The G. Bernard Shaw Collection: Plays, Novels, Personal Letters, Articles, Lectures & Essays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ life without having done at least one or two things that required an apology.”

      “I am sorry you hold that opinion of me.”

      “How is Brutus’s paw?”

      “Brutus!”

      “Yes. That abrupt way of changing the subject is what Mrs. Fairfax calls a display of tact. I know it is very annoying; so you may talk about anything you please. But I really want to hear how the poor dog is.”

      “His paw is nearly healed.”

      “I’m so glad — poor old dear!”

      “You are aware that I did not come here to speak of my mother’s dog,

       Marian?”

      “I supposed not,” said Marian, with a smile. “But now that you have made your apology, wont you come upstairs? Nelly is there.”

      “I have something else to say — to you alone, Marian. I entreat you to listen to it seriously.” Marian looked as grave as she could. “I confess that in some respects I do not understand you; and before you enter upon another London season, through which I cannot be at your side, I would obtain from you some assurance of the nature of your regard for me. I do not wish to harass you with jealous importunity. You have given me the most unequivocal tokens of a feeling different from that which inspires the ordinary intercourse of a lady and gentleman in society; but of late it has seemed to me that you maintain as little reserve toward other men as toward me. I am not thinking of Marmaduke: he is your cousin. But I observed that even the working man who sang at the concert last night was received — I do not say intentionally — with a cordiality which might have tempted a more humbly disposed person than he seemed to be to forget — —” Here Douglas, seeing Marian’s bearing change suddenly, hesitated. Her beautiful gray eyes, always pleading for peace like those of a good angel, were now full of reproach; and her mouth, but for those eyes, would have suggested that she was at heart an obstinate woman.

      “Sholto,” she said, “I dont know what to say to you. If this is jealousy, it may be very flattering; but it is ridiculous. If it is a lecture, seriously intended, it is — it is really most insulting. What do you mean by my having given you unequivocal signs of regard? Of course I think of you very differently from the chance acquaintances I make in society. It would be strange if I did not, having known you so long and been your mother’s guest so often. But you talk almost as if I had been making love to you.”

      “No,” said Douglas, forgetting his ceremonious manner and speaking angrily and naturally; “but you talk as though I had not been making love to you.”

      “If you have, I never knew it. I never dreamt it.”

      “Then, since you are not the stupidest lady of my acquaintance, you must be the most innocent.”

      “Tell me of one single occasion on which anything has passed between us that justifies your speaking to me as you are doing now.”

      “Innumerable occasions. But since I cannot compel you to acknowledge them, it would be useless to cite them.”

      “All I can say is that we have utterly misunderstood one another,” she said, after a pause.

      He said nothing, but took up his hat, and looked down at it with angry determination. Marian, too uneasy to endure silence, added:

      “But I shall know better in future.”

      “True,” said Douglas, hastily putting down his hat and advancing a step. “You cannot plead misunderstanding now. Can you give me the assurance I seek?”

      “What assurance?”

      Douglas shook his shoulders impatiently.

      “You expect me to know everything by intuition,” she said.

      “Well, my declaration shall be definite enough, even for you. Do you love me?”

      “No, I dont think I do. In fact, I am quite sure I do not — in the way you mean. I wish you would not talk like this, Sholto. We have all got on so pleasantly together: you, and I, and Nelly, and Marmaduke, and my father. And now you begin making love, and stuff of that kind. Pray let us agree to forget all about it, and remain friends as before.”

      “You need not be anxious about our future relations: I shall not embarrass you with my society again. I hoped to find you a woman capable of appreciating a man’s passion, even if you should be unable to respond to it. But I perceive that you are only a girl, not yet aware of the deeper life that underlies the ice of conventionality.”

      “That is a very good metaphor for your own case,” said Marian, interrupting him. “Your ordinary manner is all ice, hard and chilling. One may suspect that there are depths beneath, but that is only an additional inducement to keep on the surface.”

      “Then even your amiability is a delusion! Or is it that you are amiable to the rest of the world, and reserve taunts of coldness and treachery for me?”

      “No, no,” she said, angelic again. “You have taken me up wrongly. I did not mean to taunt you.”

      “You conceal your meaning as skilfully as — according to you — I have concealed mine. Good-morning.”

      “Are you going already?”

      “Do you care one bit for me, Marian?”

      “I do indeed. Believe me, you are one of my special friends.”

      “I do not want to be one of your friends. Will you be my wife?”

      “Sholto!”

      “Will you be my wife?”

      “No. I — —”

      “Pardon me. That is quite sufficient. Good-morning.”

      The moment he interrupted her, a change in her face shewed she had a temper. She did not move a muscle until she heard the house door close behind him. Then she ran upstairs to the drawingroom, where Miss McQuinch was still practising.

      “Oh, Nelly,” she cried, throwing herself into an easy chair, and covering her face with her hands. “Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!” She opened her fingers and looked whimsically at her cousin, who, despising this stage business, said, impatiently:

      “Well?”

      “Do you know what Sholto came for?”

      “To propose to you.”

      “Stop, Nelly. You do not know what horrible things one may say in jest.

       He has proposed.”

      “When will the wedding be?”

      “Dont joke about it, please. I scarcely know how I have behaved, or what the meaning of the whole scene is, yet. Listen. Did you ever suspect that he was — what shall I say? — courting me?”

      “I saw that he was trying to be tender in his own conceited way. I fully expected he would propose some day, if he could once reconcile himself to a wife who was not afraid of him.”

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