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

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СКАЧАТЬ a penny from you, may I—” Cashel caught Lydia’s anxious look, and checked himself. He paused and got away a step, a cunning smile flickering on his lips. “No,” he said; “it’s just playing into your hands to lose temper with you. You think you know me, and you want to force the fighting. Well, we’ll see. Make me angry now if you can.”

      “There is not the slightest reason for anger,” said Mrs. Byron, angry herself. “Your temper seems to have become ungovernable — or, rather, to have remained so; for it was never remarkable for sweetness.”

      “No,” retorted Cashel, jeering goodhumoredly. “Not the slightest occasion to lose my temper! Not when I am told that I am silly and low! Why, I think you must fancy that you’re talking to your little Cashel, that blessed child you were so fond of. But you’re not. You’re talking — now for a screech, Miss Carew! — to the champion of Australia, the United States, and England, holder of three silver belts and one gold one (which you can have to wear in ‘King John’ if you think it’ll become you); professor of boxing to the nobility and gentry of St. James’s, and common prizefighter to the whole globe, without reference to weight or color, for not less than five hundred pounds a side. That’s Cashel Byron.”

      Mrs. Byron recoiled, astounded. After a pause she said, “Oh, Cashel, how COULD you?” Then, approaching him again, “Do you mean to say that you go out and fight those great rough savages?”

      “Yes, I do.”

      “And that you BEAT them?”

      “Yes. Ask Miss Carew how Billy Paradise looked after standing before me for an hour.”

      “You wonderful boy! What an occupation! And you have done all this in your own name?”

      “Of course I have. I am not ashamed of it. I often wondered whether you had seen my name in the papers.”

      “I never read the papers. But you must have heard of my return to England. Why did you not come to see me?”

      “I wasn’t quite certain that you would like it,” said Cashel, uneasily, avoiding her eye. “Hullo!” he exclaimed, as he attempted to refresh himself by another look at Lydia, “she’s given us the slip.”

      “She is quite right to leave us alone together under the circumstances. And now tell me why my precious boy should doubt that his own mother wished to see him.”

      “I don’t know why he should,” said Cashel, with melancholy submission to her affection. “But he did.”

      “How insensible you are! Did you not know that you were always my cherished darling — my only son?”

      Cashel, who was now sitting beside her on an ottoman, groaned and moved restlessly, but said nothing.

      “Are you glad to see me?”

      “Yes,” said Cashel, dismally, “I suppose I am. I — By Jingo,” he cried, with sudden animation, “perhaps you can give me a lift here. I never thought of that. I say, mamma; I am in great trouble at present, and I think you can help me if you will.”

      Mrs. Byron looked at him satirically. But she said, soothingly, “Of course I will help you — as far as I am able — my precious one. All I possess is yours.”

      Cashel ground his feet on the floor impatiently, and then sprang up. After an interval, during which he seemed to be swallowing some indignant protest, he said,

      “You may put your mind at rest, once and for all, on the subject of money. I don’t want anything of that sort.”

      “I am glad you are so independent, Cashel.”

      “So am I.”

      “Do, pray, be more amiable.”

      “I am amiable enough,” he cried, desperately, “only you won’t listen.”

      “My treasure,” said Mrs. Byron, remorsefully. “What is the matter?”

      “Well,” said Cashel, somewhat mollified, “it is this. I want to marry Miss Carew; that’s all.”

      “YOU marry Miss Carew!” Mrs. Byron’s tenderness had vanished, and her tone was shrewd and contemptuous. “Do you know, you silly boy, that—”

      “I know all about it,” said Cashel, determinedly— “what she is, and what I am, and the rest of it. And I want to marry her; and, what’s more, I will marry her, if I have to break the neck of every swell in London first. So you can either help me or not, as you please; but if you won’t, never call me your precious boy any more. Now!”

      Mrs. Byron abdicated her dominion there and then forever. She sat with quite a mild expression for some time in silence. Then she said,

      “After all, I do not see why you should not. It would be a very good match for you.”

      “Yes; but a deuced bad one for her.”

      “Really, I do not see that, Cashel. When your uncle dies, I suppose you will succeed to the Dorsetshire property.”

      “I the heir to a property! Are you in earnest?”

      “Of course. Don’t you know who your people are?”

      “How could I? You never told me. Do you mean to say that I have an uncle?”

      “Old Bingley Byron? Certainly.”

      “Well, I AM blowed. But — but — I mean — Supposing he IS my uncle, am I his lawful heir?”

      “Yes. Walford Byron, the only other brother of your father, died years ago, while you were at Moncrief’s; and he had no sons. Bingley is a bachelor.”

      “But,” said Cashel, cautiously, “won’t there be some bother about my — at least—”

      “My dearest child, what are you thinking or talking about? Nothing can be clearer than your title.”

      “Well,” said Cashel, blushing, “a lot of people used to make out that you weren’t married at all.”

      “What!” exclaimed Mrs. Byron, indignantly. “Oh, they DARE not say so! Impossible. Why did you not tell me at once?”

      “I didn’t think about it,” said Cashel, hastily excusing himself. “I was too young to care. It doesn’t matter now. My father is dead, isn’t he?”

      “He died when you were a baby. You have often made me angry with you, poor little innocent, by reminding me of him. Do not talk of him to me.”

      “Not if you don’t wish. Just one thing, though, mamma. Was he a gentleman?”

      “Of course. What a question!”

      “Then I am as good as any of the swells that think themselves her equals? She has a cousin in the government office; a fellow who gives out that he is the home secretary, and most likely sits in a big chair in a hall and cheeks the public. Am I as good as he is?”

      “You are perfectly well connected by your mother’s side, Cashel. The Byrons СКАЧАТЬ