The Collected Works of George Bernard Shaw: Plays, Novels, Articles, Letters and Essays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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СКАЧАТЬ Beatty and a lady who is visiting her called and brought her out with them. Mr Sutherland is at Eton, and will not be back till midnight. My pupil is still at Cambridge.”

      “H’m” said Adrian. “I shall go on to Mrs Beatty’s. I should probably disturb you by remaining.”

      Jack nodded and turned to the piano without further ceremony. Private Charles had taken one of Mary’s paint-brushes and fixed it upon the desk against his sheet of music, which was rolling itself up. This was the last thing Herbert saw before he left. As he walked away he heard the clarinet begin the slow movement of the concerto, a melody which, in spite of his annoyance, struck him as quite heavenly. He nevertheless hastened out of earshot, despising the whole art of music because a half-drunken soldier could so affect him by it.

      Half a mile from the Sutherlands’ house was a gate, though which he passed into a flower-garden, in which a tall gentleman with sandy hair was smoking a cigar. This was Colonel Beatty, from whom he learnt that the ladies were in the drawing room. There he found his mother and Mrs Beatty working in colored wools, whilst Mary, at a distance from them, was reading a volume of Browning. She gave a sigh of relief as he entered.

      “Is this your usual hour for making calls?” said Mrs Herbert, in response to her son’s cool “Good evening, mother.”

      “Yes,” said he. “I cannot work at night.” He passed on and sat down beside Mary at the other end of the room. Mrs Beatty smiled significantly at Mrs Herbert, who shrugged her shoulders and went on with her work

      “What is the matter, Adrian?” said Mary, in a low voice.

      “Why?”

      “You look annoyed.”

      “I am not annoyed. But I am not quite satisfied with the way in which your household is managed in your absence by Mr Jack.”

      “Good heavens!” exclaimed Mary, “you too! Am I never to hear the last of Mr Jack? It is bad enough to have to meet him every day, without having his misdeeds dinned into my ears from morning till night.”

      “I think an end should be put to such a state of things, Mary. I have often reproached myself for having allowed you to engage this man with so little consideration. I thought his mere presence in the house could not affect you — that his business would be with Charlie only. My experience of the injury that can be done by the mere silent contact of coarse natures with fine ones should have taught me better. Mr Jack is not fit to live with you, Mary.”

      “But perhaps it is our fault. He has no idea of the region of thought from which I wish I never had to descend; but, after all, we have no fault to find with him. We cannot send him away because he does not appreciate pictures.”

      “No. But I have reason to believe that he is not quite so well-behaved in your absence as he is when you are at home. When I arrived tonight, for instance, I, of course, went straight to your house. There I heard a musical entertainment going forward. When I went in I was greeted with a volley of oaths which a drunken soldier was addressing to Jack. The two were in the drawingroom and did not perceive me at first, Jack being seated at your pianoforte, accompanying the soldier, who was playing a flageolet. The fellow was using your table easel for a desk, and your palette knife as a paper weight to keep his music flat. Has Jack your permission to introduce his military friends whenever you are out?”

      “Certainly not,” said Mary, reddening. “I never heard of such a thing. I think Mr Jack is excessively impertinent.”

      “What is the matter?” said Mrs. Beattv, perceiving that her niece was vexed.

      “Nothing, aunt,” said Mary hastily. “Please do not tell Aunt Jane,” she added in an undertone to Adrian.

      “Why not’”

      “Oh, she will only worry about it. Pray do not mention it. What ought we to do about it, Adrian?”

      “Simply dismiss Mr Jack forthwith?”

      “But — Yes, I suppose we should. The only difficulty is—” Mary hesitated, and at last added, “I am afraid he will think that it is out of revenge for his telling Charlie not to take his ideas of music from my way of playing it, and because he despises my painting.”

      “Despises your painting! Do you mean to say that he has been insolent to you? You should dismiss him at once. Surely such fears as you expressed just now have no weight with you, Mary?”

      Mary reddened again, and said, a little angrily, “It is very easy for you to talk of dismissing people, Adrian; but if you had to do it yourself, you would feel how unpleasant it is.”

      Adrian looked grave and did not reply. After a short silence Mary rose; crossed the room carelessly; and began to play the piano. Herbert, instead of sitting by her and listening, as his habit was, went out and joined the Colonel in the garden.

      “What have you quarreled about, dear?” said Mrs Herbert.

      “We have not quarreled,” said Mary. “What made you think that.”

      “Adrian is offended.”

      “Oh, no. At least I cannot imagine why he should be.”

      “He is. I know what Adrian’s slightest shrug signifies.”

      Mary shook her head and went on playing. Adrian did not return until they went into another room to sup. Then Mary said she must go home; and Herbert rose to accompany her.”

      “Goodnight, mother,” he said. “I shall see you tomorrow. I have a bed in the town, and will go there directly when I have left Mary safely at home.” He nodded; shook hands with Mrs Beatty and the Colonel; and went out with Mary. They walked a hundred yards in silence. Then Mary said:

      “Are you offended, Adrian? Mrs Herbert said you were.”

      He started as if he had been stung. “I do not believe I could make a movement,” he replied indignantly, “for which my mother would not find some unworthy motive. She never loses an opportunity to disparage me and to make mischief.”

      “She does not mean it, Adrian. It is only that she does not quite understand you. You sometimes say hard things of her, although I know you do not mean to speak unkindly.”

      “Pardon me, Mary, I do. I hate hypocrisy of all kinds; and you annoy me when you assume any tenderness on my part towards my mother. I dislike her. I believe I should do so even it she had treated me well, and shewed me the ordinary respect which I have much right to from a parent as from any other person. Our natures are antagonistic, our views of life and duty incompatible: we have nothing in common. That is the plain truth; and however much it may shock you, unless you are willing to accept it as unalterable, I had rather you would drop the subject.”

      “Oh, Adrian, I do not think it is right to—”

      “I do not think, Mary, that you can tell me anything concerning what is called filial duty that I am not already familiar with. I cannot help my likes and dislikes: I have to entertain them when they come to me, without regard to their propriety. You may be quite tranquil as far as my mother’s feelings are concerned. My undutiful sentiments afford her her chief delight a pretext for complaining of me.”

      Mary looked wistfully at him, and walked on, down-east. He stopped; turned towards her gravely; and resumed: СКАЧАТЬ