Pygmalion and Other Plays. GEORGE BERNARD SHAW

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      PRAED. [Sternly.] Frank! [The two look at one another, Frank unruffled, Praed deeply indignant.] Let me tell you, Gardner, that if you desert her now you will behave very despicably.

      FRANK. Good old Praddy! Ever chivalrous! But you mistake: it’s not the moral aspect of the case: it’s the money aspect. I really can’t bring myself to touch the old woman’s money now.

      PRAED. And was that what you were going to marry on?

      FRANK. What else? I haven’t any money, nor the smallest turn for making it. If I married Viv now she would have to support me; and I should cost her more than I am worth.

      PRAED. But surely a clever bright fellow like you can make something by your own brains.

      FRANK. Oh yes, a little. [He takes out his money again.] I made all that yesterday in an hour and a half. But I made it in a highly speculative business. No, dear Praddy: even if Bessie and Georgina marry millionaires and the governor dies after cutting them off with a shilling, I shall have only four hundred a year. And he won’t die until he’s three score and ten: he hasn’t originality enough. I shall be on short allowance for the next twenty years. No short allowance for Viv, if I can help it. I withdraw gracefully and leave the field to the gilded youth of England. So that settled. I shan’t worry her about it: I’ll just send her a little note after we’re gone. She’ll understand.

      PRAED. [Grasping his hand.] Good fellow, Frank! I heartily beg your pardon. But must you never see her again?

      FRANK. Never see her again! Hang it all, be reasonable. I shall come along as often as possible, and be her brother. I can not understand the absurd consequences you romantic people expect from the most ordinary transactions. [A knock at the door.] I wonder who this is. Would you mind opening the door? If it’s a client it will look more respectable than if I appeared.

      PRAED. Certainly. [He goes to the door and opens it. Frank sits down in Vivie’s chair to scribble a note.] My dear Kitty: come in: come in. [Mrs. Warren comes in, looking apprehensively around for Vivie. She has done her best to make herself matronly and dignified. The brilliant hat is replaced by a sober bonnet, and the gay blouse covered by a costly black silk mantle. She is pitiably anxious and ill at ease: evidently panic-stricken.]

      MRS. WARREN. [To Frank.] What! You’re here, are you?

      FRANK. [Turning in his chair from his writing, but not rising.] Here, and charmed to see you. You come like a breath of spring.

      MRS. WARREN. Oh, get out with your nonsense. [In a low voice.] Where’s Vivie? [Frank points expressively to the door of the inner room, but says nothing.]

      MRS. WARREN. [Sitting down suddenly and almost beginning to cry.] Praddy: won’t she see me, don’t you think?

      PRAED. My dear Kitty: don’t distress yourself. Why should she not?

      MRS. WARREN. Oh, you never can see why not: you’re too innocent. Mr. Frank: did she say anything to you?

      FRANK. [Folding his note.] She must see you, if. [Very expressively.] you wait till she comes in.

      MRS. WARREN. [Frightened.] Why shouldn’t I wait? [Frank looks quizzically at her; puts his note carefully on the ink-bottle, so that Vivie cannot fail to find it when next she dips her pen; then rises and devotes his attention entirely to her.]

      FRANK. My dear Mrs. Warren: suppose you were a sparrow—ever so tiny and pretty a sparrow hopping in the roadway—and you saw a steam roller coming in your direction, would you wait for it?

      MRS. WARREN. Oh, don’t bother me with your sparrows. What did she run away from Haslemere like that for?

      FRANK. I’m afraid she’ll tell you if you rashly await her return.

      MRS. WARREN. Do you want me to go away?

      FRANK. No: I always want you to stay. But I advise you to go away.

      MRS. WARREN. What! And never see her again!

      FRANK. Precisely.

      MRS. WARREN. [Crying again.] Praddy: don’t let him be cruel to me. [She hastily checks her tears and wipes her eyes.] She’ll be so angry if she sees I’ve been crying.

      FRANK. [With a touch of real compassion in his airy tenderness.] You know that Praddy is the soul of kindness, Mrs. Warren. Praddy: what do you say? Go or stay?

      PRAED. [To Mrs. Warren.] I really should be very sorry to cause you unnecessary pain; but I think perhaps you had better not wait. The fact is—[Vivie is heard at the inner door.]

      FRANK. Sh! Too late. She’s coming.

      MRS. WARREN. Don’t tell her I was crying. [Vivie comes in. She stops gravely on seeing Mrs. Warren, who greets her with hysterical cheerfulness.] Well, dearie. So here you are at last.

      VIVIE. I am glad you have come: I want to speak to you. You said you were going, Frank, I think.

      FRANK. Yes. Will you come with me, Mrs. Warren? What do you say to a trip to Richmond, and the theatre in the evening? There is safety in Richmond. No steam roller there.

      VIVIE. Nonsense, Frank. My mother will stay here.

      MRS. WARREN. [Scared.] I don’t know: perhaps I’d better go. We’re disturbing you at your work.

      VIVIE. [With quiet decision.] Mr. Praed: please take Frank away. Sit down, mother. [Mrs. Warren obeys helplessly.]

      PRAED. Come, Frank. Goodbye, Miss Vivie.

      VIVIE. [Shaking hands.] Goodbye. A pleasant trip.

      PRAED. Thank you: thank you. I hope so.

      FRANK. [To Mrs. Warren.] Goodbye: you’d ever so much better have taken my advice. [He shakes hands with her. Then airily to Vivie.] Bye bye, Viv.

      VIVIE. Goodbye. [He goes out gaily without shaking hands with her.]

      MRS. WARREN. Well, Vivie, what did you go away like that for without saying a word to me! How could you do such a thing! And what have you done to poor George? I wanted him to come with me; but he shuffled out of it. I could see that he was quite afraid of you. Only fancy: he wanted me not to come. As if. [Trembling.] I should be afraid of you, dearie. [Vivie’s gravity deepens.] But of course I told him it was all settled and comfortable between us, and that we were on the best of terms. [She breaks down.] Vivie: what’s the meaning of this? [She produces a commercial envelope, and fumbles at the enclosure with trembling fingers.] I got it from the bank this morning.

      VIVIE. It is my month’s allowance. They sent it to me as usual the other day. I simply sent it back to be placed to your credit, and asked them to send you the lodgment receipt. In future I shall support myself.

      MRS. WARREN. [Not daring to understand.] Wasn’t it enough? Why didn’t you tell me? [With a cunning gleam in her eye.] I’ll double it: I was intending to double it. Only let me know how much you want.

      VIVIE. You know very well that that has nothing to do with it. From this time I go my own way in my own business and among my own friends. And you will go yours. [She rises.] Goodbye.

      MRS. WARREN. [Rising, appalled.] Goodbye?

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