The Benefit of the Doubt; a Comedy in Three Acts. Arthur Wing Pinero

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СКАЧАТЬ Fletcher Portwood.

      “Crummy” Harker—stout man——

      Justina.

      Four years ago this month.

      Mrs. Emptage.

      Yes, in the summer of the year in which Theo was married to Fraser of Locheen.

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      My extraordinary chronological faculty ought to serve me here. Theophila and Locheen were married in the March, Jack Allingham and Miss Harker in the following June; I took the chair that year at no less than three public dinners——

      Mrs. Emptage.

      Of course, when the two couples settled down in London the usual exchange of visits began. But from the first it was quite evident that Mrs. Allingham resented her husband’s friendship for Theo.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Why should Mrs. Allingham have resented it?

      Justina.

      Olive was always a jealous cat—person.

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      John is some months younger than his wife, I may tell you. No marriage can turn out happily when the balance of age drops ever so slightly on the woman’s side. My observation——

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Rubbish!

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      I know my world, Harriet.

      Justina.

      What was it that Olive said about that, ma?

      Mrs. Emptage.

      When the wife is older than the husband every fresh little line in her face becomes an acute pain to her, just as if it were cut into her flesh, and renewed daily, with a knife. Those are Mrs. Allingham’s own words.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Poor wretch!

      Mrs. Emptage.

      In her storms with Jack she used to rave out these things, and Jack would repeat them to Theo.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      What business had he to do that, pray?

      Mrs. Emptage.

      Well, his home had become such a hell that he fell into the way of rushing round to Lennox Gardens, to Theophila and Alec, to obtain relief from his worries.

      Justina.

      He gradually became a sort of third in Lennox Gardens, you know, aunt.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      A sort of third?

      Mrs. Emptage.

      The house-friend who is continually running in and out——

      Justina.

      The man who has dined with you almost before you know it, as it were.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Oh! And is this all?

      Mrs. Emptage.

      All?

      Mrs. Cloys.

      All the justification a jealous woman has for seeking to divorce her husband?

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      Not divorce, Harriet; she wasn’t entitled to ask for that. Mrs. Allingham has been suing for judicial separation.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Well, well——!

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      Accuracy with me is a perfect mania. Oh, yes, that’s all. With the exception of the—the——[With a wave of the hand.] However——!

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Exception?

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      I was thinking of the bézique part of the case.

      Mrs. Emptage.

      [Impatiently.] Yes, yes; but that’s of no consequence now.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Bézique?

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      Allingham and Theophila happen, both of them, to be fond of cards. And when Fraser was away in Scotland——

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Away in Scotland? Not with Theophila?

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      No, no; she loathes Locheen.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      I see. When Mr. Fraser was in Scotland and his wife was by herself in London——

      Mrs. Emptage.

      Then a little harmless bézique helped to kill the time.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Theophila and Mr. Allingham killed time together?

      Mrs. Emptage, Justina, Sir Fletcher.

      [In various tones.] Yes—yes—yes.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Where was the time killed?

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      In Lennox Gardens.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      At Theophila’s house, in her husband’s absence. Is that all?

      Mrs. Emptage.

      Absolutely all.

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      All the bézique part of the case. You see, the lawyers separated the case against Theophila into three divisions.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Three! Number One?

      Sir Fletcher Portwood.

      The House-friend, as aforesaid.

      Mrs. Cloys.

      Two?

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