The Complete Works of George Bernard Shaw. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      “He finds his pet baby changed into a woman; and he doesn’t like it,” said Jack, not heeding her remonstrance. “Now, if she were still the cream-colored, helpless little beauty she used to be, quite dependent on him, he would be delighted to have such a pretty domestic toy to play with.”

      “Perhaps so,” said Lady Geraldine. “But there is such a thing as parental feeling; and it is possible that Mr Brailsford may not be philosopher enough to rejoice at a change which has widened the distance between her youth and his age.”

      “He need not be alarmed,” said Jack. “If he cannot make a toy of her any longer, she can make a toy of him. She is thinking already of setting up a white haired father as part of her equipment: I saw the idea come into the jade’s head whilst she was looking down at him in that chair. He looked effective. This family affection is half sense of property, and half sense of superiority. Miss Sutherland — who is no use in the world, poor young lady — had not such property in Miss Brailsford as her father expected to have, and no such comfortable power of inviting her to parties and getting her married as you look forward to. And consequently, she was the only one who bore the change in her with a good grace, and really welcomed her.”

      “I am not conscious of having been otherwise than perfectly friendly to her.”

      “Ain’t you?” said Jack, sceptically. Lady Geraldine reddened slightly; then smiled in spite of her vexation, and said, “Really, Mr. Jack, you are a sort of grown up enfant terrible, I confess that I was a little overpowered by her staginess. I can understand actors being insufferably stagey on the boards, and quite natural in a room; but I cannot make out how an actress can be perfectly natural on the boards, and stagey in private.”

      “Acting has become natural to her; and she has lost the habit of your society; that is all. As you say, acting never becomes natural to bad actors. There she comes again.”

      “The charm is considerably weakened.” said Lady Geraldine, turning toward the stage, She does not seem half so real as she did before.”

      The play ended as successfully as it had begun. The translators responded to calls for the author; and Miss Madge Lancaster took the lion’s share of the rest of the applause. Then the pit and galleries emptied themselves into the street with much trampling of stairs. The occupants of the more expensive places made their way slowly through the crush-room, one step at a time: the men sliding their feet forward at every advance: the women holding warm head wrappings with one hand, and hanging awkwardly on to the arms of gentlemen with the other. Lady Geraldine got a glimpse of Mr Brailsford as she descended; but he hurried away, as if desirous to avoid further conversation. Jack who had amused her by showing some emotion at the pathetic passages in the play, and who had since been silent, walked gloomily beside Mary. They were detained for some minutes in the vestibule, Lady Geraldine’s footman not being at hand.

      “Come,”said Jack sulkily, “Here is somebody happy at last.”

      Mary looked and saw Herbert coming down the stairs with Aurélie. who was, like Jack, the subject of some whispering and pointing.

      “Yes,” said Mary. “He is happy. I do not wonder at it: she is very gentle and lovely. She is a greater artist than Madge: yet she has none of Madge’s assurance, which would repel Adrian.”

      “She has plenty of assurance in music, which is her trade. Miss Madge has plenty of assurance in manners, which are her trade.”

      I am just thinking, Geraldine,” said Mrs Herbert, of the difference between Adrian and that girl — Madge Brailsford. She, capable, sensible, able to hold her own against the world. She is everything, in short, that Adrian is not, and that I have often wished him to be. Yet her father seems as far from being united to her as Adrian is from me. Query then: is there any use in caring for one’s children? I really don’t believe there is.”

      “Not the least, after they have become independent of you,” said Lady Geraldine, looking impatiently towards the door. “Where is Williams? I think he must have gone mad.”

      At this moment Aurélie, recognizing Mrs Herbert, made as though she would stop, and said something to Adrian which threw him into trouble and indecision at once. Apparently she was urging him, and he making excuses, taking care not to look towards his mother. This dumb show was perfectly intelligible to Mrs Herbert, who directed Lady Geraldine’s attention to it.

      “It is all Williams’s fault,” said Lady Geraldine. We should have been out of this five minutes ago. You had better take the bull by the horns at once, Eliza. Go and speak to him — the vacillating idiot!”

      “I will not, indeed,” said Mrs Herbert. “I hope he will have the firmness to make her go away.”

      The question was settled by the appearance of Lady Geraldine’s servant, who hurried in, and began to explain the delay.

      “There. I do not want to hear anything about it,” said Lady Geraldine. “Now, where is Mary. Mary was already hastening out with Jack. Herbert saw them go with a sensation of relief. When he reached his lodgings he was disagreeably relieved from some feelings of remorse at having avoided Mary. On the table lay a parcel containing all his letters and presents to her, with a note — beginning “Dear Mr Herbert” — in which she said briefly that on second thoughts she considered it best to follow the usual course, and begged him to believe that she was, sincerely his, Mary Sutherland.

      CHAPTER XIII

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      Next day, in the afternoon, Jack left the room, the establishment of a celebrated firm of pianoforte manufacturers, where he gave his lessons, and walked homeward across Hyde Park. Here he saw approaching him a woman, dressed in light peacock blue, with a pale maize colored scarf on her neck and shoulders, and a large Spanish hat. Jack stood still and looked gloomily at her. She put on a pair of eye glasses; scrutinized him for a moment; and immediately shook them off her nose and stopped.

      “You have finished work early to-day,” she said, smiling.

      “I have not finished it,” he replied: “I have put them off. I want to go home and work: I cannot spend my life making money — not that I am likely to have the chance. Four lessons — five guineas — lost.”

      “You wrote to them, I hope.”

      “No. They will find out that I am not there when they call; and then they can teach themselves or go to the devil. They would put me off sooner than lose a tennis party. I will put them off sooner than lose a good afternoon’s work. I am losing my old independence over this moneymaking and society business — I don’t like it. No matter. Are you on your way to Cavendish Square?”

      “Yes. But you must not turn back. You did not sacrifice your teaching to gad about the park with me. You want to compose. I know by your face.”

      “Are you in a hurry”

      “I am not; but—”

      “Then come and gad about, as you call it, for a while. It is too fine a day to go indoors and grind tunes.”

      She turned; and they strolled across the plain between the Serpentine and the Bayswater Road, crossing a vacant expanse of sward, or picking their way amongst idlers who lay prone on the grass, asleep, or basked supine in the sun. It was a warm СКАЧАТЬ