Violet: a Vaudeville in Four Scenes

Violet:

 

A VAUDEVILLE.

 

IN FOUR SCENES.

Violet:

A VAUDEVILLE.

IN FOUR SCENES.

---

Personæ.

Violet Barron, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Ætat 30.

Clara Post-Duncan, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

A Society Swell.

Euphemia Shirley, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

A Literary Light.

Jane Nibs, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

A Spinster.

Maggie, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Mrs. Barron’s Maid.

Sidney Dane, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Ætat 35.

Schuyler Van Cott, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Ætat 40.

Charles Barron, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Husband of Violet.

Thomas, .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .     .

Footman.

---

Place—New York City.
Time—February, 1886.

SCENE I.

At an afternoon tea. Groups of women and girls—one group in foreground consisting of Mrs. Shirley, Mrs. Duncan and Miss Nibs—all with cups in hands, standing together.

Chorus.

Ho! the Tea! the Tea! come drink it with me!
While it cheers our hearts, it will quickly loose
Our sharp little tongues, which can wag so free
With sly little digs and abuse, profuse!
One more cup of Tea,
Come drink now with me!
We’ll merciless be
To her who scorns Tea.

Miss Nibs. Yes, it must be true, for Mr. Congdon saw them drive up and go in. He stayed till late in the afternoon, and they had not gone when he left—and the proprietor said they had a room all to themselves.

Mrs. Shirley. Well, it does not surprise me in the least—for at Narragansett, this Summer, they say his devotion was quite open and well known to every one.

Mrs. Post-Duncan. Her drunken husband, her great beauty and charm of manner, all give a man like Dane every incentive, and I cannot half blame him. Of course there is no excuse for her, however.

Miss Nibs. I don’t see, I must say, how you can call her a beauty! a demureness which passes for good breeding, perhaps; but examine her face! Not a single good feature!

Mrs. Shirley. I really cannot agree with you there, my dear Jane; there certainly is a certain hot-house, showy beauty there, due entirely to her color; but for my part, I have never been able to see what there was attractive in her beyond that. She is not at all well read; and, after all, that is the only standard to go by.

Miss N. Besides, she has a way of gazing at you as if she did not see you, which I consider positively rude. I never wish to speak to her again.

Enter Van Cott.

V. C. How do you do, fair ladies? Who is in the pillory to-day?

Mrs. Duncan. We were discussing your friend, Mrs. Barron. Have you heard?

V. C. Yes, I have heard. An outrageous story! Poor little woman. You know I have been a friend of hers for many years. Well, when the story was told last night at the club, I branded it at once as a malicious lie; wrote to her for the facts—but before she had time to answer, started off to see her in person. I found her in great distress—in tears—tears of mortification and anger at——

Miss N. (interrupting). Being found out?

V. C. Nonsense! Pardon me. No, in bitter anger and tears, that fate and malicious tongues should have selected her for their subject.

Mrs. Duncan. Ah! Schuyler, you consoled her, I am sure, as only you can.

V. C. Thank you for your gratitude! But please, if possible, speak seriously, all of you. All I could do was to tell her I knew it was a lie, promise that it should be traced to its source and stamped out, and above all, that I would find you good people here to-day and tell you the truth, so that I might have your aid in the good cause!

Mrs. S. A knight sans peur, indeed! But a task you’ve undertaken beyond that of any fairy champion I ever read of. And so you come to us to arm you, and advise? Well, I fear you will not succeed, even with our help.

Miss N. I flatly decline to enlist in any such quixotic attempt. Really, Mr. Van Cott, you are asking too much if you expect us to believe there is no ground for all the stories about your friend.

V. C. Stories? Slanders! And who, of all of us, is free from the poison which exudes from the very pores of some reptiles in society. Get the facts beyond dispute before you condemn one of your own sisterhood. You do not know how soon you yourself may be shunned as if possessed of some horrid disease!

Miss N. I declare, sir!

Mrs. Duncan. Jane, he is right! And Schuyler, let me congratulate you on your eloquence. You have won the first skirmish, for you have persuaded me to come over to your side.

Violet enters unobserved.

Miss N. But not me! I shall not speak to her * * *

(Stops, seeing Violet, who, after speaking with the hostess, approaches the group.)

V. C. (advancing to meet her). Oh! Mrs. Barron. So even you cannot resist the insidious fascination of a cup of tea!

Violet. It is not only the tea that allures me here and fascinates me.

Mrs. Duncan. Do not turn his head any further, Violet, it will be twisted off.

Mrs. S. It is Coleridge, I think, who says:

“He turns no more his head,
Because he knows a frightful fiend
Doth close behind him tread.”

V. C. Well twisted, Mrs. Shirley.

Miss Nibs. Mr. Van Cott has been very eloquent this afternoon singing your praises, my dear Violet, and now he is becoming heroic. Your influence over men is magical, my dear.

Violet. In this case I hope it will do no harm, for he is a friend in need.

V. C. Mrs. Barron! (deprecatingly)!

Mrs. D. Violet, I would like you to dine with me quietly this evening.

Violet (starting). What, dear Clara?

(Goes to her in agitation).

Miss Nibs (apart). Birds of a feather flock together.

Mrs. S. Jane, let us go. This convinces me of the truth of the old Indian saying that when a bad act is once started, it takes all the wisdom of Buddha to avoid its pathway. We must not allow our minds to become receptive in this case. By a process of mental exclusion * * *

Miss Nibs. Excuse me, Mrs. Shirley, but “mental exclusion” implies having a mind.

Mrs. S. Well?

V. C. Ladies, this conversation is getting to be altogether too serious for a tea. You should each write a treatise on the subject and compare notes at the next meeting of the Thursday Night Club.

Mrs. Duncan. Pray tell me, Violet, where is “Sidney, warbler of poetic prose.”

Violet. In town, but where I do not know. But I must go. Thank you once more, dear Clara. Don’t fail me this evening—and (to the others) if you have no other engagement it will give me great pleasure to have you listen to a young singer who hopes to appear next season, and who will give us, this evening, a foretaste of his powers.

Mrs. S. I have to be at the Nineteenth Century Club this evening, but after Dr. McCosh and Prof. Elliott have exhausted themselves, I will come to your singing with pleasure.

Miss Nibs. And I also, my dear Violet, if I have nothing else to do.

V. C. May I take you to your carriage?

Violet. Yes, if you will; I wish to speak to you. (The others, after bidding good-night, move away.) Schuyler, where are your eyes? Do you not see that Mrs. Duncan is taking a great interest in you?

V. C. Great Heavens! No! Absurd! Nonsense![Exeunt,

Chorus.

We are all of us ladies of fashion you see—
Oh, who so maliciously glad as we,
True slaves of a much-abused passion, te! he!
For very small talk, and afternoon Tea!

Then one more cup of Tea,
Come, drink now with me!
Here’s a health to that She,
Or that He, who loves Tea!

SCENE II.

Drawing-room at Mrs. Barron’s. Violet sitting before the fire with a sad expression. Mr. B. walking restlessly up and down the room. Then stopping suddenly and speaking vehemently.

Mr. B. So! You’ve done it this time, haven’t you? (Pause.) Have you nothing to say for yourself?

Violet (quietly). Done what, Charles?

Mr. B. Done what! Put the keystone to the arch of misconduct, which you have been erecting for the past five years!

Violet. Your speech lacks lucidity, Charles, but as you evidently intend to be severe, I will ask you to explain your meaning?

Mr. B. You are the talk of the town, and you know it. It seems you went driving with Sidney Dane yesterday, and stopped all the afternoon at some out-of-the-way hotel.

Violet (rising). Charles, you have lost all right to ask me any question as to my conduct. Night after night you come home intoxicated. Long since I have ceased to entreat you to put a stop to your shameful behavior. You leave me to do as I choose. You refuse to go into society with me, and if anyone else, pitying my lonely life, tries to give me a little innocent pleasure, you, you find fault, and believe me capable of the extremest bad taste. It is a hard blow to my pride to have anyone, even you, think I would be so vulgar. Your belief in the story does not surprise me, as you have lost all sense of decency; but while claiming that I would be justified in doing anything, I will say to you that the only foundation for the slander is that I did take a drive with Mr. Dane—not yesterday, however, and not alone, but with a party of four.

Mr. B. Where there is smoke there must be some fire.

Violet. Enough! Believe what you will. The slander will work however slight the basis for it. I saw this afternoon the effect of it on some of my most intimate friends, though they did not speak of it. Oh! what a comfort it is to come home to a sympathetic friend instead of wasting one’s nervous tissues on innuendoes and covert sneers.

Enter footman.

Thomas. Madame is served. [Exeunt.

Enter Maggie.

Maggie. At it again. Well, I don’t want to be a fine lady if that’s the kind of life I’d have to lead. It is bad enough to have a drunken husband, but to have him always finding fault to boot! No, I never want to be like Missus. But she is a kind one, although the most wretchedest woman ever was.

Re-enter Thomas.

Thomas. Oh! Maggie, dear, I’m glad to see you alone for a minute. That ugly-mugged Richards, thinks because he can drive horses, he can drive me away. But I’ll show him he can’t, eh, Maggie ! You’ll not let him be sparking you, dear, for * * *

Enter Mr. B., hastily.

Mr. B. Heh! What, Thomas! Come, none of that. Get me my hat and coat. Quick! I’ll not dine here. (Exit Thomas.) Maggie here’s something for you. Now, I want you to see who comes here this evening, and let me know what happens. Do you understand?

Maggie. Yes, sir. Certainly, sir.[Exit Mr. B.

Maggie. The mean creature to try to spy on his pretty wife—well, ten dollars is not to be picked up every day, and I’ll just tell missus and she will know what to do. Heigho! What with these troubles up-stairs and Richards and Thomas quarrelling over me down stairs, I don’t know what will become of me. Now, Thomas is a beautiful man—such a figure, such calves, and such whiskers; but Richards has been getting big wages for a good many years, and he is careful—too careful, I think—for he never gives me the pretty things that Thomas does——

Enter Thomas.

Here he is again—I’ll run away and try to make up my mind (going).

Thomas. Hist! Maggie! Stay, my charmer, stay. Let me once more——

Maggie. No, I must go down. If Missus should catch us as Mr. B. did, she would not be so easy on us.

Thomas. Master’s a prince! Maggie I have a secret that I want to share with you. Do you see that? Twenty dollars? What for, do you suppose?

Maggie. Pah! I can guess.

Thomas. You can’t—I’ll give it to you if you do.

Maggie. It’s mine then—you are to spy on the Missus!

Thomas. Right! Here, take it. You’re a witch—the prettiest, wisest little witch in the world, and if you don’t promise me right here—now—to have me, I’ll—I’ll—oh! Maggie, Maggie, my bounding heart will burst its bounds and nought be left but groaning sounds.

Maggie. Get up off your knees, you silly boy, you’ll spoil your stockings and Missus will come.

Thomas. Let her come. I’ll not get up till I get your promise—I’ll stay

’Till peep of doom
In this here room
On bended knee,
For love of thee!

Maggie. You know how I love your poetry, Thomas, and figure too—so there—get up! (turning towards him her cheek). Quick! I hear some one!

(Thomas jumping up and kissing her.)

Maggie and Thomas.
Duet.

He.
Ha! that’s the kind for me,
A girl that’s not too free
With any one but me.

She.
And you’re my Bo-Ideel,
But so queer I now do feel,
Perhaps it was not real.

He.
What? the kiss? (kisses her again.)

She.
Yes! oh, bliss!

Together.

Oh! now we’ll be happy together,
Nor care for wind or weather,
Oh, we’ll be gay
The live long day,
Oh, we’ll be happy together.

[Exeunt, dancing.

SCENE III.

Same.

Enter Mrs. B., ushered in by Thomas.

Violet. Thomas, I want no dinner. You can take everything away and then bring my coffee here.

Thomas. Yes, Madam.

Violet. And, Thomas! Tell Maggie I wish to see her in half an hour.

Exit Thomas.

(Minor key.)

Song.

Why should I here remain
Filled with unceasing pain,
Bright happy thoughts again
Striving to raise—in vain!
Why? Why?

(Crescendo.)

Help me, ye gods of old,
Send me some knight so bold,
Who, when my story’s told,
Will me in strong arms fold
Until I die!

(Diminuendo.)

Sweet dreams of days gone by,
Why do you mock me? Why?
Nought now beneath the sky
Whispers of hope! Ah! Why?
Why? Why?

Enter Dane.

Violet turns towards the door with a half-suppressed exclamation of wonder and pleasure. Dane advances slowly across the room to the fire-place, takes Violet’s hand without a word, bows over it and presses his lips on it. Violet looks at him steadily for a moment.

Violet (with emotion). Sidney, what mysterious influence brings you here at this moment as if at my unspoken call?

Sidney. Oh! Not unspoken! I was walking in the park under the stars, in Waldeinsamkeit, that communion with Nature undisturbed by man, which brings the fine inhuman essences to the surface, when some breath or spirit of unaccountable forces swayed my movements towards you without my reason taking part. As one in a dream I walked, sometimes stopping with a struggle to regain consciousness, but in vain. The mysterious influence you speak of held me, and—I am here—here, Violet—here where I would gladly sigh my life away. Here at your feet!—to beseech you not to be worried by the venomous tongues of this miserable world of ours—to assure you that nothing shall be left undone to stop the spreading of the story—and to entreat you to forgive me for being the cause of it all.

Violet. It was no fault of yours. Mine—if any fault there was.

Sidney. Yours! You are not capable of a fault! or—but one, and that I dare not mention.

Violet. Oh, Sidney, it would be better that you should see me no more. Tongues will utter lies, and however correct may be our conduct, envious hearts will misconstrue our friendship. Even now, this evening, I have had bitter words with my husband about you, and I tremble to think what he may do in some moment of frenzy.

Sidney. Do you mean that you fear personal violence?

Violet. Not for myself—no! no! but for you. Wretched man that he is. He has at last driven me to realize that I am not only unhappy, that I do not care for him, but that I do——

(Breaks down—tears.)

Sidney. Violet, what has happened? Why these tears? Why are you so troubled—you who have borne your burden until now so proudly—so cheerfully? Great God! what a mockery is this life! Oh! I have watched your increasing despondency. While all the world has said what a brave front she bears, I have seen the clouds darkening about you and wondered only that no lightning flash e’er came—and has it come? Tell me, Violet! You are silent. But your sobs tell me all. You—tied to a man who does not know you, and whom you cannot but despise,—and I—kneeling here—powerless—though Heaven knows how willing, how glad to lay down my life for your slightest wish! Think, Violet, of the years of my devotion. Oh, would you but believe it! Would you but let me be to you everything in the world! Would you but say “I love you!”

Violet. Sidney, Sidney! Say no more. You know not what you do!

Sidney. I must speak, Violet! Every throb of my heart beats for you! Every nerve in my body vibrates to your voice and touch! Every thought, every instinct, knows only you, its queen! Let me stay here! Let me tell you all my love for you, and live for you alone: Come to me, darling!

As he kneels before her she has put her hands on his shoulders, gazing in his eyes. Then, as he approaches her face with his, she suddenly throws her arms about his neck. He clasps her to his breast, and, face to face, they embrace in silence.

Violet (sighing). Sidney, I am doing wrong, and I know it. But I can bear my sorrows alone no longer. Without you I cannot live, for you are all in all to me. Take me, dear. Do with me as you will. I am all yours. I love you.

Sidney. My life, my love!

(Embraces her deliriously.)

Duet.

Dane.
Sunshine glows and warms my being,
Coming from your touch and glances;
Trembles every nerve with pleasure,
And jour lips my soul entrances.

Violet.
Hold me close and seal my eyelids
With your loving, warm caresses,
Let me, losing self completely,
Banish fear my heart oppresses.

Dane.
Hence, my queen, I’ll bear you with me
To some southern fairy isle,
Where, beneath the oleanders,
We’ll with love the days beguile.
And if e’er a wish you whisper,
On the moment I’ll command it,
Seeking daily some new pleasures,
Hoping daily you’ll demand it.

Violet.
Hold me, darling, closer, closer,
Place your lips on mine, my dear.

Dane.
Heavens! now no earthly power
Shall from your eyes force a tear.

Both.
Closer yet! and yet still closer;
Banish hence all care and fear.

At end of duet Violet sinks into a chair in front of the fireplace and Sidney passes quickly out of the room. As the front door closes, enter Thomas with coffee, Maggie following him.

Thomas (in a whisper). Maggie, think of us so jolly happy, and our Missus sitting there like the ruins of Marius. I wish we could do something for her.

Maggie (whispering). It makes me wretched.

Thomas, advancing, places small table at Mrs. Barron’s side, puts coffee cup on the table and retires softly.

Maggie. Madame!

Violet (dreamingly). What is it?

Maggie. Oh, Madame, do take your coffee. We think it will cheer you up a bit! That is, I think so, and, and——

Violet. Why, child, what ails you?

Maggie. Nothing ails me, ma’am. I’m very happy, but we were wishing you could be happy too——

Violet. We? What do you mean by we?

Mag. Thomas and me, ma’am (blushing).

Violet. Take care, girl—take care! Thomas! (severely)

Thomas. Well, ma’am, the truth is I and Richards have been a courtin’ Maggie for a long time, and to-day the refulgence of her affections crowned my heart.

Violet. She has promised to marry you?

Maggie. Yes, ma’am. You see, though Richards had more money, I could not resist Thomas. He has such a handsome face and figure, and he is so poetical (proudly).

Thomas. And she’s the best and brightest star of all the costermongery of the world. She’s a progeny.

Violet. Well, well, I will talk to you some other time, Maggie. I hope you will both be happy.

Thomas (aside). You see, she is not angry. I’ll tell her. (Aloud) Madam, I think I ought to tell you something if you’ll please excuse us, ma’am, but it weighs on my raptures like Pelion on Ossa, and I must relieve it.

Violet (turning back to the fire). Go on.

Thomas. Well, madam. * * *

Maggie. Let me tell her.

Thos. No, no. I will. Well, madam, to make a long story short, Maggie and I have both been told by Mr. Barron to report every thing that takes place in this here house this evening, and we won’t do it. There!

Violet (imperiously and rising). That will do. (Then gently) But no, I thank you, for I know you mean well—and be sure, I will not forget you.

Mrs. B.

Be you happy while you may,
And at a not distant day
For your wedding I’ll arrange,
Unless, you your minds should change.

Thos.

Thank you kindly, Madam Barron,
Maggie knows I love for aye.
Nothing now can stop our wedding,
Do, I pray you, name the day.

Mag.

Stop a moment—we’ll consider
Something first—the ways and means;
I know we can’t live on nothing,
Though I’m only in my teens.

Mrs. B.		Fear not, child, I will not fail you.
Mag.		For those words, madame, I bless you;
		And should Tom or I forget them——
Thos.		Maggie, wait till I possess you.

Ensemble.

T. and M. and Mrs. B.

Ah! be happy while you may, We’ll we

And at a not distant day

Wedding bells for you shall sound, us

Gladd’ning you and all around. us

[Exeunt.]

SCENE IV.

Same.

Violet, Mrs. Edwards, Duncan, Nibs and others—a young man has just turned from the piano towards the ladies who award him a soft applause.

Enter Van Cott.

V. C. Pardon me for being so late Mrs. Barron, but it was on service de la Reine. I can speak before all of you plainly, for you all know what I mean and behold (holding up a paper). I triumph!

Mrs. Duncan. Well done, Schuyler! Read it.

Violet. No, I beg of you——

V. C. It is for you to command—but at least you will let me say that I have traced step by step the malicious rumors about you.

Miss Nibs. Why, malicious, Mr. Van Cott!

V. C. Well, the falsehood then. From each successive person I forced the name of the next, and it was, indeed, no easy task in some instances to get an admission from the embroiderers. But by threats and promises, bringing fathers, mothers and brothers to help me, I finally reached the starting point and forced from that coward Congdon under threat of a horse-whipping a written statement of the origin of it all, and it only shows what an idle word by a married man to his wife may do.

Mrs. Shirley. The old saying:

“O, many a shaft at random sent
Finds mark the archer never meant.”

Mrs. Duncan. Violet, you owe Schuyler thanks.

V. C. None; but to you who alone stood by her.

Miss Nibs. Clara, dear Mr. Van Cott is proving to be the flower of knighthood, is he not?

(They all rise to go.)

Violet. Are you going all? Good night. Thank you for coming * * *

Enter Dane with great excitement and walking directly to Violet.

Sidney (taking her aside). Prepare yourself, dear Violet for a dreadful blow.

Violet (agitated). What—is—it?

Sidney (impatiently to others). Pardon me, but without ceremony please go! I wish to speak in private with Mrs. Barron.

Miss Nibs (aside). Evidently, and not for the first time.

Mrs. Shirley. Really, Mr. Dane, you are quite dramatic and excite our curiosity. We were just now in a beatific state of tenderness. Tell us your news before we go.

Sidney (with anger). Well, I will. I’m just from the club, where I saw—the result of an apopletic stroke—Mr. Barron, dead!

(Smothered cries. All depart except Violet, who sinks into a chair, and Sidney who gently approaches her side and kneels.)

Sidney. Violet! The fates have willed it!

Violet. The fates! Ah, they will pursue us ever.

Sidney. Never! I defy them! Believe it not.

Violet. Leave me! I beg you!

(He rises slowly—goes to doorway, turns with beseeching look towards her. She raises herself slightly and calls softly——)

Violet. Sidney!

Curtain.