MABIE If—if I may say so—— ADRIAN Say so? Say all you like! Say what? MISS MABIE I—I hope something else _does_ occur. ADRIAN Oh? Why—— MISS MABIE Because—as it stands—it seems to me you’re putting the—idea ahead of the characters. ADRIAN It’s the merest outline. MISS MABIE I realize that. But if the husband—I hope you’ll excuse me, Mr. Terry—— ADRIAN Go ahead. MISS MABIE If he—turns the clock back as you suggested, I think he’d run into complications—in the characters themselves, I mean. ADRIAN He’ll take those into account. MISS MABIE _Can_ he, though? ADRIAN I believe so. He knows people. MISS MABIE But—but they might get out of his hands. ADRIAN No more than _my_ characters—whom _I_ know—get out of mine. MISS MABIE Still—(_She regards him intently_)—Aren’t you feeling well, Mr. Terry? ADRIAN I?—perfectly! MISS MABIE You look worn out. ADRIAN I was up rather late again. A night’s sleep is all I need. (FREDERIC _enters with a telegram_. MISS MABIE _extracts a sheaf of pencilled notes from her portfolio_) MISS MABIE I’ve collected quite a lot of information on the celebration of Spring Festivals in various countries. ADRIAN Thanks. Thanks very much. FREDERIC A telegram, Sir. (ADRIAN _takes it_. FREDERIC _turns to go_) ADRIAN Just a minute. (_To_ MISS MABIE) I’d—uh—I’d like to have it all typed before dinner. Have you time? MISS MABIE Yes, indeed. Two carbons? ADRIAN One’s enough. (_She goes into the study._ ADRIAN _gives the telegram back to_ FREDERIC) I don’t want to be bothered now. Bring this back to me before dinner. FREDERIC I’ll leave it here, Sir. (_He places it on the table_) ADRIAN No! Take it!—Bring it in before dinner—just before. FREDERIC But—— ADRIAN _Take_ it! FREDERIC I beg pardon, Sir. (_He goes into the dining-room with the telegram._ ADRIAN _is left alone. He shakes his head impatiently, glances at his watch, then busies himself adjusting the properties of the setting. After a moment_, LISSA, _in evening dress, the shawl about her shoulders, enters from the hall. She is in rare good spirits_) LISSA Oh—how _nice_! My dear, it’s quite lovely. . . . ADRIAN You wretch. LISSA Why? ADRIAN You weren’t to see it yet. LISSA Never mind—I couldn’t be more impressed. (_She looks about her, amused_) It’s enchanting, ’Drian. Anything might happen here—— ADRIAN Think so? LISSA Anything.—Pity you’ve given up writing, isn’t it? (_He turns away, without answering_) Is it too early to joke about that? ADRIAN Lissa—— LISSA Adrian? ADRIAN Of course it’s all settled that I _have_ given it up—— (_She looks at him, oddly_) LISSA Yes. (_A pause_) ADRIAN Why “yes”—just like that? LISSA Like what? (_A deep breath_) Oh, this is lovely—lovely. . . . ADRIAN As if you didn’t mean “yes” at all—— LISSA Curious, then, that I shouldn’t have said “no.” Why! It’s mimosa! (_She breaks off a twig, smells it, and fastens it upon her dress_) Well—“now that it’s all settled”—what——? ADRIAN You don’t want us—just living along haphazard, without rhyme or reason, do you? LISSA I might like a little rhyme at times. I can always manage without reason. Ouch! I stuck myself. ADRIAN Darling, I’m serious. Can’t you see I want to talk to you? LISSA I’m not far—— ADRIAN I’ve got a great plan for you and me. (_A pause_) LISSA I’ve had a number of plans made for me, in my lifetime. ADRIAN Why does your voice do that? LISSA Do what? ADRIAN Go—suddenly tired, that way. LISSA I didn’t know it did.—Adrian, what is it you’re trying to persuade yourself of? ADRIAN _Persuade_ myself? LISSA Yes—or justify yourself in? ADRIAN I _thought_ I was merely telling you a plan I had. LISSA Very well: I’m listening. ADRIAN Well—our everyday existence, as we plan to lead it now—happy as it will be, there’s bound to be waste in it, isn’t there? LISSA I don’t know what you mean by “waste.” ADRIAN Days at a time, when nothing in particular happens. Whole weeks that drop out of it. Flat stretches—repetition—confusion—all for need of something to tie to. That’s what we lack, Lissa,—something to tie to. (_With emphasis_) Some guiding idea. LISSA (_After a moment_) Oh? Such as? ADRIAN Well—something to make life an actual, true adventure—in place of the usual—uh—Cook’s tour into age. (_He rolls the phrase upon his tongue_) The usual, uneventful Cook’s tour into age. LISSA Yes—it _is_ a good phrase.—Don’t beat about the phrase-bush, ’Drian.—Just—tell me the plan. ADRIAN I’ve a feeling you’re not with me. LISSA What makes you think so? ADRIAN I know something about audiences. (_She averts her head, suddenly_) There you go again! Why do you do that with your head? What does it mean? Is it that you’re——? LISSA (_Suddenly and sharply_) Adrian, I— (_A brief pause. Then, calmly_) I’m waiting so patiently to hear this—idea that’s to guide my life. ADRIAN It’s simplicity itself: First, look on life always with an artist’s eye, get an angle—an _angle_—and keep to it. Then take the everyday material as any fine artist does—and arrange—select—condense—— LISSA I’m sorry, but I’m afraid that for me, life’s got to be taken whole. I can’t imagine it otherwise. It’s—just the feel of it I love so—the unexpectedness. . . . ADRIAN But my dear—there need be nothing unexpected in this world! _You_ know that! LISSA No, I don’t. ADRIAN Then it’s time you did. Because I assure you, there’s cause and effect wherever you look—a basic reason for everything. LISSA Why is it birds fly, ’Drian—instead of walking soberly along the ground? ADRIAN Because a pterodactyl once climbed a tree, that’s why. LISSA You’re not really going to _tell_ me! ADRIAN —Fell down, and climbed it again. Then, through a gradual evolution lasting for—— LISSA I don’t want to hear! ADRIAN Dig deep enough into anything, and you’ll come on a substratum of unconscious motive. You can’t escape that. LISSA I can escape digging. ADRIAN But _Lissa_—not one instant exists without its point, its significance. It’s merely the consciousness of the point, the significance, that I’m pleading. “Life lived as fine literature—high comedy”!—_There’s_ our guiding idea! High comedy—with ourselves as dramatists and characters too—directors and scene-shifters—actors and audience—yes!—audience, as well! LISSA And you believe things _can_ be got at that way? ADRIAN Why not?—We apply to life what we’ve learned in the theatre: there’s a great metamorphosis: each minute thing we see, or do, or hear, or feel—it will take on color and flavor—become vital, electric—— LISSA But things do have color, for me. Things _are_—very vital to me. ADRIAN But they must contribute something—express something—relate somehow to the _idea_—the idea at the source!—And the scope of it—think! There’s no limit—no horizon! The whole world—life itself—_everything_ is transformed! (_A pause._ LISSA _looks fearfully about her, at the setting_) LISSA And this—is this part of it? Our—starting-place, maybe? (ADRIAN _laughs_) ADRIAN Oh now come, dear. You’re—— LISSA And yesterday I thought—(_Suddenly_)—I’m scared, Adrian. ADRIAN Of what? LISSA (_In a breath_) I don’t know! I’m scared! ADRIAN Lissa—really—you’ve no cause to—— LISSA No! Let’s not talk any more of it! Not now. Later, perhaps, but not now—no—no—(_She glances about her again, endeavoring to compose herself_) The Forellis will adore it, won’t they? ADRIAN But you’ve plainly misunderstood me. What I meant was—— LISSA Big Tony, particularly. Can’t you see his face shine? ADRIAN Lissa, I want you to understand that my—— LISSA You’ve been so clever with it. How well you do things! How _finished_ everything you do, is. (_He gestures helplessly, beaten. She glances into the dining-room_) I’ve never seen such a table. Bianca will eat too much again. ADRIAN (_After a pause_) The Forellis can’t come. LISSA Can’t _come_? At this hour? ADRIAN Bianca phoned that little Tony’s ill. LISSA Oh, the poor darling. I must stop by with something tomorrow.—And poor you—after all your pretty plans. ADRIAN You and Bliss and I will have to celebrate by ourselves. LISSA We might get some others to fill in. ADRIAN “At _this_ hour”? LISSA I’ll telephone the Remsens—— ADRIAN Haven’t they sailed? LISSA Peter Farrell and Zöe—— ADRIAN Oh no, dear—not for this sort of thing. Let’s have it to ourselves. What time is it, anyway? LISSA Seven-thirty, nearly. . . . (_He starts toward the hall_) ADRIAN I’d better step.—But there’s another surprise. Don’t touch anything, will you? LISSA (_Dully_) No, I won’t touch anything. (_At the door, he turns_) ADRIAN Lissa—_why_ is it that you——? (_She looks directly into his eyes, and shakes her head, slowly. Then:_) LISSA You’d better dress, don’t you think? (ADRIAN _returns from the hall-doorway and goes out into the dining-room instead_. LISSA _is left alone. For one instant, she presses her fingers hard against her temples. Then she begins to tour the room, arranging little things here and there in an attempt to stay the disillusionment which is pressing in upon her._ BLISS _enters from the hall, dressed for dinner. He stops short at the sight of the room_) BLISS Well, I’ll be——! (LISSA _exclaims. He takes a deep breath_) Hasn’t it got a nice smell! LISSA But you weren’t supposed to come in yet! BLISS I don’t move on cues. LISSA Can you be surprised twice? BLISS Oftener. LISSA There’s a bench, if you like. BLISS The ground’s softer. (_He seats himself upon the floor, facing her. The daylight from the window has now dimmed considerably_) LISSA This is perfect high comedy atmosphere, I’ll have you know. We must lend ourselves to it. (_She hands him an imaginary cup_) Won’t you have some tea? BLISS (_Affectedly_) Thanks, so much. LISSA (_More affectedly_) Nine lumps, or twenty-one?—One gives tea to so many people in the course of a season, one forgets what one would remember—if you know what I mean. BLISS No sugar. Salt. LISSA Salt. BLISS Salt. (_She smiles sweetly and gives it to him. They pretend to drink their tea_) LISSA They say dear Lady Vi is seen much, of late, in the company of that Italian. BLISS Let us trust she does not lose too much in translation. (LISSA _laughs, archly_) LISSA And to what discreet indiscretions have _you_ devoted yourself today? BLISS I’ve been Spring-shopping. LISSA Ah?—For what——? BLISS Farm tractors. LISSA Did you find some nice ones? BLISS I compromised on an apple-green necktie, with dots. LISSA I’m so glad you’re finding our city agreeable. (_Softly_) Comedy, my friend, comedy. . . . BLISS New York is lovely in Spring. LISSA Streets full of people, in their gay attire—Comedy, high comedy. . . . BLISS Spring is the time. LISSA Spring’s the time. BLISS Hot Springs. LISSA Hot Springs eternal—— BLISS ——in the Golden West. LISSA South, though. BLISS Doesn’t matter. LISSA Better than Winter, Spring. BLISS Better than Summer. LISSA Better than Autumn. BLISS Better than all. LISSA Spring is the time! BLISS For all good men—— LISSA ——to come to the aid of—(_She falters_)—of—— (_She cannot go on_) BLISS (_With spirit_) As we go marching through Georgia. (LISSA _sits staring at her handkerchief_) LISSA (_Recovering_) There’s a hole in the bottom of the sea—— BLISS Good, in everything. (_She shows him her handkerchief_) LISSA Look—my initials upside down are the same as right-side-up. BLISS Amazing! LISSA True, though. BLISS I dressed in ten minutes, in the hope of a moment with you before the others came. LISSA Which might account for my dressing early, too. BLISS (_Starting forward_) You darling! LISSA I think you’re spilling your tea. (_A brief pause_) BLISS Haven’t you had enough of it, Lissa? LISSA (_Wearily_) More than. BLISS Then let’s not. LISSA Let’s never. (_He tosses his imaginary tea-cup to one side. She tosses hers to the other, then glances about her_) But you like this—arrangement? BLISS Reminds me of some place—don’t quite know what. Do you? LISSA I like it well enough. BLISS Don’t like anything, much, h’m——? LISSA Oh yes!—A thousand things. BLISS What things? LISSA Oh—my own things—simple things. BLISS Name ten. LISSA Would you really like to know? BLISS I really should. (_She regards him thoughtfully for a moment, then begins to count them off on her fingers_) LISSA Then—ships—and shoes, too—if they’re slippers, instead. Sealing-wax, of course—heavenly stuff. Kings, but not cabbages. Pine-woods. Alligator pears. Old tombstones, and small, fresh yellow ducks. Not chickens. Chickens are less charming. Blue larkspur. Altars. Ten—— BLISS Ten more! LISSA Folk-songs, if they’re unintelligible. Sulphur-matches. Quiet pools. Picket fences. The red-brown of old cows’ eyes. Crystal. Rhubarb for breakfast. Milk bottles jangling at dawn. Great, sodden bumble-bees. Waking up. Laughter. The footprints dreams leave . . . (_She throws out her hands_) _More_ than a thousand! Many, many more! (_A pause. Then, lowly_) But no one knows why I like them—myself least of all. And they don’t contribute to anything—express anything—relate to anything.—People say that they must though. BLISS Not I! LISSA You don’t? (BLISS _shakes his head. Suddenly she leans forward with lowered brows and points her finger at him_) But what about the substratum of unconscious motive? You can’t get away from _that_, can you? BLISS I can get away from whatever I like. LISSA But my dear man! Basic reasons!—For such things as—as the flight of birds, say.—You actually insist that the fact of their originally being—uh—pterodactyls, who happened to live in trees—you actually insist that that means nothing at all to you? BLISS They could have been lavendar giraffes, with long magenta tails. They could have lived in old cabooses under the sea, so long as they fly, fly, keep flying. LISSA (_In a whisper_) It’s miraculous.—You’re a singular man, Norrie—one feels like a child, with you. That’s—an almost forgotten joy, for me. (_She averts her head_) There flows the sea, there fly the birds, here live I. (_She bends her head, and, with her little finger, begins to trace the fine lines in her palm. Her words are like a low chant_) Oh, grasshoppers hop, and field-mouses mouse, and Wise Ones write books on isms, whys and wherefores. But people live, and love, and die, and the same old world keeps turning just the same, same, same, same. . . . (_She clasps her hands at the nape of her neck and gazes up at the ceiling. The room is now almost dark_) Stars. I wish I had a star. Or a baby. But I shan’t ever have either. Sad, isn’t it? BLISS Lissa, do you want to break my heart? LISSA Is it you, Norrie?—I can scarcely see. . . . (_A moment, then she leans over and pats his cheek with two fingers. He catches her hand, and kisses it. Slowly she draws it away from him_) Dear Norrie—_let_ me be nice to you. I think I’ve waited a long time, to be nice to you. BLISS This garden—— LISSA Tell me about your farm. (_A pause. Then_ BLISS _begins, in a brave endeavor to be matter-of-fact_) BLISS Four hundred acres in all—counting the timberland. LISSA Woods? BLISS Plenty of them. LISSA Near the sea, you said. BLISS A few hundred yards of rocky coast. LISSA Ahhh—— BLISS It was my uncle’s. The house is nearly a hundred years old. The plumbing is five. LISSA Hundred? BLISS Years. LISSA The real heavenly mansion. (BLISS _laughs_) BLISS The rooms are few, and spacious. The sun rises and sets in them. There are a thousand-odd books in the library. LISSA The books—interest you? BLISS Not much. But I think my uncle chose the bindings for their colors. LISSA The dear! BLISS Near the rhubarb-patch, ducks—yellow ducks—are forever being hatched. Cows are everywhere, each with two red-brown eyes. Up the road a way, there’s an old, overgrown graveyard, containing, as graveyards do, tombstones. You go down a gravel path to the garden, where the air is sweet with foxglove, cinnamon-pinks, larkspur—blue. I shan’t grow cabbages, but I shall keep bees. LISSA (_Her face shining_) Bumble-bees! Big fellows! BLISS Over beyond the pool, where I learned to swim, you climb a steep rock to the watch-tower, where you see the ships pass, on their way to somewhere—— LISSA Mmmmmm—— BLISS In the pine-woods, magic dwells. At night the sea is a filagree of silver, through the trees. . . . (LISSA _looks at him, oddly_) LISSA What a charming way to put it. BLISS Pine needles cover the ground like—like—— LISSA ——like pine needles, Norrie. (_A pause_) There are to be no bushes there? BLISS Bushes? LISSA To beat about. (BLISS _turns away from her, and rises_) BLISS I’m sorry, if I’ve sounded like—a real-estate agent. LISSA It’s just that I prefer things themselves to—phrases about them. (_A brief pause_) Tell me what you _want_ of your farm? BLISS My soul’s salvation, merely. LISSA (_Softly_) Ah—that’s good!—Just living there—quite without plans—it does sound heavenly. (_In a moment he is at her side, bending above her_) BLISS Lissa! If only—— (_She rises_) LISSA (_Quickly_) Yes—you must ask us to visit, sometime. We’d love it, I’m sure. (BLISS _gestures helplessly. Perplexed, he again surveys the scene about him_) BLISS (_Murmuring_) I don’t know what’s got into me. LISSA (_Continuing_) That is, if we can somehow fit it into our plans. Our _plan_ rather—(BLISS _is still puzzling over the scene_)—People are so kind, the way they relieve me of responsibility. You’ve no idea of the happy life I lead. There’s rhyme to it—and reason, too! So—ordered. So well-arranged. BLISS But I’d have thought you—— LISSA ——didn’t like plans? I give you my word, I’ve had scarcely a moment without them, since birth. BLISS And you _like_ it? LISSA Shouldn’t I?—Think of the comfort of knowing that everything must fall into place, just so. That the unexpected simply doesn’t exist. One day to another: certain things happen to you—pleasant, agreeable things. You needn’t lift a finger. But should you chance to, it’s all right—you find that lifted fingers have been allowed for, in the plans. Marvellous!—All happens, as it’s been ordained to happen, by whoever it is who’s in charge at the time—a kind nurse, a governess, a teacher, an aunt—a more than kind husband! BLISS Wicked—wicked—— LISSA On the contrary! Why, I live in the happiest sphere imaginable: just this side of reality. Reality itself is too harsh a climate: I’d shrivel. _My_ place is in literature, fine literature, where every word, every move, every feeling even, must square with the guiding idea. BLISS What on earth are you talking about? LISSA Don’t be rude. Rudeness withers me. I’m too delicate. I can’t stand it. Let me explain, merely, why my life is so happy. (_Her voice rises_) Look at me, Norrie. You think you see a person, here—body and soul? Don’t deceive yourself. You’ve read me somewhere. Better!—You’ve seen me act “Lissa Terry.”—I’m a character, drawn with such _masterly_ skill. None of your human confusion in _my_ make-up—I do nothing without point, significance—there’s an _idea_ behind me! BLISS What _are_ you saying, Lissa? LISSA Something I’ve been taught.—And when I move about—(_She moves away from him_)—so—well, _that’s_ according to plan, too! BLISS It’s this place—this house. I tell you there’s something funny about it. LISSA Look! (_Very deliberately she picks up a vase and puts it down again_) You’d think I did that myself, wouldn’t you?—And for no reason at all. Yes, so I did—But I assure you I was meant to do it, and then to think and say I did it by myself. It relates—oh, it relates! BLISS Don’t, Lissa. It’s uncanny, really. LISSA Simple cause and effect, uncanny? (_She looks at him, penetratingly_) You—how do you know _you’re_ not imagined, as well? (_She stiffens, suddenly, and gasps_) If you are! (_She sinks down upon the bench_) People I’m forever meeting—places I’m forever going—they’ve an awful way of suddenly seeming part of the fiction—like dreaming, and knowing it! (_She covers her face_) If you knew the horrible feeling it is. . . . BLISS (_After a moment_) I think I do. I think it’s just that, I’ve been feeling here. LISSA No. It’s nothing but nerves. You’ve caught mine. BLISS (_Indicating the room_) Look about you, Lissa. (_She looks about her, apprehensively_) Does it—recall anything to you? LISSA No. But—but—(_Her voice trails off_)—it—seems I’ve—been here before. . . . BLISS I’ve the same sensation. It’s odd, you know. It’s damned odd. (_He frowns, murmuring_) Where? Where? LISSA (_Almost in a whisper_) It’s dark here. _Are_ we in this room, Norrie. I mean—_actually?_—Able to think, put words together, say what we want?—Or are we just—imagined, _fixed_, for all time—making the same set gestures, speaking the same set lines—as we have in other performances?—As we shall in more to come. . . . (_Thoughtfully, with a very slow movement_, BLISS _leans over, picks up a stray flower from the floor, puts it in a stone jar beside the bench, and rises. The effect is similar to that of a slow-motion moving-picture._ LISSA _watches him in growing horror_) Don’t—_don’t_! BLISS Don’t what? (_Without answering, she turns away and shuts her eyes._ BLISS _shakes himself_) Come on—let’s get out of it. LISSA You _do_ hear me—you do see me, don’t you, Norrie? _You_ wouldn’t be fooled. I _am_ real to you! BLISS (_Nervously_) Of course. Of course! LISSA (_The chill striking deeper_) I’ve never felt it so horribly before. I can almost feel the tug of each separate string, making me jump this way, that way. (_Her voice sinks, awesomely_) Are we all like that? Is that what’s meant, do you suppose, when we’re called “God’s creatures”? Is it—just that not all of us _feel_ the strings, as I do? BLISS (_Moving toward the door_) Come on, will you? LISSA (_Rising_) I won’t have it! I won’t! Strings, are they? Well, I’ll break them! (_She circles the room, touching things here and there_) There—there! I’ll move too fast for them—I’ll tangle them up—snap them! There, Guiding Idea, was I meant to tear that flower to bits? Where’s the motive for that? What on earth does _that_ mean? (_She is close to hysteria._ BLISS _watches her in alarm_) BLISS Lissa—please,—please, dear—— LISSA Watch! Every night about now, Frederic comes and turns on the lights. Like clockwork—on cue, you’d think! But tonight, _I_ shall! See? (_She goes swiftly toward the hall door_) A little out of gear now, aren’t you, Pretty Plans? Well, however pretty you are, I’ll destroy you, see? _I’ll_ make my plans! (_She presses the electric button. From its hidden source, the “moonlight” comes on, flooding the room with a greenish, eerie light, mixed, as it is, with the little remaining light from the window._ LISSA _exclaims in terror_) Agh! (_Her hand flies to her mouth, and she backs away from the doorway toward_ BLISS, _in whose eyes recognition of the scene is now dawning_. LISSA’S _shoulder touches him_. _Suddenly she turns and buries herself in his arms, shaking with fright_) What is it? What _is_ it? BLISS Do you know where we are? (_Slowly she raises her head and glances fearfully about her_) LISSA (_Barely audibly_) Tell me—what it is. . . . BLISS It’s very much like Kendall’s garden. LISSA (_Puzzled_) “Kendall’s”—? (_Again she looks about her, then clings to him in fear_) How? How? BLISS Do you recall ever telling anyone? LISSA Nobody.—And I’m sure no one knew. BLISS Not—your husband, by any chance? LISSA (_Shaking her head_) No way possible. What—was there to tell? BLISS I kissed you, Lissa. LISSA I know—but I was Columbine. At costume parties I was always Columbine. It was as though things were happening not to me at all, to someone else. I thought I was acting. Now I think—_this_ makes me think—(_The words come trooping out, as through a door suddenly opened_)—it was the one time in my whole life I wasn’t! (_Her voice rises_) My illusion—it _was real_! I want my illusion back! BLISS Dear—— (_Her grasp tightens upon his arms, holding him from taking her in them_) LISSA _Now_ I see!—Norrie—this likeness—it’s a sign—to show me that one night there in that garden as the one living thing in my life—the one thing ever, that happened without plan! A sign! (_She throws her hand up, hailing it_) Oh—welcome, Sign, welcome! BLISS (_With difficulty_) But Lissa—let me tell you—— LISSA Wait—while I can still see so clearly! (_A brief pause_) That garden-door—it led through to life. I left my life in that garden. BLISS Come back to it. Come, dear—— LISSA Everything since—shadows, unreality. _Is_ it still there—my life? _Would_ it be real, Norrie? BLISS I promise you it will be real. LISSA —Just to be something more than this queer kind of phantom. Just to _feel_ things again—(_She looks at him searchingly_)—Do you think you love me? (BLISS’S _face works. He smiles, spasmodically_) BLISS I think I do. (LISSA _averts her head_) LISSA I don’t know yet, whether I—— BLISS Let that wait. You come in whatever capacity you wish, you know. LISSA That’s like you. Thanks. (_She ponders_) Adrian—I love Adrian’s heart—but his mind—it’s swallowed it up—and me with it, nearly. Adrian. Adrian. Oh, it isn’t so easy! BLISS (_Very matter-of-fact_) I’ll leave for Washington at eight in the morning, and get the Federal back, tomorrow night. There’ll be a drawing-room on it for you, through to Boston—in your name, at the window. (_A pause_) LISSA (_Slowly, fearfully_) Tonight—I could tell you all a story about what happened once to a girl and a boy on a Spring night in a garden. After I’d gone, he’d think back, and know who they were. Then he’d—just apply some rule of human conduct. He has one already for it—“Every wife—every wife, at heart”—oh, _poor_ man! Poor Adrian, with his false little rules. (_She pauses, thoughtfully_) Adrian—you—myself—which, Norrie? Oh, pray that something may show me quickly! BLISS Then it isn’t all settled? (LISSA _shakes her head_) LISSA No.—But look for me the next morning. Boston. The South Station. BLISS Is there another telephone downstairs? LISSA In the coat-room, off the hall. BLISS I’ll get the porter at the club to make reservations. (_He goes to the hall-doorway_) This off? LISSA Will you? (BLISS _touches the button beside the door, extinguishing the moonlight and leaving the room in almost total darkness. For a moment_, LISSA _is left alone, huddled upon one of the stone benches_. MISS MABIE _enters from the study, and looks at her silently. Then she clears her throat_) MISS MABIE Hasn’t—? (_Simultaneously_, LISSA _exclaims in fright and rises_)—It’s only Miss Mabie. LISSA I didn’t hear you come in. MISS MABIE —Hasn’t Mr. Terry done wonderful things with this simple room? LISSA (_Wearily_) Indeed he has. (MISS MABIE _sighs_) MISS MABIE Art. Pure art—— LISSA Oh, I’m sick to death of art. (_A pause. Then:_) MISS MABIE I’ve always rather felt you—belonged more to the earth. LISSA (_Softly_) The blessed earth. Glory be to grass growing. Glory be to the earth. (MISS MABIE _goes to her and rests her hand upon her shoulder_) MISS MABIE Amen, my dear. (_In a quick movement_ LISSA _turns and buries her head in_ MISS MABIE’S _breast_) There—there—never mind, dear. (_She strokes her head as she would that of a forlorn little child_) LISSA Oh, why didn’t you let me know I had someone so near me? I’ve needed someone so. MISS MABIE There, dear—we know it now. LISSA (_With difficulty_) Adrian—he—— MISS MABIE It all comes of living so long with people he’s made for himself. LISSA _We’re_ his characters, too. He knows every move. There’s no mystery in us. MISS MABIE He shall see that there is. We shall make him acknowledge it. LISSA I’ve tried. (_A pause_) MISS MABIE Then _I_ shall try. (_She laughs nervously_) The solved and simple Miss Mabie must break from her pigeonhole. (LISSA _lifts her head and looks at her, finding hope_) LISSA Oh, God bless you. (_She kisses her and turns away._ ADRIAN _enters from the hall, dressed for dinner_) ADRIAN Still here, Lissa? LISSA Still here. ADRIAN Dark, isn’t it? LISSA Yes. (ADRIAN _goes to the table behind the screen_) ADRIAN I wonder what’s keeping Bliss. He wasn’t in his room. (_He lights the lamp on the table_) We cut off everything but this. (FREDERIC _enters from the hall, with the telegram_) FREDERIC The telegram, sir. (ADRIAN _opens the telegram, as_ FREDERIC _methodically turns to press the electric switch-button beside the door_) ADRIAN Hold on! That doesn’t work, now. FREDERIC To be sure. I remember you said. Beg pardon, sir. (_He goes into the dining-room._ ADRIAN _reads the telegram_) ADRIAN Oh, confound it! LISSA What is it? ADRIAN From Prendergast. He says it’s imperative that I meet him in Philadelphia to-night. (_He gives the telegram to_ LISSA. MISS MABIE _is watching him_) LISSA Telephone him, and say it’s impossible. ADRIAN Prendergast doesn’t make demands like that without reason. I’d best try for the Eight O’clock. Will you call the car for me, Miss Mabie? (MISS MABIE _goes into the study_) LISSA Adrian! Dinner! ADRIAN Four-and-twenty blackbirds—and now there are two. I’ll be back to-morrow, early. You and Bliss enjoy my party. If the table rocks, it’s my spirit making its presence known. (LISSA _regards him intently_) LISSA I don’t like the way things fall out. ADRIAN Fall out? (_She moves toward the hall-door_) LISSA I don’t like it at all. ADRIAN Lissa—(_She turns. For a moment they regard each other without speaking. Then:_)—What is it, dear? LISSA I don’t think I can live your way, Adrian—your high comedy way. I’d die by inches. I’ve begun to die already. ADRIAN Why, Lissa—darling—you—— LISSA Something’s taken hold of me. I feel—possessed by something. I—(_She looks about her, in terror_) Oh—it’s a crazy thing! (_She goes swiftly to the hall-door, and out._ ADRIAN _takes a step after her_) ADRIAN Lissa—— (_He stops himself._ MISS MABIE _re-enters from the study, carrying a few pages of type-written notes, which she places upon the desk. In some way, she is coming through her dimness, her hesitancy, into a steadily growing assurance_) MISS MABIE The Spring Festival notes. I’ve quoted rather freely.—William wasn’t at the garage. I called a taxi. ADRIAN Thanks. I’d better get my coat on. (_He goes to the door._ MISS MABIE _follows him with her eyes. He switches on the moonlight_) Good-night, Miss Mabie. I shall be back by to-morrow evening, at the latest. MISS MABIE —And will you be going off to Boston right away, with Mrs. Terry? ADRIAN Boston? MISS MABIE As I was calling the garage—wasn’t it you on the downstairs’ telephone? Ordering a drawing-room on the Federal? ADRIAN Not I, no. MISS MABIE Then I must have been on a crossed wire. Queer, though—I was sure I heard you say that the tickets were to be held at the window in Mrs. Terry’s name. (ADRIAN _turns from the door and slowly re-enters the room_) ADRIAN You—you were mistaken. MISS MABIE Apparently. (_A pause_) Mr. Terry—— ADRIAN What? MISS MABIE I don’t think I’d go away to-night if I were you. ADRIAN (_Harshly_) Why not? MISS MABIE I—just don’t think I should. I shouldn’t dare. (_A pause—then:_) ADRIAN (_To himself_) Complications—complications. MISS MABIE Why not try introducing another character, Mr. Terry? (_He looks at her intently_) Or better still, bring up a minor figure—one who’s been in from the beginning? That’s helped you before, to—to solve unforeseen difficulties. (_For an instant she reverts to her former uncertain self, avoids his gaze, and begins fumbling at her notes._ FREDERIC _comes in from the dining-room, with a tray containing a cocktail-shaker and six glasses_. BLISS _enters from the hall_) BLISS Lord! Isn’t this marvellous! (FREDERIC _fills the glasses_) ADRIAN Like it?—Oh—my secretary, Miss Mabie—Mr. Bliss. (_To_ FREDERIC) I’ll serve them. MISS MABIE How do you do? BLISS How do you do. (_To_ ADRIAN) Extraordinary, really. How on earth did you contrive such a realistic effect? ADRIAN A little remnant from an old career. (LISSA _re-enters from the hall_) LISSA Your taxi is here. Ah—moonlight—— ADRIAN I’m not going. I think the morning will do as well. LISSA You sent word? I’m so glad. Give the man something, Frederic. But perhaps you’ll take him, Miss Mabie? It’s quite late. (_A brief pause._ _Then_ MISS MABIE _rallies_) MISS MABIE Mr. Terry has asked me to stay and dine with you. (ADRIAN _stares, then busies himself with the cocktails_. MISS MABIE _nervously fingers her notes_) LISSA And you will, of course! We should love having you. (_Indicating the notes_) Is that all about the great feast?—You must teach us the ways in which we should go. (FREDERIC _goes out into the hall_. LISSA _takes a glass from_ ADRIAN _and gives it to_ MISS MABIE. _She then takes one herself._ ADRIAN _gives one to_ BLISS, _who swallows it in a gulp_) MISS MABIE I find that the—uh—customs in the tropical countries are—uh—well, uncivilized, to say the least. LISSA I don’t doubt it for a minute. BLISS (_Simultaneously_) Tell us more! ADRIAN As usual in such things, the less the longitude, the greater the latitude. (_To_ BLISS) Let me give you a little more. BLISS (_Holding his glass_) Thanks.—Nothing so useful in an artificial existence, for bringing one back to Nature. MISS MABIE I wonder if that is true? BLISS I assure you it is. MISS MABIE They say it gives one courage, as well. (ADRIAN _refills_ BLISS’S _glass_. MISS MABIE _finishes hers in one swallow, and watches the shaker_. BLISS _laughs, somewhat embarrassedly, and says_:) BLISS I haven’t said anything about your play last night. I’m afraid you cut things a little too fine for me. I’m not keen on hair-splitting. ADRIAN Aren’t you? (_He holds the shaker out to_ =Miss Mabie=) Miss Mabie? (_She extends her glass quickly. He refills it, then turns again to_ BLISS, _smiling_) Perhaps you prefer heart-breaking? (BLISS’S _face changes_. LISSA _glances quickly at_ ADRIAN, _then replaces her empty glass upon the tray and goes to the window_. MISS MABIE, _glass in hand, reads over her notes_) I grant you, it’s usually more successful—as drama. LISSA (_Looking out the window_) I’ve never known a more perfect night. (_She lifts her hands, palms upward, weighing the air_) The air feels like feathers. (_She opens the window wide, and returns to the others_) Come—shall we? (_She moves toward the dining-room_) MISS MABIE (_Quoting from her notes_) “. . . The peasants would flock down from the neighboring hills, to the spot where the fiesta was to take place. Mother Nature smiles upon the antics of her children. All through the flower-strewn day, there is dancing and dalliance. The finest native wines are lavishly poured into vast bowls, from which they are as freely quaffed. . . .” (_She finishes her cocktail and goes toward the dining-room, followed by_ ADRIAN _and_ BLISS) ADRIAN I see I should have ordered bowls for the champagne. MISS MABIE A detail—disregard it.—“By evening, the celebrants have paired off into couples. The warm air is charged with romance. . . . Some gaily, some with hushed whispers, steal forth from the company to nearby olive-groves . . .” (LISSA _has now gone into the dining-room_. _The curtain begins to descend_) “. . . There, beneath the moon, troths are plighted, and other ceremonies take place, the—uh—nature of which is fully discussed in Salini’s ‘La Fiesta d’Amore.’ Suffice it to say, that for years, both Church and State have directed their combined wits toward the discouragement of such pagan ritualism, in a thus-far vain endeavor to bring about its—(_The Curtain falls_)—discontinuance.” CURTAIN _IN A GARDEN: ACT THREE_ ACT THREE The scene is the same. An hour later. Dinner is over. ADRIAN and BLISS are seated by the stone table, Right Center, upon which there is a coffee-service and a carafe of brandy, with two small glasses. LISSA has just come in from the hall, and is going to join them. LISSA Really, Adrian, I’m a little worried about Miss Mabie. ADRIAN My dear, it’s impossible. I know her like a book. LISSA But people do take queer turns at times, don’t they? (_To_ BLISS, _as she seats herself_) That’s what Adrian finds so difficult to admit. ADRIAN But I tell you I know her! Inside out! LISSA Tagged and pigeonholed—yes. Still, for all that, she might be a different woman, mightn’t she? Do acknowledge that. ADRIAN Not at all. We’re merely seeing her for the first time in another capacity. BLISS It appears that she’s more than reached it. How long is it you’ve had her? ADRIAN Since nineteen-eighteen. LISSA And now—honestly—have you the remotest idea what she’s going to do or say next? Oh _admit_ you haven’t, Adrian! ADRIAN Of course I have! BLISS Attribute it to the moon. If tides change on account of it, why shouldn’t people? (_He squints upward_) This one’s particularly tricky. When Lissa first turned it on this afternoon, all of a sudden I thought—— ADRIAN (_Frowning_) When Lissa turned it on——? BLISS I mean, when—— ADRIAN (_To_ LISSA) Did you light it? LISSA By accident. I didn’t realize—— ADRIAN And you were here? BLISS Yes. Just—happened in, you know. LISSA But I made him promise to be surprised again, so as not to disappoint you. ADRIAN Oh, that didn’t matter. But—uh—it must have given you a start, eh? BLISS It did, a little—both of us. As I was saying, all at once I had a vision of another garden like it—one I’d seen some time ago. . . . ADRIAN (_With studied casualness_) Yes?—Where? BLISS I couldn’t quite remember.—And they must be rather rare, you know. (_He leans forward looking directly into_ ADRIAN’S _eyes_) Perhaps, if you’d tell me where it is that the original exists, I might—— ADRIAN As a matter of fact, one could hardly say it does exist. It’s—uh—more or less a composite of—uh—of—uh—(_He looks toward the hallway, and exclaims, softly_) What in the world! (MISS MABIE _enters from the hall. She has discarded her nose-glasses and wears a flower in her hair, which has been most becomingly re-dressed. Long earrings hang from her ears. About her shoulders, enveloping nearly her entire figure, is_ LISSA’S _Chinese shawl. Her nose has been powdered, and there is a touch of rouge upon her lips and cheeks. Her eyes are dancing. She is, indeed, like another woman._ BLISS _smiles_. ADRIAN _gazes at her in astonishment_, LISSA, _in genuine admiration, as she pauses at the doorway to pluck two jonquils from the decorations_) MISS MABIE (_To_ LISSA) I felt my everyday costume hardly fitting for so gay an occasion. Your maid insisted upon re-arranging my hair. Her own earrings, these—and your shawl. I hope you don’t mind, my dear? LISSA Mind?—I’m delighted. You look charming. (MISS MABIE _smiles her thanks and seats herself_. LISSA _begins to pour the coffee_) MISS MABIE Now, then!—We were saying? (ADRIAN _fills a brandy-glass for_ BLISS) LISSA How do you take your coffee? MISS MABIE (_Smiling_) I don’t. LISSA You——? MISS MABIE It keeps me awake. (_She reaches for the brandy glass_) This for me?—Thank you—(ADRIAN _smiles perfunctorily and fills the other glass_. MISS MABIE _takes a sip from hers_)—It is more than good. What is it? ADRIAN Brandy.—Rather strong, I’m afraid. (MISS MABIE _takes a swallow_) MISS MABIE (_Beaming_) Not at all. On the contrary. (_She puts the glass down for a moment, picks up the jonquils and smells them_) ADRIAN (_To_ BLISS) I’ll ring for another glass—— BLISS None for me, thanks. I don’t want to spoil the champagne. MISS MABIE It doesn’t spoil it. On the contrary. (BLISS _smiles and shakes his head_. =Miss Mabie=, _with a jonquil in either hand, brings the flowers together as if they were kissing_) MISS MABIE Look: Isn’t it sweet? (_She does it again, cooing over them_) LISSA Pretty things, indeed it is. BLISS The language of the flowers. (MISS MABIE _tosses the flowers over her shoulder, laughs merrily, picks up her glass again, and settles herself_) MISS MABIE Er—we were saying? (_A brief pause_) BLISS I was asking Mr. Terry where he got the idea for this—arrangement. MISS MABIE (_Quickly_) It is modelled upon a similar garden attached to a little pension on the Riviera. (ADRIAN _stares at her_) I hope I’m not giving away secrets? ADRIAN No indeed. But I wasn’t aware that I—that is, it must have been an unconscious—— MISS MABIE (_To_ BLISS) In Cannes, to be exact. I recognized it instantly—didn’t I, Mr. Terry?—The little statues—and the mimosa—the old walls. You see, it was there that Mr. Terry—Captain Terry, then—first engaged me. He was convalescing from his wound. The moment he got notice of his discharge, he advertised for a competent secretary, didn’t you, Mr. Terry? ADRIAN The very moment. MISS MABIE In a Nice paper. I was in Nice with Potter, of “The American.” A horrid man. So I applied. We began work at once, on Mr. Terry’s first romantic play, “Frankincense.” ADRIAN First, and only. MISS MABIE More’s the pity. (_A sigh_) It was perfect soil for the growth of a romance. We used to walk for hours in that garden, talking it out—while pale threads of the Mediterranean moon wove their way through the very warp and woof of our story. BLISS Woof, woof. MISS MABIE I beg your pardon? BLISS I said, “woof.” MISS MABIE Is that amusing?—It was March then, but March there is like our May. . . . (_Suddenly_) Mr. Bliss—you are close to the Government: what possibility do you think there is for legislation elevating May Day to the eminence of a national holiday? BLISS Somehow, I can’t see the present Administration exciting themselves over it. MISS MABIE We need it so! We really do! In its very nature, it throbs with life, warmth, gaiety. _I_ think Adam and Eve were created on May Day. ADRIAN A pretty thought. LISSA Very. ADRIAN You’re sure you won’t take coffee? (MISS MABIE _raises her brandy-glass_) MISS MABIE This will do very nicely.—How _good_ it would be for everyone, once a year, to give himself over to the simple, eternal emotions. Such prigs, people are—such impossible prigs! (_Her voice lowers_) You know, I believe one reason that May Day is left for the children, is the adult consciousness of the significance of the May Pole. (_She leans forward confidingly_) I presume you all know the origin of the May Pole? (BLISS _is the only one to laugh_) LISSA (_Hastily_) Yes, yes—I believe we do. ADRIAN Quaint, isn’t it? BLISS (_Simultaneously_) You simply could not persuade the average Congressman to take hold of a ribbon and dance round the May Pole. MISS MABIE Then the more fools they. To me, symbols are symbols—and being symbols, inalienably divorced from their origins. (_She closes her eyes_) I see village greens transformed into little Arcadys; village butchers and bakers, into Colins and Strephons; their wives and daughters into Chloes and Phyllises. Round the May-Pole—round and round—(ADRIAN _quietly moves the decanter out of her reach_)—Why—it makes one positively dizzy! (_She opens her eyes, stares, and blinks several times_) BLISS Make them go the other way. That helps sometimes. (MISS MABIE _closes her eyes for a moment, then opens them again and beams upon him_) MISS MABIE Thank you. (_She wanders to the back of the room, fingering the decorations lovingly_) LISSA (_Softly to_ ADRIAN) Well? Admit it now? ADRIAN If I’d been at all interested, I might easily have foreseen the whole thing. (_Lissa rises abruptly; she has done her best. This is final_) MISS MABIE Lovely—lovely . . . a perfect setting, really perfect. LISSA (_To_ ADRIAN, _in a clear voice, without hesitation_) Speaking of settings, I’ve an incident to tell you from life. This puts me in mind of it. I think it belongs in a play. . . . ADRIAN Oh?—What is it? LISSA Something that happened to—— (_She stops, as_ FREDERIC _enters from the hall_) FREDERIC Mr. Compton, Sir. (_He stands aside to let_ COMPTON _enter, then goes out_) COMPTON Hello. Hello. Hello. (_To_ LISSA, _as he crosses to her and shakes her hand_) I managed to slip away early. You don’t mind my dropping in without notice this way? LISSA Hello, Roger—it’s extraordinarily nice of you to. Oh—uh—this is Mr. Bliss—Mr. Compton—— COMPTON (_Deliberately_) It seems to me we’ve met. BLISS (_Not remembering for the moment_) Oh yes—yes, of course! (COMPTON _looks about him in wonder, then sharply at_ ADRIAN, _who looks away_) COMPTON (_To_ LISSA) I should say Adrian’s outdone himself this time. LISSA Pretty, isn’t it? (_With a gesture toward the tray_) Coffee? Cognac? Both? COMPTON Just this, if I may—— (_He takes a lump of sugar, seats himself and begins nibbling it_) LISSA I was telling Adrian an incident that might be useful in his new play. ADRIAN _My_ new play? LISSA Yes—the one about wives and mistresses. (_To_ COMPTON) Would you mind hearing it? COMPTON Should enjoy it very much. ADRIAN What is it, dear? LISSA Something that once actually happened to a boy and a girl in a moonlit garden.—Rather a curious thing, and with—a rather curious significance, I think. (_A pause_) The girl, from what I gathered, was the product of an exceedingly careful system. Its whole end and purpose was to make her a social success—that’s what the women in her family had always seemed best suited for. So she was taught to act the part till it became second nature. In those days the training was somewhat stricter. COMPTON Before the war? LISSA Just.—Instinct, impulse, natural inclination, everything that was herself, went under. Upon it, another self was gradually—deposited. By the time she was nineteen, it was working admirably—automatically, even. In fact, for long stretches at a time, she completely forgot that the surface she’d acquired didn’t go all the way through. MISS MABIE By then, perhaps it did. LISSA No—not as it turned out. This incident—(_She hesitates a moment, then continues:_)—In spite of the fact that it was May, there was still another ball to go to—a costume-ball, somewhere in the country. She’d be Columbine, again. Incidentally, she was always at her best, in costume. With everyone else about her acting, her own acting became more real. MISS MABIE Does that follow?—I should think—— LISSA In her case, it did. (_A brief pause_) Well, in the midst of it, a boy came up to her, a boy she knew, well, slightly—and rather liked. He said: “Let’s get out of this heat.” Out they went. For awhile they just wandered about, glad enough to be cool. Then they happened on a kind of hidden path, and followed it to its end, where they found a little green door, let into a high stone wall. On the other side was a tiny garden, that neither of them had any idea was there. It smelled damp, and sweet. The moon was shining. They sat for a long time, scarcely breathing. Then they began to dance—there was a stretch of clipped grass, smooth as could be, between the flower-beds. The music carried all the way from the house. They danced and they danced and they danced, long after the music had stopped. She had the queer feeling that all this was happening to someone else . . . she didn’t know whom . . . Columbine, maybe.—Finally, they were just standing there, hushed and still, as if some spring inside had simply run down. Then she felt herself being kissed. In that instant, everything suddenly left her. She didn’t know anything, didn’t feel anything but that it was beautiful beyond belief to be alive. (_A pause_) But when they got back to the house, things were—just the same again. After all, it was only Columbine who had been kissed. _She’d_ merely been looking on. (_A pause._ COMPTON _is watching_ BLISS, _who is looking at his hands. Finally_ ADRIAN _speaks, with difficulty managing to keep his voice steady:_) ADRIAN Yes. Yes, very interesting.—And its—significance? LISSA It was the only important thing that had ever happened to her without reason, without plan. Some day, something might make her see, that it wasn’t Columbine, nor yet that other person they’d taught her to be—but _herself_—oh, at last!—with the one thing in her life that was genuinely, truly her own. (_There is a long pause, punctuated by the sound of a cigarette being tapped down upon_ BLISS’S _case_. ADRIAN _goes to the table behind the screen, lights the library-lamp, then switches off the moonlight. The artificiality of the scene is once more made apparent. He turns to_ MISS MABIE _and_ COMPTON) ADRIAN It—how does it strike you? COMPTON (_Still watching_ BLISS) Very pretty, very pretty indeed. MISS MABIE But a little literary, don’t you think? COMPTON Um. More than a little. LISSA As it happens, it’s true. COMPTON That, unfortunately, doesn’t matter. MISS MABIE As it stands, it’s not life, but literature. LISSA “Literature”!—I tell you—— COMPTON (_To_ BLISS) In fact, I think I’ve already read it somewhere. MISS MABIE Strange—I feel that too. (_She ponders_) Where was it? LISSA You couldn’t have. It’s true! It happened! MISS MABIE Are you sure of your source? LISSA Entirely! COMPTON Then it must be one of those things that can’t help seeming to be out of a novel. LISSA Everything else in her life—but not that! MISS MABIE It appears we differ. Now to me it seems too pat, too considered. COMPTON Yes. There’s a sort of a deliberation about it. (BLISS _goes to the other side of the room and stands looking at them_) MISS MABIE A kind of self-consciousness. COMPTON The psychology shows through. MISS MABIE And the application is so obvious. BLISS Here are the lungs. This is the spleen. A bundle of nerves here. Perhaps we can make them twitch. (_All look at him_) Tableau: “A Lesson in Anatomy.” (_He returns to his place and seats himself again_) If it isn’t a corpse you’ve got, you can make it one, can’t you? Go ahead—— LISSA No, no—it’s too horrible. ADRIAN My dear—— (_She turns from him_) COMPTON (_To_ BLISS) To be a corpse, a thing must have lived. This never did. MISS MABIE But the characters might _bring_ it to life! (_To_ ADRIAN, _excitedly:_) Just the thing! Perfect! Exactly what you and Mr. Compton want! (_To_ LISSA) Oh yes—yes, it _is_ good.—Romance first coming to flower—— LISSA Reality! MISS MABIE (_Indulgently_) For Mr. Terry’s purposes, my dear—(_To_ ADRIAN)—And you see?—Just the right taint of literature. We’ve all felt it. (_To_ LISSA) Later on she married another man? LISSA Yes. MISS MABIE And you wanted to show what it was, that might have caused this particular wife to become another man’s mistress, at heart? LISSA Perhaps not merely at heart. (_There is a pause_) MISS MABIE Yes.—Well, Mr. Terry’s plan requires that there be something false in the very beginnings of this disturbing memory. ADRIAN Miss Mabie! LISSA (_Simultaneously_) But how interesting! Do let her tell us. (_She turns to_ MISS MABIE) MISS MABIE For a number of years everything went smoothly. They were happy. Then one day her—(_She loads the word with scorn_)—her “cavalier” returned. They met. He saw that she was even more desirable than before.—And he claimed her. (COMPTON _is watching_ BLISS _like a hawk_) LISSA And did she acknowledge the claim? MISS MABIE Did she, Mr. Terry? ADRIAN I don’t know. Lissa—won’t another time do as well? LISSA I’m afraid not. (_Again she turns inquiringly to_ MISS MABIE) MISS MABIE The point is that something she wasn’t aware of had occurred in the meantime. BLISS Now we’re getting it! MISS MABIE (_To_ BLISS) Her husband has learned of the existence of this memory, which she cherishes as—(_To_ LISSA)—How did you put it?—“As the one real thing in her life—the one thing ever, that had happened without plan”——? LISSA (_Nodding briefly_) That will do. MISS MABIE He learns that of all things _it_ was perhaps the most deliberately planned. BLISS Hah! (_Suddenly, with a bitter laugh, he throws back his head and thrusts his arms up toward the ceiling. As suddenly, he is facing_ MISS MABIE _again, smiling ironically_) This is marvellous. (LISSA _glances at him, but he will not look at her_) MISS MABIE The man was following to the letter a chapter in a novel which aimed to demonstrate—(_To_ COMPTON)—_falsely_ to demonstrate—(_To_ BLISS)—that every wife is another man’s mistress—and why. BLISS “A novel”—But that’s not quite right, is it? COMPTON It will serve, don’t you think? BLISS No! (LISSA’S _alarm grows. She looks from one to another, and finally back to_ BLISS) LISSA Why not? BLISS (_His eyes fixed on_ MISS MABIE) Wait a minute. (_To_ MISS MABIE)—And what did this seventh son of a husband do then? MISS MABIE Well—uh—(_She glances nervously at_ ADRIAN, _who sits with his head bent, knotting his watch-chain_) Well—uh—he realized the man’s unworthiness—— BLISS Tsch!—In what? Taste? (COMPTON _stirs uneasily, his anger growing_. MISS MABIE’S _voice rises_) MISS MABIE Certainly in _taste_! (_A pause._ BLISS _gestures for her to proceed. After a moment she does so, more calmly_) And he knew that her remembrance of the affair was the one mar on a perfect relationship: his wife loved him dearly; the other was a—kind of sickness. BLISS So desperate remedies, before it proved fatal, eh? MISS MABIE For her sake, as well as his own, he determined to blot the memory out. The question was “how?”—And the answer: “Romantic incidents don’t bear repeating.” LISSA Indeed. ADRIAN (_Agonized_) Lissa! LISSA Please!—You wouldn’t have me lose the thread? (ADRIAN _sinks back and sits with his chin resting upon his hand, his eyes closed_) MISS MABIE (_To_ LISSA) He knew these two people well: his wife—as his wife; the man, from that one act, as—— COMPTON (_To_ BLISS)—As the lying bounder he was. (BLISS _takes a deep breath and holds it_) MISS MABIE (_Nodding_) So by placing the two alone once more in the same, or a similar situation, he thought he could foresee the means whereby—— BLISS (_Rising_) Of course. (ADRIAN _rises also. The two men confront each other_) MISS MABIE —Whereby his wife would be—— LISSA —Cured of her sickness. Most ingenious, most. (ADRIAN _moves toward the hall_) MISS MABIE He discovered, however, that he loved her too much to submit her to such a scheme. (ADRIAN _is about to go out_) LISSA Adrian! (_He turns_) I wish you would wait, please. (_He waits near the door, his back to them._ LISSA, _to_ MISS MABIE)—Or perhaps he lost faith in his foresight—faith, maybe, in his ability to make tight little rules about people. MISS MABIE I think it was love. LISSA Even so, all the arrangements had been made, hadn’t they? His situation was there, begging to be taken advantage of. (ADRIAN _moves quickly toward the door. She rises_) Adrian! (_He halts_) I ask you to wait. (_He does so_) So now what? MISS MABIE We don’t know. You see, that—uh—it—uh—brings us to an impasse. We’ve got no ending. LISSA It may end itself. MISS MABIE (_Eagerly_) You think so? The right way? COMPTON It’s bound to. There’ll be something else to show him up just as well. LISSA Him?—Which him? BLISS The “bounder,” of course. (_To_ COMPTON) But do you think you’ve got enough of him? COMPTON How d’you mean? BLISS That one act of his. COMPTON It’s enough. Complete characterization in itself. BLISS Oh?—Then, after a glance at you, one may say: “He’s gone dry. He’s got the soul of a snuff-box.” (COMPTON _brings himself to his feet_) Or, after a ten-minute talk with Terry: “His brain alone lives. His heart and body drag from it, dead. The man’s a clock.” COMPTON Look here! MISS MABIE Really, Mr. Bliss—— BLISS (_To_ MISS MABIE) Or, that after a glass or two of wine, you talk incessantly: “The woman’s a sot.” ADRIAN Actually, this is—— BLISS —In unspeakable taste! Yes, I mean it to be. Now with taste out of the way, perhaps we can talk like living beings, instead of the polite concoctions manufactured by you and Compton for your adoring public. COMPTON Bliss——! BLISS Compton, if you had accredited instances of my committing every sin on the calendar, you wouldn’t have _me_. Is that understood? (COMPTON _is unable to answer_. BLISS _turns to_ LISSA) Lissa, you may have gathered from all this literary plot-hatching, that what happened to us that night wasn’t quite as spontaneous as you thought it. (LISSA _gestures helplessly_) True—it wasn’t. The idea for it, however, came, not from a novel, but from a novelist. (_He indicates_ COMPTON, _scornfully_) This one. He was there the afternoon of the party, wagging his wise tongue to Kendall and me on the susceptibility of the feminine heart, be it ever so protected. The garden in moonlight would do it, he said: Also, he coined that pretty slogan: “Every wife another man’s mistress.”—I was twenty-two, and not hard to impress. In addition, I was desperately lonely at the prospect of a long exile, to begin the next day. I wanted to be loved: I never had been, nor had I ever. I set out deliberately to follow his formula. LISSA You—(_She turns away_)—This isn’t necessary. Comedy, this is comedy. BLISS If you don’t mind too much, I’d rather. (_A pause._ MISS MABIE _goes out into the study_. COMPTON _into the hall_. BLISS _continues:_) You know what happened. I needn’t tell you that whatever plan I had went sky-high in an instant. Afterwards, when I’d think that I ever _had_ a plan, I’d feel—I’d feel sick. I got the news of your wedding, and it was awful. I told myself “Serves you right”—and tried to get over you. But it was no go. Before long, I realized that it never would be. But I worked over myself, and when I felt I was well enough in hand, I came back. ADRIAN Yes.—Yes, you did—didn’t you? BLISS I wanted to know one thing: whether or not Lissa was happy. The only way of finding out, was to be here with you both. If she was—all right. If she wasn’t—(LISSA _goes away from them_. ADRIAN _fol__lows her with his eyes, his suffering plainly apparent_) I didn’t know until tonight, when this clever setting of yours suddenly cut through all the pretty appearances. I doubt if _she_ knew, until then. So, whatever you get, you’ve yourself to thank for it. (_An exclamation is wrung from_ ADRIAN) LISSA Norrie! ADRIAN No, dear—I shall want you to be just as candid. (LISSA _glances about her, at the room_) LISSA (_Half to herself_) But—then it wasn’t a sign this afternoon. That night—in the garden—it didn’t—just happen. No. Plans—always plans. BLISS (_Suddenly_) Lissa, I love you. Will you come with me? LISSA (_After a moment_) By every—by all the—cold reasoning I can do—I’d—I would. I believe in you, utterly. But—just for now, I—don’t _feel_ anything—— BLISS Perhaps—later on—— LISSA I don’t know. BLISS (_With difficulty_) Whenever—. If ever—— LISSA Yes. Yes. . . . Good-bye—— (_She takes his hand in hers_) My sweet Norrie, good-bye. (_She raises his hand to her lips and kisses it. For an instant he looks at her, all his longing in his eyes. Then he turns sharply, and goes out into the hall. After a moment_, LISSA _turns to_ ADRIAN. _He finds something in her eyes that makes him cry out with pain_) ADRIAN No! No! LISSA Good-bye, Adrian. ADRIAN Lissa! LISSA Good-bye, my dear. ADRIAN Our life together—it was so perfect I couldn’t bear for even a breath to touch it. LISSA So you raised a wind, to blow it away. ADRIAN It was—because I loved you—_all_ of it! You _must know_ that. LISSA I know I have reason, and a free will. I know I live and breathe. Yet—people close to me—keep pulling me this way, that way, every which way. I—don’t think I want to be close to anyone, for awhile. ADRIAN Lissa—Lissa—— LISSA You—your first instinct was to put me through my paces, as if I were a creature of your mind, without will, without hope, but to go through the motions of a life you’d created for me. ADRIAN Of course I see what you mean. But—— LISSA (_In sudden fury_) Do you? And do you see it’s not good to do that with me? (_She shuts her eyes and huddles herself in her arms_) I do—_I_ do!—Oh, shame on you, Adrian, shame!—I’m a woman you say you love—I’m not to be done that with—you can’t _do_ that with people, Adrian. That’s God’s province. For you, it’s—it’s blasphemy. ADRIAN If only you could understand how—how I merely wanted—how I wanted only—— (_He cannot go on_) LISSA Never mind. I’ll—be going, in the morning. I’d rather you wouldn’t—see me off. I don’t know where I shall be—but somewhere—a _person_—living—(_She takes a long, deep breath_) Actually! ADRIAN Something will bring you back to me. (_She shakes her head._ ADRIAN _cries out in despair_)——How I wanted only to spare you! LISSA You’d no right to spare me.—And there _was_ no problem, was there?—Not till you’d made it one. Even then it was my problem, wasn’t it? (_With emphasis_) _My_ problem.—But without so much as a by-your-leave, you made my problem your own. And then—then the great thing was to handle it with style, taste, distinction. (_She gazes about her at the setting_) Look at this—the detail of it! This clever, clever, weak, weak thing. (_Her voice changes_) When you’d merely to take my shoulders in your hands and say: “Look here, you Lissa—I’m scared.—You love me _wholly_! Understand?” But—(_Again she glances at the setting_)—style—taste—and the rest doesn’t matter—the rest will come. Oh, _taste_—above all things! ADRIAN I—can’t plead with you. (_A brief pause. She looks at him intently_) LISSA I wonder what would happen if, even now, you should take me in your arms—and _keep_ me from going. . . . (_He averts his head, wretchedly_) ADRIAN You know I couldn’t do that. LISSA No—it isn’t in character, is it? (_A pause_) Not quite—in good taste.—I leave you your taste, Adrian. (_He winces, as if she had struck him_) Oh, I must make you see. You _must see_! (_A moment. Then she leans up and kisses him, gently_) Good-bye, my dear. Thanks for many things. (_Turns, and is gone._ ADRIAN _stands rigid, staring after her. Then he calls:_) ADRIAN Lissa! (_There is no response. He gropes for something against which to steady himself. His hand falls upon the flimsy arch of the garden-trellis, which shakes beneath it._ =Miss Mabie= _pauses in the hall-doorway, on her way from the study to the stairs. She has discarded the shawl and wears her hat and coat_) MISS MABIE Mr. Terry—(_His grasp upon the trellis tightens_)—If I hadn’t, she’d have gone with him. ADRIAN She’s going—— MISS MABIE —But alone. (_He gestures, helplessly_) And there’s the chance she may love you. If she does, she can’t help but come back. (_Her voice rises_) Oh, surely—after all these happy years—surely you, of all people, know _her_ well enough to—— (ADRIAN _lifts his head. His words come as a despairing cry:_) ADRIAN I know no one! (_He sinks down upon the bench, hopeless, forsaken. For a moment she regards him compassionately, then speaks softly:_) MISS MABIE Remember that. (_She goes out. He is alone, staring miserably at the grass-carpet, digging at it with his heel_) CURTAIN TRANSCRIBER NOTES Mis-spelled words and printer errors have been fixed. Inconsistency in hyphenation has been retained. [The end of _In a Garden_ by Philip Barry]