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

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      “He is quite well, thank you.”

      Jack rubbed hands stealthily, and looked at Mary as though the recollection of Adrian tickled his sense of humor. As she tried to look coldly at him, he said, with a shade of pity in his tone, “Ah, Miss Sutherland, it one thing to be very fond of music: it is quite another to be able to compose.”

      “Is it?” said Mary, puzzled.

      He shook his head. “You don’t see the relevance of that,” said he. “Well, never mind.”

      She looked at him uneasily, and hesitated. Then she said slowly, “Mr. Jack: some people at Windsor, friends of mine, have been asking about you. I think, if you could come down once a week, I could get a music class together for you.”

      “No doubt,” he said. his angry look returning. “They will take lessons because you ask them to be charitable to your discarded tutor. Why did you discard him if you think him fit to teach your friends?”

      “Not at all. The project was mentioned last season, before I knew you. It is simply that we wish to take lessons. If you do not get the class somebody else will. It is very difficult to avoid offending you, Mr Jack.”

      “Indeed! Why does the world torment me, if it expects to find me gracious to it? And who are the worthy people that are burning to soar in the realms of song?”

      “Well, to begin with. I should l—”

      “You! I would not give you lessons though your life depended on it. No, by Heaven! At least,” he continued, more placably, as she recoiled, evidently hurt, “you shall have no lessons from me for money. I will teach you, if you wish to learn; but you shall not try to make amends for your old caprice of beggaring me, by a new caprice to patronize me.”

      “Then of course I cannot take any lessons.”

      “I thought not. You will confer favors on your poor music maker; but you will not stoop to accept them from him. Your humble dog, Miss Sutherland.” He made her a bow.

      “You quite mistake me,” said Mary, unable to control her vexation. “Will you take the class or not?”

      “Where will the class be?”

      “I could arrange to have it at our house if—”

      “Never. I have crossed its threshold for the last time. So long as it is not there, I do not care where it is. Not less than one journey a week, and not less than a guinea clear profit for each journey. Those are my lowest terms: I will take as much more as I can get, but nothing less. Perhaps you are thinking better of getting the class for me.”

      “I never break my word, Mr Jack.”

      “Ha! Don’t you! I do. A fortnight ago I swore never to speak to you again. The same day I swore never to part with your friend’s ring except to herself. Well, here I am speaking to you for no better reason than that you met me and offered to put some money in my way. And you stopped me in the act of pawning her ring, which I was going to do because I thought I would rather have a beefsteak. But you are adamant. You never change your mind. You have a soul above fate and necessity! Ha! ha!”

      “Magdalen,” said Mary, turning to her friend, who had waiting for the end of the conversation: “I think we had better go.” Mary was crimson with suppressed resentment; and Magdalen, not displeased to see it, advanced to bid Jack farewell in her most attractive manner. He immediately put off his bantering air, and ceremoniously accompanied them downstairs to the door, where Magdalen, going out first, gave him her hand. Mary hesitated; and he wrinkled his brow as he looked at her.

      “I will tell Miss Cairns to write to you about the class,” she said. He listened to her with an attention which she thought derisive. Flushing with displeasure, she added, “And as Miss Cairns has done nothing to incur your anger, I beg, Mr Jack that you will remember that she is a lady, and will expect to be treated with common civility.”

      “Oho!” said Jack, delighted. “Have I been rude? Have I?”

      “You have been excessively rude, Mr. Jack.” She went out quickly, sending the words with an angry glance over her shoulder. He shut the door, and went upstairs to Mrs Simpson’s room, braying like a donkey.

      “Well, Jezebel,” he cried. “Well, Polly. Well, Mrs. Quickly. How are you?”

      “I never was so ashamed in my life, Mr Jack. There were those young ladies only too anxious to do what they could for you, and you like a bear. No wonder you can’t get on, when you won’t control yourself and have behavior.”

      “I am a bear, am I? You had better recollect that I am a hungry bear, and that if my dinner does not come up, you will get a hug that will break every bone in your stays. Don’t forget the music paper. You have plenty of money now. Four pounds four and a penny, eh?”

      “You’ve no call to fear: none of it will be stolen. Miss Madge thought you hadn’t counted it. Little did she know you.”

      “She knew me better than you, you sordid hag. I counted my money that morning — four pounds nine and sevenpence. I gave the railway clerk ten shillings; he gave me five back — that left four pounds four and sevenpence. I arrived here with sixpence in my pocket; and from that I knew that I gave her four, four, and a penny. That reminds me that you sat there and let Miss Sutherland go away without making me ask her to send on my portmanteau, now that I have money to pay the carriage. You’re very stupid.”

      “How could I tell whether you wanted me to mention it or not? I was thinking of it all the time; but—”

      “You were thinking of it all the time!” cried Jack, in a frenzy. “And you never mentioned it! Here go for my dinner. You would drive the most patient man living out of his senses.”

      CHAPTER VI

       Table of Contents

      When Mrs Beatty had been a fortnight in the Isle of Wight with her brother’s family, her husband came down from Windsor to see her. On the morning after his arrival, they were in the garden, he smoking, and she in a rocking chair near him, with a newspaper in her hand.

      “My dear,” he said, after a preliminary cough.

      “Yes, Richard,” she said amiably, putting down the paper.

      “I was saying last night that Clifton is leaving us.”

      “Oh, the bandmaster! Yes” Mrs Beatty was not interested, and she took up the paper again.

      “Mary was speaking to me about it this morning.”

      Mrs Beatty put down the paper decisively, and looked at her husband.

      “She wants me to get that fellow — Charlie’s tutor — into Clinton’s place. I don’t know whether he is fit for it?”

      “You don’t know whether he is fit for it! Pray, Richard, did you allow Mary to think that we will countenance any further transactions between her and that man.”

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