Pygmalion and Other Plays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ Yes.

      CROFTS. I want to ask you a rather particular question.

      PRAED. Certainly. [He takes Mrs. Warren’s chair and sits close to Crofts.]

      CROFTS. That’s right: they might hear us from the window. Look here: did Kitty every tell you who that girl’s father is?

      PRAED. Never.

      CROFTS. Have you any suspicion of who it might be?

      PRAED. None.

      CROFTS. [Not believing him.] I know, of course, that you perhaps might feel bound not to tell if she had said anything to you. But it’s very awkward to be uncertain about it now that we shall be meeting the girl every day. We don’t exactly know how we ought to feel towards her.

      PRAED. What difference can that make? We take her on her own merits. What does it matter who her father was?

      CROFTS. [Suspiciously.] Then you know who he was?

      PRAED. [With a touch of temper.] I said no just now. Did you not hear me?

      CROFTS. Look here, Praed. I ask you as a particular favor. If you do know. [Movement of protest from Praed.]—I only say, if you know, you might at least set my mind at rest about her. The fact is, I fell attracted toward her. . Oh, don’t be alarmed: it’s quite an innocent feeling. That’s what puzzles me about it. Why, for all I know, I might be her father.

      PRAED. You! Impossible!

      CROFTS. [Catching him up cunningly.] You know for certain that I’m not?

      PRAED. I know nothing about it, I tell you, any more than you. But really, Crofts—oh no, it’s out of the question. There’s not the least resemblance.

      CROFTS. As to that, there’s no resemblance between her and her mother that I can see. I suppose she’s not your daughter, is she?

      PRAED. [Rising indignantly.] Really, Crofts—!

      CROFTS. No offence, Praed. Quite allowable as between two men of the world.

      PRAED. [He meets the question with an indignant stare; then recovers himself with an effort and speaking gently and gravely.] Now listen to me, my dear Crofts. I have nothing to do with that side of Mrs. Warren’s life, and never had. She has never spoken to me about it; and of course I have never spoken to her about it. Your delicacy will tell you that a handsome woman needs some friends who are not—well, not on that footing with her. The effect of her own beauty would become a torment to her if she could not escape from it occasionally. You are probably on much more confidential terms with Kitty than I am. Surely you can ask her the question yourself.

      CROFTS. [Rising impatiently.]I have asked her, often enough. But she’s so determined to keep the child all to herself that she would deny that it ever had a father if she could. [Rising.] I’m thoroughly uncomfortable about it, Praed.

      PRAED. [Rising also.] Well, as you are, at all events, old enough to be her father, I don’t mind agreeing that we both regard Miss Vivie in a parental way, as a young girl who we are bound to protect and help. What do you say?

      CROFTS. [Aggressively.] I’m no older than you, if you come to that.

      PRAED. Yes you are, my dear fellow: you were born old. I was born a boy: I’ve never been able to feel the assurance of a grown-up man in my life.

      MRS. WARREN. [Calling from within the cottage.] Prad-dee! George! Tea-ea-ea-ea!

      CROFTS. [Hastily.] She’s calling us. [He hurries in. Praed shakes his head bodingly, and is following Crofts when he is hailed by a young gentleman who has just appeared on the common, and is making for the gate. He is pleasant, pretty, smartly dressed, cleverly good-for-nothing, not long turned 20, with a charming voice and agreeably disrespectful manners. He carries a light sporting magazine rifle.]

      THE YOUNG GENTLEMAN. Hallo! Praed!

      PRAED. Why, Frank Gardner! [Frank comes in and shakes hands cordially.] What on earth are you doing here?

      FRANK. Staying with my father.

      PRAED. The Roman father?

      FRANK. He’s rector here. I’m living with my people this autumn for the sake of economy. Things came to a crisis in July: the Roman father had to pay my debts. He’s stony broke in consequence; and so am I. What are you up to in these parts? do you know the people here?

      PRAED. Yes: I’m spending the day with a Miss Warren.

      FRANK. [Enthusiastically.] What! Do you know Vivie? Isn’t she a jolly girl? I’m teaching her to shoot with this. [Putting down the rifle.] I’m so glad she knows you: you’re just the sort of fellow she ought to know. [He smiles, and raises the charming voice almost to a singing tone as he exclaims.] It’s ever so jolly to find you here, Praed.

      PRAED. I’m an old friend of her mother. Mrs. Warren brought me over to make her daughter’s acquaintance.

      FRANK. The mother! Is she here?

      PRAED. Yes: inside, at tea.

      MRS. WARREN. [Calling from within.] Prad-dee-ee-ee-eee! The tea-cake’ll be cold.

      PRAED. [Calling.] Yes, Mrs. Warren. In a moment. I’ve just met a friend here.

      MRS. WARREN. A what?

      PRAED. [Louder.] A friend.

      MRS. WARREN. Bring him in.

      PRAED. All right. [To Frank.] Will you accept the invitation?

      FRANK. [Incredulous, but immensely amused.] Is that Vivie’s mother?

      PRAED. Yes.

      FRANK. By Jove! What a lark! Do you think she’ll like me?

      PRAED. I’ve no doubt you’ll make yourself popular, as usual. Come in and try. [Moving towards the house.]

      FRANK. Stop a bit. [Seriously.] I want to take you into my confidence.

      PRAED. Pray don’t. It’s only some fresh folly, like the barmaid at Redhill.

      FRANK. It’s ever so much more serious than that. You say you’ve only just met Vivie for the first time?

      PRAED. Yes.

      FRANK. [Rhapsodically.] Then you can have no idea what a girl she is. Such character! Such sense! And her cleverness! Oh, my eye, Praed, but I can tell you she is clever! And—need I add?—she loves me.

      CROFTS. [Putting his head out of the window.] I say, Praed: what are you about? Do come along. [He disappears.]

      FRANK. Hallo! Sort of chap that would take a prize at a dog show, ain’t he? Who’s he?

      PRAED. Sir George Crofts, an old friend of Mrs. Warren’s. I think we had better come in. [On their way to the porch they are interrupted by a call from the gate. Turning, they see an elderly clergyman looking over СКАЧАТЬ